Please keep interacting with this post because when I come to tumblr to procrastinate, this shows up again in my notifications and guilts me into writing again
part one || part two || part three || part four ~ AO3
Jefferson Wicks x Reader
Wordcount: 2,226
Synopsis: You visit Chimney Rock for a funeral, the last thing you wanted was to reunite with people you left in your past.
A/N: You go back to Pittsburgh
The screaming match that followed after the sermon was unprecedented. The second you got home and closed the door behind you, a wooden spoon flew to your head. Your eyes widened. âWhat the fuck, momma!â You yelled at her. âYouâre an embarrassment. You betrayed the church, vile woman.âÂ
âCome on momma, you canât seriously agree with his words?â You retorted. Your mother stayed quiet. âIâm getting out of here. I canât stay any longer.â You hurried to your bedroom and started packing. âFine! Get out, see if I care. And to think I actually tried my best to get Monsignor Wicks to set you straight!âÂ
You did not care to listen or react to her, the only thing that was on your mind was getting your stuff in your carry-on as fast as possible. You clicked it shut and moved past her. âHave fun dying alone. When itâs your turn to rot in that coffin, I wonât even bother reading the obituary.â You snarled at her before loading the carry-on in your car and slamming the door shut. She stood in the doorframe with a distasteful look on her face. You got in your car and looked in the side mirror, as the car started you saw your mother hold out her middle finger. Classy, you thought. This was it, there were no more chances for her. You pulled out of the parking lot and drove off. Your head still hurt from the sudden impact. It had not been the first time your mother turned physical, but it had been the first time she acted as public as she did. You forgot how easy it had been to rile her up.
Maybe you were indeed foolish. Foolish to think that this week would go by smoothly, you barely lasted four days back in that house, for Christâs sake. The memory of her fingers lingered in your hair, your scalp was still throbbing painfully. It made you take one hand off the wheel to apply pressure on the top of your head.Â
You had always pushed people away, in a way, it was the one thing that connected you and your mother. To you, it was incredibly easy, cutting someone off. There was no second chance, no forgiveness, no grace. It felt like you were being independent, taking care of yourself, preventing anyone from abusing you again. You would never admit it, but it felt good to insult your mother like that. You truly hated her guts.
The streets of Chimney Rock passed by you in a blur. It was quiet, deserted, everyone was at home, recovering from the service. You tapped your finger on the leather of the steering wheel. There was a restless feeling inside you, a bug in the pit of your stomach. You let out a deep breath as soon as you got on the highway. Your phone was on the holder, with google maps in the corner of the screen, when you dialed a number.
âEh! U hali gani.â You put your phone on speaker âNzuri, auntie.â You replied to Mrs. Juma. âWhy are you on the road?â She asked, knowingly. âAuntie Iâm coming home, this wasnât a good decisionâŠâ You talked on the phone for a full hour, only hanging up when Mrs. Juma had to open up the shop. She understood your grievances, despite not agreeing with your decision. âMwana, donât cry, If you cry because youâre lost, your tears will not let you see the path ahead of you.â
She was always cryptic like that. âWhat path, auntie? You are the only family I have now.â You referred to her and her husband. Mrs. Juma sucked her teeth and said your name, âWeâll talk about this when you get home.â Her voice was low, and an audible sigh got picked up from the other side of the phone.
You hung up the phone and focused on the road. The sky was much brighter compared to Chimney Rock, you were not even that far removed from the town. Chimney Rock just happened to have a dreary, cold atmosphere on its own that triumphed over any other neighboring borough. It was as if the sun was scared of that little town. The birds were penalized for chirping, the flowers for their scent. The worst part is that no one had any desire at all to change it. You hoped Father Jud would maybe try to, but his cowardice stance against the people he swore to serve, deterred you from any ideal formed in his image. At least Monsignor Wicks was honest about the kind of man he was, or as honest as a man like him could get. In a way it was admirable to see someone so unafraid of possible consequences. You could see how his flock came to be, not that you could ever be a part of that void of misery and animosity, though.
