Page 34 of The Sinner and the Gunslinger
If I stand around waiting for Leila, I’ll go nuts wondering where this next week will take us. Will I crumble and fall into old habits? Will Leila hate me? Will we reconcile? Will I come out of this alive? The questions toss around my mind on repeat. Ultimately, I decide to find Cisco and confess as he asked me to, hoping it will alleviate some of the unrest in my soul.
Wes might not trust him at the moment, and to be honest, I’m not sure I do either, but I can always count on him being a good priest. I need the council and know he’ll keep whatever I reveal to himself.
Half expecting not to find him after the morning we had, I’m surprised he’s kneeling on the punishing pew inside the Sin Bin, wearing his purple and black confessional sacramental vestments and white collar. His head is bowed, eyes and brows drawn as he murmurs his prayers.
This morning, he seemed out of sorts when we were brainstorming in the archives. I know he took confession from the Sinners who left for Italy and put it down to that. But maybe it has something to do with his conflicted loyalties and the Vatican.
Candles behind him give the room a soft ambiance. Not wanting to interrupt, I quickly peek to see if a Sinner occupies the wooden confessional next to him. The booth is a beautifully carved antique with three doors. The outside doors are solid, but the middle door reminds me of a swinging saloon door. A light globe in that center cavity is not on, which usually means the priest is not giving the sacrament of reconciliation.
Maybe Cisco is about to start, or he’s finished for the day. Either way, I’m not sure what to do. He seems pretty deep in prayer. Maybe it’s best I find something else to do.
At least I killed a few minutes walking here.
“I thought you had forgotten.” Cisco’s smooth Italian voice echoes through the church.
I can see why they keep the Sinners in this private room rather than out in the public confessional. Anyone walking in would hear all the sordid details of their often illegal sins.
When I don’t respond, Cisco opens an eye, takes in my expression and then opens the other. He makes the sign of the cross and says in Latin, “Nel nome del Padre, e del Figlio, e dello Spirito Santo. Amen.”
He presses his threaded fingers to his forehead and frowns so deeply I think he’ll strain himself, but then sighs and stands. He wipes his palms down his robes, settling the wrinkles, avoiding my gaze.
It’s been a while since I checked in on him or Dom properly. These past few weeks have not been good for our friendships. I see now how self-involved I had been with my illness.
Over the years, we’ve all spent time in close quarters, living in shared houses and learning all sorts of secrets about each other. One thing I’ve learned about Cisco is that he prays when he’s conflicted.
“Are you all right?” I ask, not sure if I should broach the subject, but fuck it, today’s a day for taking risks.
He nods, but I don’t believe him. His lips are pinched ever so slightly at the side. It’s a worry. Who does the priest confess to when he needs guidance? Cisco gestures for me to enter the confessional.
“In there?” I grimace.
“Si,” he replies and widens the door to the room, propping it open with a wooden peg. “I think it is good we treat Sinners and everyone else the same, no?”
“It’s probably a good idea.” Treating people like they’re bad only removes the barrier to doing bad things. Although, I can’t really picture one of the nuns in there, hiding out in the dark closet, knowing a wall of deadly weapons waits just outside.
Maybe I can move them to the workout area where the other weapons are. It will help alleviate any awkwardness the nuns might feel in the confessional. I think these weapons have been blessed, but to be effective against demonic possession, they need sigils carved into the surfaces. Leila is the weapons expert. She needs to learn how to do this.
I’m also Team Saint’s weapons expert. Technically, it’s my job to teach her.
Cisco takes in my intense stare and says, “We don’t have to go in there.”
“I just thought I should carve sigils into the blessed weapons. The Sinners need the extra protection they afford.” Wes started teaching them about the geomancy techniques that form the basis for most of our occult spells, but we’ve all been distracted. And I’ve avoided facing Leila.
The priest’s eyes take me in for a fraction longer than normal.
He nods. “This is a good idea.”
“I should confess first.”
“I can close the doors for privacy.”
I watch him walk to the double entrance doors. His black robes swish gently, but his stride is confident and sure. Always is. He reminds me of myself in this part. Our pasts have trained us to walk with one eye on danger and our muscles coiled to strike. Although it’s been years since he used his body as a weapon, he still keeps himself fighting fit. Being the exorcist means he battles beings with supernatural strength and often for long periods of time.
Definitely fitter than me, despite my daily trips to the gym. My fingers absently reach for the lighter in my pocket. Fuck’s sake. I drag my hand back to my thigh and tap.Don’t think about having a smoke. Don’t do it.
The sound of the big wooden doors closing is like thunder, and I face forward to the sanctuary and altar. The crucifix looks down at me. Blood drips from the wooden effigy’s thorny head in red streaks. Pretty macabre, but it suits the hidden teeth of this place.
Cisco sits on the pew next to me. When his brown eyes meet mine, I see tiredness and hesitate. Adding to his conflict is the last thing I want, but if I head off on this trip with Leila, knowing I’m already on a slippery slope toward a place I don’t like, I might do something stupid like go completely off the rails and say fuck everything.
