Page 1 of Taken By Sin

ONE

SIN DONATI

The last thing I wanted to do on a gloomy Sunday afternoon was make the drive to this place for a tax deduction, yet here I am, arriving at Saint Mary's Orphanage.

The uneven cobblestones, slick with damp moss, wind their way up the driveway to a towering cathedral. I imagine that as soon as I exit my car, the plants will withdraw from the stones and sink back into the earth. But they don't. Instead, they crumble to dust under my Oxfords.

I'm not usually captivated by things, but the architecture of the old building momentarily holds my attention. My gaze sweeps over the statues perched atop the stone spires in awe.

It's a true cathedral, one featuring striking Gothic design with weathered stone that rises to form twisting columns. The rain lightly tapping against the structure compliments the somber atmosphere.

Three nuns stand outside, their bodies concealed by heavy black cloaks and damp umbrellas shielding them. If they wereaware of my thoughts, they might refuse the donation I'm offering.

Nonetheless, I inhale from my cigarette, letting the smoke obscure my face from their sight.

The first nun is all bubbly personality, my worst nightmare. There is no reason anyone should be this happy. "Hello, Mr. Donati!" They meet me with smiles.

I greet them with a nod just as a crack of thunder crashes overhead. The woman to my right jumps a little.

The third nun cautiously reaches out her hand. She appears older and wiser, maintaining a curious distance. The woman next to her stays silent, her head bowed. "We'd appreciate it if you'd come inside so we can show you how your donation will be used."

Her words are deceptive. I can sense their gratitude, but she would prefer I stay far, far away from her cherished orphanage.

I should roll up my sleeves, showcase the ink that scorns my skin. Maybe they wouldn't want me to come inside after that. But it's money we're talking about here, and they live on the outskirts of the city; they know where this comes from. No one is safe from the greed that follows cash.

"Fine. Let's get to it." I shrug, stubbing out the flame with my leather sole, its sizzle mimicking the rain.

They seem partially taken aback by my attitude, but what do you expect from women who've never gotten laid, who've never had the hands of a man on them?

No one to ever put them in place but their God. I nearly scoff to myself.

I would tell them that I don't give a fuck wherethe money goes so long as it doesn't go to the feds. My accountant called and told me how much I needed to give to charity so I wouldn't owe anything.

That's where I'm at. I just need to get that little slip of red paper, the one showcasing the donation.

The trickle of rain grows heavier as I follow them to the stone entryway. It’s possible the angels are sending a batch of holy water down on me before entering.

Will I erupt into a blazing inferno the moment I step through?

Maybe I need to.

Given all the malevolent acts I've committed, the lives I've taken, and the destruction I've caused, my soul is consumed by greed and gluttony. Maybe I should seek redemption. However, indulging in sin feels far more exhilarating than embracing grace.

TWO

SIN

Massive mahogany doors, towering ten feet high, swing open to reveal two lines of girls, spanning from toddlers to teenagers, flanking the entrance.

As I step inside, their eyes follow me with apprehension. My leather shoes tread over the timeless marble floors. I brush the soles against the welcome mat to shake off water from the rain.

"Here, sir!" One of the girls hurries over, taking my matte black blazer.

The older nun makes it her mission to keep eyes on me, sliding in beside my steps as I walk down the foyer. She's surely getting me away from the children. Fine by me; the only children in this world I tolerate are my little cousins in Italy.

I nod appreciatively, skimming my gaze along the dark wooden trim. Places aren’t built like this anymore; nowadays, the same shit is thrown up that will never last, but this kind of engineering exceeds far past the creator’s lifetime.

You could hear a pin drop in here, deafening silence stretches out. Uninviting me.

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