After your head cleared up, and the asphalt on the road had known the rubber of your wheels for 2 hours now, you got to thinking. Sure, it had embarrassed your mother greatly, when you walked out of the church. But the reaction of both Wicks and your mother could not have been fitting. You almost giggled out loud at how funny you sounded. They would be the last two people on earth who would have a proportionate response.
The fuel indicator was slowly reaching the danger zone, so you decided to pull over at the nearest gas station, âLIBERTY GASOLINEâ. You turned off the motor and got out of the car. A sudden breeze swooped your hair in your face. The gas station looked rather old, the walls were all paneled wood, but they were stained with grease and full of dents. There was only one, neon, light. It was the only source of lights from the outside, you thanked your lucky stars that it was still bright out. You started filling up your tank, the pump croaked loudly every time you pushed the rusted handle.
When you went inside the store, a tiny bell rang above your head. The light in the store itself was also kept to a minimum, there was only one overhead, industrial-style lamp trying its best to keep every item in the store out of the shadows. No customers in sight, only you and the cashier, yet the sound of the coolers was enough to fill the entire room. *BUZZZZ* *BUZZZZ*. Those coolers screamed like a starving hyena. Your eyes drifted to the fizzy drinks. The condensation on the plastic bottles made your throat dry. Normally, you could not stand to drink carbonated things during the day, the caffeine messed with your head. Fuck it, if thereâs one thing you needed right now, it was a sugary, fizzy drink. You paid for the gas and the drink and walked back to your car.Â
You noticed the cashier staring at you through the window. He was still behind the counter, he was wiping down the racks under the windowsill. It was an obvious attempt to people-watch. You did not get into your car, instead, you stood on the pavement and finished your whole drink. A burp escaped your lips. You wiped your mouth and got in the car, almost half-way home.
The door slammed shut, causing a reverb across the whole living room. You were finally back. You let out a breath you did not know you were holding, your eyes closed by themself and you leaned your head against the wall. There was nothing more peaceful in this moment than taking off your shoes and letting yourself fall on the couch. You lived in an apartment off-campus, but not very far from the school. After the first year you had made a promise to yourself you would move away from the dorms. You could not stand the communal aspect of living on the grounds, and there was never a moment of peace. Students hooted and hollered every day, especially during game weekends.
You were really grateful to have found this place. It was not only close distance to the university, but the rent was, compared to the living space, incredibly decent. You only had to share the apartment with one other person. A girl named Kat (her full name was Katyayani, she went by the name Kat, because she thought it would be simpler for other people to pronounce). She was rarely home, yet always delivered her share of the rent. To you, she was the perfect roommate, punctual, and antisocial. Kat had already decorated the space before you moved in. She went to Pitt at the same time as you, but she was a year ahead. Now she had finished her Bachelor and gone on to her Masters in history. Her interior reflected her interest in her education. Most of one wall was covered in bookshelves and on those shelves there were hundreds of leather-bound books, sitting idly. Plants filled every corner of the rooms and during the summer the windows would let in beautiful light that shone perfectly on the flora all over the room.Â
The familiar smell of home made you sink further into the fabric of the couch. Your muscles, once tense, melted along with the rest of your body. Before you knew it, you felt your eyelids grow heavier with each breath you took. The world around you blurred more and more, until you succumbed to darkness.
You startled awake at the sound of someone yelling your name. Your heart was thumping loudly and blood rushed to your ears. Kat had come home, she was wearing her athletic wear and her hair was in a tight bun on top of her head. âJesus, Kat, you almost gave me a heart attack!â You said as you calmed your breathing down. âMe? What about you letting me know youâre back? I almost threw this at you!â Kat held up her metal water bottle and wiggled in around to emphasize her point. You sighed and held your hand against your forehead. She immediately sat down next to you. âSorry, Iâm sweaty,â She wrapped her arm around your chest. âWhat happened?â
You ended up explaining everything that had occurred in the past few days. Well, not everything. You conveniently left out the altercations you had with the Monsignor. During your retelling, there never seemed to be an appropriate spot to fit in that piece of information. As a matter of fact, you found no need to actually share those particular details. Why would you? You would probably forget about it in a day or two.
