Page 59 of Of Angels & Absolution

“Yes,” he says, scowling at me.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, my tone measured, inviting his confidence.

“I came to see if Mercy wanted to go home for the holiday,” he says. “But that’s stupid. Of course she doesn’t want to spend Christmas with the family that rehomed her like an unwanted puppy. If she wanted to be part of our family, she wouldn’t have fucked us over.”

“Is that really what you imagine happened?” I ask.

He works his jaw back and forth, glowering at me like a petulant child. I know better. I’ve known Saint Soules as long as I’ve known this town. He was one of the first students I worked with individually. I know his story well—and now I know the other side of that story.

“I guess not,” he admits.

“I think you should speak to her,” I say. “Come. I’ll go with you. It’s time you put all this behind you.”

“All of what?” he asks, but he follows me into her dorm.

“This attachment you both have to your shame,” I say, leading him up the stairs.

I meant to visit her alone, to talk with her again, but now another idea is forming in my mind. I remember her words in the church, as she held onto me and let go of everything else, what she said she’d do for me.

Anything.

Maybe it’s time to put her word to the test.

It’s pushing a limit I have no right to push, crossing a line that I can’t go back from. Maybe it’s something I’ve been suppressing too long, longer than this pair has held onto their shame, their lust for each other. Maybe it’s this damned holiday, the memories it brings. But whatever it is, I’ve reached my limit on the topic, and if I need to be a bit more assertive in my mediation, so be it.

I knock on Mercy’s door while Saint stands back, a troubled frown on his brow. After a minute, Mercy opens the door wearing a pair of flannel reindeer pajamas. Her eyes widen when she sees me, lighting up with a joy that should be reserved for kids on Christmas morning.

“Hi!” she says, then sees Saint. Her expression falters, her smile slipping away, replaced by confusion and an edge of suspicion. “What is this?”

“A peace offering,” I say, handing her the loaf, still warm inside its towel.

“Oh,” she says faintly, stepping back. “Thank you. Come in.”

I smile at her politeness, the manners her mother surely instilled in her. She couldn’t tell us to leave after bringing her agift even if she wanted to. And I know that under the hurt and fear, she wants us to be here. To stay, so she’s not alone, however misguided that notion.

“Why are you here?” she asks Saint when we’re inside her cozy little nest of domesticity, and he’s seated in her desk chair. “Shouldn’t you be home for Christmas? The midnight service is tonight.”

“He’s here to clear the air,” I say. “In fact, you both are. As an advisor to you both, I think it’s past time for you to sit down and talk this out. You’re family, and nothing should come between a brother and sister, especially not the anger that is separating you now. I’ve heard both of your confessions. Now I think it’s time for you to confess to each other.”

Saint glances at me and then at Mercy. He swallows, and I can tell this is hard for him. But he’s going to do it. He will obey because I ordered him to.

The familiar swell of power rises inside me, the one that lead me to the priesthood. Holding and protecting people’s darkest secrets, the ones that could destroy them, is its own kind of power. At first, that’s what I was drawn to. But later, I saw the depth of my power. A shepherd not only protects his flock, he guides it. When I don the collar, people obey, sometimes against their baser desires, sometimes giving in to them with relief.

The swell of power I feel when they surrender to me is a high like no other, worth far more than the worldly pleasures I’ve given up as penance for this exultation. I’m playing God, but when they bow down to me, I can’t resist. It’s my one weakness, and if it costs me my eternal soul, then it was never really mine at all. The calm, peaceful radiance of a moment of complete control over another person is the closest a man like me will get to heaven. It’s my nirvana, my absolution, and one day, it will be my undoing.

That’s part of the exhilaration.

“What should I confess?” Mercy asks, looking almost as uneasy as her brother.

“The truth.”

“I… I love you,” she whispers, sinking onto the edge of her bed and facing him. “That’s the truth, Saint. I always loved you.”

He snorts. “Funny way of showing it.”

“I did what I thought was right,” she says. “I told the judge exactly what I saw. Maybe if you’d told me what really happened, I would have understood.”

“I fucked her,” he says. “We all fucked her. Is that what you want to hear?”

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