Absolution- A Divine: The Series Fan Fiction
Set as the screen goes black in Episode 6.
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Deacon Jim swung his legs around and rested his head in his hands as he tried to catch his breath. The dreams were worse now; longer and more violent, he thought as he ran his hands through his hair a few times. He closed his eyes as he folded his hands and rested them before his lips, softly praying. "Saint Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle, be our protection against the malice and snares of the devil." Deacon Jim's voice got stronger as he continued, as if a weight was being lifted from his shoulders. "May god rebuke him we humbly pray and do thou, O prince of the Heavenly host, by the power of God, thrust into Hell Satan and all evils spirits who wander through the world for the ruin of souls. Amen." He opened his eyes and glanced at the weak sunlight that filtered through the windows. He carefully set aside the afghan as he grabbed his cane and got to his feet. Deacon Jim made his way to the small kitchenette and started to heat up a kettle of water. He didn't know how much longer he could do this. How long he could fight for good without someone to help him care for Divine without questioning it.
Deacon Jim was startled by the whistle of the tea kettle as it interrupted his thoughts and held his hand to his chest for a moment. He sighed as he turned off the stove and then fished through the cabinets until he found a box of teabags. He had just grabbed a mug when Father Andrew burst into the room. "Deacon, I must speak with you," Father Andrew said in a shaky voice, his hands mottled as they gripped his bible tightly. "Of course, Father. Please, have a seat," Deacon Jim said as he motioned at the small Formica table with two chairs that was nestled in the corner. Father Andrew sat down, clutching his bible to his stomach. Deacon Jim grabbed another mug and made tea for both of them before he sat down across from Father Andrew. "Here, drink this," he said and nudged the mug towards the other man. Father Andrew stared at it and shook his head, "No, thank you." Deacon Jim took a sip of his tea and then kept his hands around the warm mug. "Did something happen, Father," he finally asked.
Father Andrew laughed unsteadily as he raised his gaze to meet Deacon Jim's. "I had confessional today," he said and Deacon Jim nodded. Father Andrew stared at the older man as he said in a low voice, "Divine was there." "Yes, he usually feels the need to confess after he has one of his...episodes," Deacon Jim said. Father Andrew sat back and stared at him. "You have no problem with listening to him," he asked, stunned. Deacon Jim shook his head with a wry smile, "I've been doing this longer than you've been alive, Father. Very little shakes me." Even as the words came from his mouth he could feel fingers tightening around his throat but dismissed it as just part of the dream. He was exhausted after Divine's last healing and really needed more sleep. Deacon Jim watched Father Andrew as he ranted about Divine and what happened and he remembered when Father Christopher was still here.
~~~
Father Christopher sighed as he slid his sleeve back and looked down at his watch. It was almost six which meant he could stop hearing confessions and finally get something to eat. "Father," a male voice said and he turned his attention back to the young man who had just finished making his confession. "I absolve you of your sins," Father Christopher said. "I want you to say five novenas as penitence." "Yes, thank you Father. God bless you." "And you," Father Christopher replied. The small door that covered over the lattice slid closed as the young man left. Father Christopher took off the stole around his neck, folding it carefully before he stood up. Suddenly there was the sound of the confessional's curtain being closed and he rolled his eyes. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy tending to his congregation here, but there were some things that Deacon Jim should have been able to handle himself.
Father Christopher sat back down, placing the stole around his neck and waited. Some people took a little time to work up their courage to speak but by now everyone knew him and should have been comfortable enough to just begin. He was about to say something when the door slid back with a sharp crack and he jumped a little. A raspy female voice filled the confessional in a low tone as she said, "Bless me Father, for I am sin." Father Christopher glanced at the lattice but the woman was sitting far enough away that he couldn't make her out. The unfamiliar voice and that phrasing caused a cold chill to shiver down his spine. He cleared his throat before he said, " You are being to harsh on yourself. We are all sinners in God's eyes, but he offers us absolution through confession. You are not your sin even though you do commit them." The woman chuckled before she spoke again. "Do you really think that wrapping yourself in those vestments, taking on a name with his in it would save you from me? Christo-pher?"
Father Christopher ran his fingers under his collar, loosening it a bit as fear started to slowly creep in. "We're not here to talk about me," he said. "We're here to help you become closer to God." The woman laughed again. "I have been far from God for way too long for a few words and a rosary or two to fix that," she replied. "That's not true. God will not turn his face away from you if you repent with an open heart," Father Christopher said shakily. "That kernel of doubt. That question of is this the right thing to do? That was me," she said, her voice getting lower but more intense. "I did everything to give you the ability to not be blindly lead like lambs to the slaughter but day after day you willing go," she said disgustedly. "I wanted you to have choice, to have what we didn't and now I wonder if it was ever worth it." Father Christopher grabbed the bible that sat next to him as he stared at the lattice, frozen with fear.
"You will join us, Christopher. You cannot save yourself because your destiny was set long before you were born and we? We are many. So I say it again. Bless me Father, for I. Am. Sin." Father Christopher's nerve finally broke and he erupted from the confessional. He ripped open the other curtain, prepared to give whoever it was a piece of his mind. He stared at the empty seat and the bible fell to the floor from his numb hands. He turned and looked around at the makeshift pews to find the young man who he had spoken to earlier, staring at him, his hands folded in prayer. "Where did she go," Father Christopher asked and the young man frowned at him. "Where did who go, Father?" "The woman.The woman who came in after you," Father Christopher demanded. "Father, no one else has come in here," the young man said as Father Christopher strode towards him.
Father Christopher grabbed him by the front of his shirt and stared him in the eyes. "Swear to me, swear to me that you're not lying because if this is some sort of sick joke," Father Christopher spat as he stared into the young man's eyes. "Father," Deacon Jim called out as he stepped into the East Side Rescue Mission with a few bags of groceries. "Father what are you doing?" Father Christopher shook the young man, "SWEAR IT!" "Father!"
~~~
"Deacon," Father Andrew said and reached out, grabbing Deacon Jim's arm. Deacon Jim stared blankly for a moment before he shook his head a few times to clear it. He looked back at Father Andrew and said, "I'm sorry, Father, what were you saying?" "I can't do confessional anymore," Father Andrew replied quietly. "But this is a part of our job, to help alleviate the burden of sin that taints our flock," Deacon Jim said and Father Andrew stood. "There are some duties I think would be better suited for you. I will not do that again," Father Andrew commanded as he walked out of the room. Deacon Jim cursed inside his head as he wondered how long he had to keep Father Andrew from turning. He would not lose another man of cloth to the darkness. Deacon Jim lifted his mug and took a sip, grimacing at the taste of cold tea and grabbed his cane to help steady himself. He'd find a way to save Andrew, come Hell or high water. As he poured it down the drain he had the sinking feeling that Hell was already here.