Kat listened attentively to all that you were prepared to vent to her. It ended up being a rather dramatic retelling of the events that took place, but you did not regret any of your actions. Your mother deserved that outburst. You told Kat about her getting physical and she sighed. âThereâs a real ugly bruise forming on your hairline, did you know?â You did not know, you opened your phoneâs camera and stared at the purple-ish yellow mark. She was right, it was really ugly, it looked like pus was about form underneath the skin. âIâm gonna kill her.â You murmured under your breath. Kat chuckled, âSorry for waking you, get some restâŠâ She got up and went to the bathroom. You fell back asleep with the sound of water falling down and hitting the floor tiles. You had not slept this well since the moment you heard your fatherâs news.
You begged Mr. Juma to plan you in for a shift the next day. He was hesitant at first, but your persistence wore him down. In the end, he could never say no to you. Mrs. Juma had scolded him for giving in, as usual. When you entered the restaurant she had tried to usher you out, but you had insisted you were fit to work. Under the oath that you would only work half a shift, you got back in your rhythm.Â
The restaurant, âMama Elidaâsâ it was called, was a tiny business sandwiched between large buildings. If it were not for the signage outside of the shop, one could miss there being a functioning space at all. The inside was crammed with memorabilia from back in Tanzania. Framed pictures, reused house furniture. The restaurant was always warmly lit, even the kitchen, which was attached to the bar, had a yellowish tint because of the lighting.
There was no denying that being a waitress in a bustling city like Pittsburgh was draining work. Customers seemed to lose all common sense as soon as they walked through the door and heard the little bell ring above their heads. You liked to imagine that the bell emanated a powerful idiocy ray, like an alien life form that has made it its sole mission to disguise itself as a hollow, brass object, purely to spite you. Despite the hard work, you liked the routine, the satisfactory feeling of a task completed. There was never a boring day at work, and there was no way you would ever trade Mr. and Mrs. Jumaâs company for the world.
You were a Pittsburgh girl now, and the only people that you cared about, as far as you were concerned, resided less than 10 minutes away.
Happy 20th Anniversary of Neil Banging Out The Tunes!!!!!
More rarer images of Neil, my beloved:
20 years.
I find it so beautiful that this little rat's life has been remembered with love for 20 years and will be hopefully for decades to come. Truly a marvel of the internet.
part one || part two || part three || part four ~ AO3
Jefferson Wicks x Reader
Wordcount: 2,273
Synopsis: You visit Chimney Rock for a funeral, the last thing you wanted was to reunite with people you left in your past.
A/N: You attend a sermon... also i'm not really happy with this chapter, but I promise the next one will be better!
The door was left open on a crack when you got home. You opened the door further and saw your mother passed out on the sofa. Familiarity kicked in. There were three beer bottles on the coffee table. You walked past her, into your bedroom, and put down the box. You were in desperate need of a shower. Seeing your mother was not unconscious, you figured you had at least half an hour to occupy the bathroom.
You got rid of your dirty clothes and put them in the hamper. The smell of rain was still on them. You turned on the shower and waited until it heated up. If you remembered correctly, it could take a few minutes. Once you got in the shower your mind started drifting back to your interactions with the holy men. Father Jud had grown on you quicker than usual. There was something about him that brought you a great sense of comfort. Yet, his odd behaviour when he could not answer your question had unsettled you.
What could have been so bad that he had reacted that way? Then again, your mother was a wicked woman. You scolded yourself for not being more cautious since the moment you arrived at her doorstep. You can not let your guard down around her. Even showering, even sleeping in the same house as her, was just looking for trouble. You shook your thoughts away. She had her good moments, too. She once drove about two hours to take you to Niagara Falls for your tenth birthday. Thinking back, it was a really nice memory. Your mother was a complicated person, at least, you hoped she was.
