Page 8 of Sinister Savior

“You’re hiding something that belongs to us and we want it back, Mario…” He sounds impatient, and I get the point. I’m the “thing” Mario is hiding. I’m what they want. They think I know where their money is, but Tom never told me. I can’t help them.

“Gentlemen, you’re in the house of the Lord. Please put the guns away.” And there it is, Father Clemmons’s voice. Even when he’s beingconfronted by hardened criminals, he is polite and calm. I feel so drawn to that strength and ease, like a lighthouse in a storm. I want to go to him, where I feel safe, but I know it will only escalate the situation. So I remain perched on the bench in the confessional booth, eavesdropping.

“Where is she? You know we’re not here for you. Paolo has some vendetta, which he can sort out on his own. We just have a job to do. Half-mil… That’s a lot of dough, buddy. We can’t let that slide.” The calmer one seems to be the one in charge, doing most of the speaking. I wonder if they’ve put their weapons away like Mario asked.

“Ms. Darling isn’t here, and I believe it was her late husband who took your money. You killed him without securing knowledge of its whereabouts. That’s on you.” Father Clemmons sounds so calm, so self-assured.

“Yeah, well we dealt with that problem now, didn’t we? Or Ms. Darling did. Anyway, we want what we came for, so if you’ll kindly…”

The man’s words are cut short, and all I can hear is a struggle. Things crash around. Men grunt and scream. No guns are fired, but I hear plenty of blows, fists on faces or bodies slamming into things. I tremble and cower, sinking to the floor of the confessional booth before covering my head as the chaos continues. Shouting and cursing fill the air, and finally, the two men leave with a few expletives and a warning to Mario.

“We’ll be back. You can’t hide her.”

Moments later, the door to the confessional booth opens and Father Clemmons—Mario—is there with his hand out toward me. “Let’s get you out of here, okay?” I take his hand and rise, fully trusting that for whatever reason, God-sent or not, this man has my back and wants to protect me.

I just don’t know if he can.

6

MARIO

The alcohol on the cloth stings my lip as Alice hovers over me trying to cleanse the wound. I know we can’t stay here now, but I have a few things to work out before we can leave. My brother’s men, while not actively hostile toward me, aren’t going to return happy, either. They’re going to come with full force to find both of us and root out the money.

“Gosh, they really did a number on your lip. I’m so sorry.” Alice grimaces as she dabs the white cloth to my face, cleaning the blood up and disinfecting it at the same time. She’s so close to me, I can smell her shampoo, feel her breath on my face. It’s been ages since I had a woman so close to me, and this woman, one I’ve found myself so protective over, is doing things to me, stirring feelings I thought I'd permanently shut down.

“Yes, well, they are violent men with evil in their hearts.” It’s getting harder and harder to play the part of the always-pious priest. Confronting those men was only the tip of the iceberg and I know it. I barely held my tongue. There was so much I could have said to put them in their place and scare them off for good, but I knew Alice was listening the whole time.

She diligently serves me. I sort of like it. I like having her so close to me that I can touch her without having to reach out and touch her. Her breasts brush over my shoulder, then she turns away to rinse the cloth. When she turns back, I see the concern etched on her brow. She has confessed to me how guilty she feels for dragging me into this mess with her. I wish I could absolve that guilt so she would relax a little. This is my choice. I want to do this for her, and I won’t stop until she’s safe once and for all.

“It sounded like you might have known those men.” Her statement is neutral, not a question nor an accusation, just a fact. And it’s correct. I do know those men. They work for my brother, but they used to be loyal to me.

Before I left and found my spot in hiding where I wished forevermore to stay, those men were my right-hand men. They were the ones who would’ve stuck by me through thick and thin. They begged me not to go, to work out my differences with my brother, but how could I? The man murdered our father in cold blood just to have his shot at the seat of power.

“God knows all men, Alice. If you believe I spoke to them any differently than I spoke to you, I would caution you to reimagine who God is to you.” Lies… all lies. And I feel guilty. Strange.

I once thought myself a sociopath, incapable of feeling things for others including guilt over my own actions. Over time, wearing the cloth has helped me to see that I can feel things, that I’m capable of mercy, compassion, and even righteous anger. But guilt? Other than my guilt over my past and having killed so many innocent people, I’ve never felt this way. It makes me look inward to examine why I feel guilty for lying to her. Maybe because she trusts me?

It's all going to come out anyway, as soon as they bring their attack. I won’t be able to pass off my abilities as a gut reaction anymore. I’ll be forced to fess up and tell her I used to be one of them.

“There, I think your face is cleaned up. I’d be driving you to the hospital if that wouldn’t raise any red flags, because I’m certain your cheekbone is cracked, if not broken. But I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

I resist the urge to take her by the hips and hold her here longer as she takes a step back, but I do look up at her and smile. She thinks she’s so street smart, hiding our behaviors in plain sight. It’s sweet and innocent, and she has so much to learn, so much for me to teach her in such a short time.

I enjoy this—interacting with real people who have real, complex lives. I enjoy getting to know them and being around them. I don’t want to go back to the life of darkness and crime, where blood is currency and without a rap sheet, no one takes you seriously. But I’m not sure the life I’ve chosen to hide behind is the type of life I can stomach much longer. Being around Alice is awakening things inside me I don’t want to die or remain dormant.

“You are a very thoughtful woman, Alice. Did you care for Tom like this?” My question brings a look of frustration to her face before she turns and places the cloth into the bowl of water and picks it up, carrying it to the sink.

With her back to me, she dumps out the water and rinses the bowl, then leaves them both in the sink. She turns and leans against the countertop and shrugs her shoulders.

“Tom would have what he called ‘accidents’ at work all the time. I know now that they were injuries he sustained while working for the Mob, but back then, I thought he was clumsy.” I see the pain in her eyes and know it was the lies that hurt her, not the job he was doing.

“I’m sorry you went through that.” I push the chair back and stand, and though I want to go to her and hold her, I remember that to her I’m a man of the cloth. A priest. I’m someone she’s supposed to look to for guidance and wisdom, protection even, not sex, not a relationship.

“Yeah, well life deals us all a different hand. I’m sure you’ve been through things. You weren’t always a priest, right?” Now she’s prying, but it’s so gentle I can hardly blame her. She wants to know more about the man behind the mask.

“It’s true, as I’ve said. I lived a much different life before this one, more similar to yours than you may imagine, but this life is my penance for my past. That’s the funny thing about penance—it’s all self-inflicted. We all choose to perform the acts of repentance and reconciliation as a form of recompense for our former actions.”

Alice folds her arms over her chest, and I notice how it deepens her cleavage. That’s where my eyes linger for a moment, and she says nothing, but she watches me watching her. When I meet her gaze again, her lips are flushed dark pink, the way a woman’s lips change when they’re aroused and blood rushes to them.

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