Page 75 of Unholy Obsession

But with Moira, it’s always hard to tell unless I’m face-to-face with her. It’s still so new between us that every hour I’m away from her, I feel the ache of absence. The shadow of where she’s not, haunting me. Making me restless until I settle eyes on her again.

I straighten my shoulders, tugging at the stole until it sits just right over my shoulders. The weight of it feels so right.

This will be the second-to-last service I ever perform. The thought feels like both a release and a noose tightening around my neck.

Will Bane without Father Blackwood still be merciful? Still be kind? Still live by the rule ofthe last shall be first, and the first, last?

Another glance through the sacristy door shows a full church. Pews always swell for this service. Friends and family are in town for the holidays, and the solemn candlelight service may be the one time a year some step foot in a holy place like this.

I have a duty to them and the Lord to feed their spirits, regardless of how restless my own is.

I breathe in.

I breathe out.

I allow a moment of stillness to empty myself.

How quickly I’ve forgotten the lessons of surrender.

I bow my head.

Not my will but thine.

And then I step through the door out onto the altar. The glow of candles cast long shadows against the aged, wooden walls.

The congregation rises, their faces lifted in expectation. I meet their gaze, one by one, anchoring myself in the ritual and the sacred duty that has defined me for so long.

Not my will but thine.

I begin the service, my voice steady even as my heart feels like it’s trying to claw its way out of my chest. The words are muscle memory now—prayers etched so deeply, surely they’re in the marrow of my bones by now.

“In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit…”

The congregation responds, their voices a chorus that rises and falls like waves against the shore.

I deliver the readings, my voice echoing in the vast space. Scripture is a connection to faithful people throughout time and space. I close my eyes as I recite familiar words about peace and hope like well-worn grooves worn by tongues throughout the centuries.

This is all so much bigger than me, than us, here in this church that is just one tiny node among millions all over the globe celebrating hope and peace tonight. It’s called peace that surpasses all understanding.

So maybe it’s all right if I don’t understand how it will all work out.

Maybe it’s all right if, for once, for fucking once, I let go of my iron control.

Over and over, I glimpse that control is an illusion. But over and over, I clamber to grasp even tighter for the reins.

As if the dark thing inside me will ever be tamed.

I’m a fool.

It’s right that I put an end to this pious farce.

My impulse to run as far from my father might have been the right one, but I had no right to throw myself into a holy vocation that would make me a leader for anyone to follow.

I’ve learned nothing.

I ought to have been paying penance, not putting on white robes and standing up front with all eyes on me.

I was such an egotistical fool not to see the difference.

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