The water splashed your face as you were in deep thought. Surely, if monsignor Wicks had agreed to help you mother, it could not have been that unpleasant? You hoped, but Father Judâs reaction plagued your mind. Was monsignor Wicks really capable of something so unholy it made Father Jud unable to speak? You had vaguely remembered his sermons from when you were a kid, his speech was hateful. He said awful things that made your stomach turn.Â
But you had understood, even then, that those were the words of a pathetic man. A dishonest man whose temptations laid in the desperation of power. His words were just words. If he truly did act upon anything he spewed down at the flock, then maybe Father Jud had been right to feel terrified.
A thought flickered in your head, that perhaps it would be a good decision to attend church the next morning. Not for your own reasons⊠of course not. Simply to investigate the predicament between your mother and Wicks. To see if his tirades had remained detestable. Guilt swept over you as images of him in his chasuble, screaming down at the flock with great authority, crossed your mind. Your body shuddered involuntarily. His stance alone demanded so much presence, his life force attracted weaklings that clung to it like moths to an open flame.
You splashed more water on your face to cool yourself off. It was not like you were a blushing maiden, you were in college, for crying out loud. You have seen things at parties that you actually would turn to Christ for. Yet when it came to Wicks there was something that possessed you, a different sense of self. He touched you on your thigh, intentional or not, you felt like a harlot in that moment. Despite your removal from the church, you accepted a long time ago that the tale of the Harlot Whore was impossible to heal from.
The story of Wicks's mother was something that you did not think much about on a day to day scale. It was only in the weak moments, where it rotted your thoughts. When you met a cute boy, when you met a cute girl, when you were out in the club. Even if you did nothing sinful, the rot spread throughout your whole body until it physically made you ill. You found it easier to think about sinful behaviour than act upon it. For the lesser things, it did not stop you from doing them, like going out for a drink. You just accepted you had to face your bodily consequences. But you had never kissed anyone before, never had a meaningful relationship with another person because of the shame you felt on this subject. Evidently, it was something Wicks was directly responsible for.
You shut off the water and got out of the shower. Droplets of water ran down your stomach as you dried off as fast as you could. It was one feat to go to the sermon tomorrow, it was a whole other to bring it up to your mother without her thinking you are coming back to Chimney Rock to become a parishioner.Â
When you stepped out of the bathroom your mother was still asleep on the couch. You convinced yourself that it would be better to tell her the next morning.
It was not better to tell her the next morning. Your mother had a whole new spiritual awakening at the mere mention of you coming to church with her. She got down on her knees and praised God, for her âplan was workingâ. She forced you to wear a white, cotton maxi dress that looked like you were raised in a cult. It was too cold to wear such a light fabric, but it was better not to argue with her when she got like that. She had done your hair up as well, which meant not even your neck was safe from the low temperature. Since you had no pockets and no jacket, your mother lended you a clutch bag for your stuff. She never lent you anything.
You got ushered into the church by the rest of the flock. Your mother wanted to sit in the front row, but you begged her to sit a little further back. The ambiance was lively, everyone was conversing with one another. A lump formed in your throat and made you almost throw up from the nerves. Wicks was not here yet, but Father Jud already sat in the corner of the chancel. He looked nervous as well, in an endearing way.Â
His eyes found yours immediately and he raised his eyebrows in surprise with a wide smile. You smiled back, in a genuine manner, which you had not during a service since the day you first stepped foot in a church. You rubbed your arms for a bit of warmth and Father Judâs once raised eyebrows furrowed into concern. You waved him off, making sure he knew not to worry about you. He looked at you for a few more seconds, trying to decide whether to let it go, before turning his gaze to the side door opening.Â
Wicks stepped out in his extravagant attire. The whole building grew silent immediately. He looked around the room before making his way to the wooden pulpit. His gaze was angry. When he noticed you in the pews his gaze remained angry, it almost made you jump up and run out. This man was in a whole different head-space, it looked like. You lowered your head and pushed down the increasing impulse to throw up.
