peccatumdelicata:
"Dead." Palms to the bloody tile, he pushed up, the effort almost too easy as he shot to his feet, and stared down at the diminutive being beside him.
Gruffly. “You’ll have to come back tomorrow morning. We’re closed.”
Pivoting, his long strides taking him up the aisle, he slammed against the doors, startling to find them shut tight, and spun, thunderous toward the girl. “What have you done?”
Bracing for the pain, he took a half dozen steps back toward her, arm thrust back, pointing angrily to the exit. “That man is a criminal. A killer, and this…” Faltering, his gaze falling on the body, his body, lying face down in a pool of his own blood on the chapel floor, he slumped. Quietly. “This a house of god.”
Flexing his toes, he reached down, pressing his fingers to his knee beneath his robe. The knee that had been shattered by a baseball bat a dozen years ago, leaving him hobbled, unable even to move without pain, and blinked, his voice a hushed rasp. “I’m dead.”
Turning a wary glance to the girl, he studied her carefully. Her appearance, from the top of her head: The shiny, black hair, immaculate attire, and blood-stained calves hide boots, giving no clue to her true identity. Snorting derisively. “A man of the cloth lies dead. His killer is on the loose, and the Angel of the Lord who’s been summoned to collect me has no more pressing concerns than the blood stains on her fucking BOOT!?”
Hands clasped behind his back, he ambled back up the aisle, coming face to face with the angel. “Bad PR, dear. Now kindly… open the damn door, so I can reap god’s vengeance on my killer.”