âThe world wants us all to be okay, any of your choices, make your choices, they're your choices, don't feel bad,â Monsignor Wicks started spewing, you had no idea where this was going. âHave that affair, tell that lie, have that child out of wedlock, satisfy your selfish heart. Selfish.Yes. Depriving that child of a family, of a father. An assault on our castle, the institution of manhood.â Your eyes widened, you had noticed a woman coming into the church with her son earlier. Someone you did not recognise, poor woman. âMy own mother made that selfish choice with me and I curse her selfish heart for it every day of my life, putting her needs and wants before the family God intended, I am enough, ME, selfish harlot heart, you are not!â He spoke furious, it scared you. âMight as well beat that child. Yes. Might as well starve that child. Defy the family that the Lord intended and watch your child burn beneath that burden-â You gasped at the same time the woman from earlier stood up. The mother, shaken and upset, dragged her toddler out of the church. Everyone stared at her as she left, and dammit, you did too.Â
You could not believe the words you were hearing, and he just kept going even after the doors closed. You made a split-second decision. All eyes turned to you as you got up and walked out as well. Your mother tried to grab you but you were already too far down. You did not look back, you did not need to, you could feel everyone burning holes in your back.
Fresh air hit your face and you immediately felt your stomach churn again. In the corner of your eye you saw the woman turn around to see what caused the sound. You looked up and looked at her apologetically. She gave a nasty look in return and continued to leave. A breeze brushed against your arms and you shivered. There was an old manual water pump on the property, and despite the cold, you needed to cool your head. You pumped water and splashed your face. The wind immediately made your face feel frozen, but it was better than feeling sick.Â
It felt stupid, to sit on a bench with an upset stomach, knowing the people inside were judging you so heavily. Normally, it did not bother you when people judged you. Most of the time, however, it was not a whole group of people gathered in the house of god. You did not understand yourself, how could you care so little about religion, yet so much about God?Â
Half an hour went by when the doors opened again. The flock walked out with smiles on their faces. They were chatting happily with each other, hugging and laughing. It made you feel even angrier at their indifference. Your mother was one of the last people to come out of the church. She held the clutch bag you forgot inside, her face was neutral. Father Jud and Wicks were not far behind her before she walked straight over to where you were sitting.Â
You got up and met her halfway. âMomma-â Your sentence got interrupted by a flat-palmed slap to the face. The crack was loud and unmistakeable, you gasped out in pain. She grabbed the roots of your hair forcefully and moved your head closer to hers. âYou think you can embarrass me like that?â She whispered in your ear. âYouâre lucky weâre in public, or I'd beat your sorry ass to death.â Your mother pushed your head away as she released her grasp on you. She dumped the contents of your bag on the ground next to you and took it with her as she left.
You looked around and saw everyone ignoring the scene your mother had caused. Everyone except the Monsignor and Father Jud. You did not dare to meet either of their eyes, but Father Jud was quick to pick up the fallen objects. He handed them to you and rubbed his hands against your arms to warm you up. âHey, hey⊠itâs okayâŠâ He led you back inside the church. The heavy doors shut and you held your head in your hands. Father Jud said your name, but you broke free of his grasp. âI should go.â You looked right at him. âWhat do you mean?â He searched your eyes for an explanation. âI canât⊠not again, itâs not worth itâŠâ A sniffle escaped you and you quickly rubbed your nose. âIs this what you stand for?â Your head turned towards the church. He wanted to answer, but he held his tongue. A look of embarrassment crossed his face and it almost made you feel bad. Almost.
You scoffed and rubbed your hand across your mouth. âIt was nice to meet you father, but I think my time in Chimney Rock has come to end.â He tried to reach for you, to prevent you leaving, but you jerked your arm away and walked out of the church. Through the side doors, you could not stand to see anyoneâs face in the courtyard at the moment.Â
You could not do this anymore, you never wanted to come to this hellhole in the first place. Your mother had slipped back into her previous behaviour even sooner than you had expected, you thought she would at least try to keep it civil.
As soon as you stepped outside you got cornered by the monsignor himself. His shadow cascaded over you. âFoolish girl, is this any way to honour your mother? I should lock you in this godforsaken church and teach you how to be a proper woman.â His voice sounded dark and his face was way too close to yours. For the first time you took notice of the color of his eyes. A deep, rich, brown. Eyes that on any other man would have exuded tenderness. In a state of resentment, and feeling embarrassed about the altercation, you pushed past him. His strong body failed to move, but you managed to get around it. âDonât hurt your head about it, Monsignor. You wonât see me again.â You walked away from everyone, without looking back.Â
AO3 is exiting open beta! Learn more about how far we've come since launching open beta, our future plans for improvement, and what you can do to contribute at https://otw-news.org/4w2dn3tcÂ
part one || part two || part three || part four ~ AO3
Jefferson Wicks x Reader
Wordcount: 2,330
Synopsis: You visit Chimney Rock for a funeral, the last thing you wanted was to reunite with people you left in your past.
A/N: Wicks confronts the reader. Also there are no Wicks gifs on this platform, so either I'll use still photos or meme gifs
Your mother came back from the service. Her mood was noticeably more tense. It always was after a sermon from Wicks. When you used to go with her you were forced to sit in that discomfort. As you got older you learned to get out of the house for as long as possible. Go for a walk, to the grocery store, anywhere, as long as it was far away from her.
This day was no different. Without thinking, you snuck past her and left the property. A gust of wind immediately made you shiver. You did not have your coat with you, but you could not go back there, not yet. You crossed your arms and walked towards the town square. During your walk you noticed a lot of people sharing the same air about them as your mother. You figured this sermon must have struck a nerve with the whole town. It was better to take a walk in the woods, away from judgmental eyes.
It had rained every night since your arrival, the dirt you walked on stuck to your boots, the air around you was damp and freezing, but at least you were alone. The woods were quiet, the tall trees made it impossible to see anything further than a couple of feet in front of you. It had been a long time since you navigated this forest, you did not know which way you were going. You hummed a song you do not know the name of, something they always put on at the restaurant.Â
Mr. and Mrs. Juma were a nice, older couple. They immigrated to the United States from Tanzania in the late 70s, opened a small restaurant in the heart of Pittsburgh and hired you when you most needed the money. You had always made a point of it to show your gratitude to the pair. When you heard of your fatherâs passing they were so supportive, they were originally the ones to convince you to go back to Chimney Rock. You had a lot of reluctance, but their persistence made you bite the bullet.
A water droplet hit your head as you were walking. You wiped your finger along the spot and looked up at the sky. You had not noticed the shift in weather. As soon as you noticed the droplet, more followed. It started raining heavily in mere seconds. You gasped at the sudden change, as the drastic downpour almost washed you away.
You ran with your hands above your head towards thousands of identical trees. Your instinct took you along a familiar path. A bright light shines in the distance and it pulls you in. A thunderous clap was heard in the distance and made you run faster.
The outline of Our Lady of Perpetual Fortitude started clearing in your eyesight. It was cruelly ironic on fateâs end. But you were soaking wet and shivering, so there was little to no alternative.
You ran over a wooden bridge and almost tripped over your own feet. You recognise the crypt of Wicksâs father and the shed that belonged to the groundkeeper. A wave of relief crashed over you as you ran to the backdoor of the church, surely someone must have been inside? You pounded on the door and waited, wringing the water out of your shirt.
After a while, the door opened and a figure stood in the frame.
"Good afternoon, father." You greeted the man. He smiled at you. "Oh dear, you're drenched. Get inside quick." You hurried past him and shook your head like a cat to get all the stray droplets out of your hair.
He asked what you were doing out in the rain, you lied to him and said the spirit of Christ led you to the church. You asked his name; "Father Jud Duplenticy." He responded. He offered you a blanket and led you to the nave. Father Jud offered you a seat in the pews, and your blanket was tightly wrapped around your body as he told you about his experiences living in Chimney Rock. He was surprisingly funny and easy to talk to. You were in the middle of laughing at one of Father Jud's witty quips when suddenly a heavy door slammed shut and made both of you jump.
Monsignor Wicks stood in his powerful demeanor. His face stern and a hint of exhaustion. "Leave us." He demanded. You thought he was referring to you, but Father Jud immediately lifted himself up and walked out of the stands. He gave you a sympathetic look, almost esoteric, and you were on the outside of it. As soon as he was out of sight you arose, the blanket falling off in the process.Â
"Monsignor-"
"I thought I made it clear, you were to be at this morning's sermon."Â
Confusion crossed your face. At the cemetery he had never explicitly stated that he was expecting you this morning. âIâm sorry Monsignor Wicks, I wasnât aware.âÂ
Wicks just stared at you, his eyes flicking down to the wet shirt clinging to your curves. The moment was fleeting, you might have missed it if you had not been burning holes in his eyes as well. He clicked his tongue. âWhereâs your coat? Insolent girl.â.
You looked down at your clothes, you looked ridiculous. âI forgot it at home.â You spoke quietly. âYou forgot it at home, foolish.â He said, more to himself. He walked towards you. His presence grew heavier with every step he took. âI see youâve met Father Jud.â His gaze darkened. âI did-â âYou should stay away from him.â Monsignor Wicks interrupted.
You gave him a questioning look. Wicks signaled at you to make you sit down again. He sat down next to you and rested his hands on his thighs. âYour mother came to me after the sermon.â That made you involuntarily let out a scoff. Your eyes widened and touched your lips with your fingertips.Â
Monsignor Wicks did not react, instead, he rubbed his thighs. âShe thinks youâve grown out of control, and I must agree with her.â You made an âOâ shape with your mouth. âTell me about⊠Pittsburgh, was it?â You nodded. Your eyes drifted to his hair, his long, grey, voluminous hair. It felt like torture to hold eye contact with him. You studied his face, you had never been this close to him, never had a reason to. His beard was neatly trimmed, his skin was covered in barely noticeable freckles.Â
âI suppose that is a yes.â He interrupted your train of thought. You felt your cheeks grow hot after realizing you had been analyzing the man so blatantly. âYes, sorry yes.â You stammered. âGood girl⊠Now, your mother has also told me youâre majoring in an impious subject matter?â You cleared your throat. âBiochemistry.â You almost felt ashamed to admit it, and his reaction proved you correct. âAh, the sciences. It has gotten worse than I feared,â He shifted his hand to your knee.Â
âI shall save you, my child.â His hand slowly slid over to the lower part of your thigh. âGod, the Father of mercies, through the death and the resurrection of his Son has reconciled the world to himself and sent the Holy Spirit among us for the forgiveness of sins; through the ministry of the Church may God give you pardon and peace, and I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.â He took one look at your body before getting up and leaving you alone with your thoughts.Â
As soon as the door closed, you jolted upwards and stumbled out of the stands. You felt the same sensation you did at the funeral, when he touched your shoulder. It burned. Your skin was melting through the fabric of your jeans and eating at your bones. If you had been more of a believer you would have almost thought that God absolved your sinful flesh through Monsignor Wicksâs hands.
The rain tapped against the stained glass of Our Lady of Perpetual Fortitude. Rippled shadows cascaded over the altar as you waited for it to settle down. Father Jud came back a couple of minutes after Monsignor Wicks had disappeared. He held a warm cup of tea in his hands and offered it to you.
You accepted it, the hot steam danced over your face. âThank you, father.â You blew on the surface of the liquid. âItâs English breakfast. I figured you could use it.â That was an understatement, you could not help but chuckle. âThe blanket has warmed me up for the most part, but Iâll take the tea after that altercation with Monsignor Wicks.â Father Judâs eyebrows furrowed empathically. âI hope he wasnât that rough with you.â He said.
âHe wasnât rough, just⊠intimidating. Really, I wonder how youâre still alive, father.â Now it was Father Judâs turn to laugh. âLiving with Monsignor Wicks takes a lot of determination. A lot of clarity on the path youâre meant to walk on.â You listened intently as he began to talk about his purpose and Godâs plan for the world. The conversation felt like it lasted hours.
If someone like him had been a pastor when you still attended this church, maybe you would have been your motherâs perfect little Godly parishioner. You almost shuddered at the thought. You took a sip of tea. It was pretty sugary, but you did not mind that much. âMy mother has been talking to the monsignor about me. Do you know anything about that?â You asked him. He did, his face could not conceal that he knew more than he cared to admit.
Father Jud cleared his throat and ran his fingers through his hair. âYour mother is an eccentric woman. She has a very specific course for your life planned out.â You raised an eyebrow. âA course the Monsignor is excited to help out with, I noticed.â Father Jud coughed. âIâm just here to offer guidance,â He patted your shoulder. âIâm not saying I agree with Wicks and what he is plotting, but I canât stop him.âÂ
A sunray fell through the window and made you look up. The rain had stopped. Your mug, you had noticed, was empty by the time your conversation came to a halt. Father Jud grabbed the, now cold, ceramic out of your hands. âAll I can do is say this: Beware of him, and please look out for yourself.â His cryptic message rang through your head as you got up. You bid him farewell and got out of there.Â
Why must you have gone inside that building? Going to church brought you nothing but trouble. It was best to stay away from the grounds all together. You hurried past the groundskeeper, Samson, as he cleaned the dirt off Prentice's resting place. He gave you an acknowledging nod and you nodded back. He was the sanest man in Chimney Rock, level-headed. At least, since the last time you were here. Father Jud was becoming more and more of a worthy opponent for that title.
You looked at your phone, though a couple hours have passed, you could not risk going home just yet. But what is there to do in a town like Chimney Rock for a girl like you?
Thatâs how you found yourself in an antique shop just off the main road. The store was stuffy and tightly packed with trinkets and junk. You knew the owner to be a decent man. He was very old and most of the antiques had been donated to him by his friends and family who wanted to get rid of their things. You came here sometimes when you were a kid, your mom liked to go in and buy her exotic brand cigarettes from the ownerâs son. You dreaded going in here every time, old-people-stuff bored you to death when you were young. It did not help that every time you used to touch anything, a puff of dust found its way into every orifice in your face.Â
As soon as you entered your teenage years your mother never took you to this store again. You chalked it up to her not wanting to drag you around anymore, but in high school you learned that the ownerâs son got estranged and jailed for illegal substances. The owner came out of retirement to hold down the fort, and ever since then your mother had no reason to come here again.
Now that you were older, you had grown to love objects from the past. You greeted the old man and he smiled back at you with warm eyes. You scoured the shelves that were less cluttered, for your own peace of mind.
A small box caught your eye. Why it captured your attention, you do not know. It was nice looking. Ceramic and adorned with minutely painted flowers and vines. The perfect jewelry box if you ever did see one. You walked around for a long time, passing the shelf every few minutes. Finally you decided to buy it. The old man seemed to be glad to rid himself of the thing. You were glad that he did not care for it.
On the way home you inspected the object. It had a small initial carved into the underside. You smiled. You wondered about the life of the woman who owned this before you. Maybe she was friends with the owner as well, and she needed to pawn this beautiful antique to afford a bus fare out of Chimney Rock. Or maybe she needed to hide something from a man she was about to marry. All these exciting stories twirled in your mind, a woman that, perhaps, was just like you in a way. Would she even still be alive?
You opened the box to see if you were right. Empty. Except for the red velvet lining inside.
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