Page 64 of Heathens
“I'll be back after mass,“ he practically purrs, leaning forward and kissing me on the forehead.
And then he leaves me in the red darkroom—shaking, satisfied, and just as perplexed as he looked.
Plotting Your Downfall
Salem
Present
I recite the Lord's Prayer with about as much vigor as a prisoner sentenced to death reciting his last rites. Father Monsignor is jolly, bouncing and perturbingly bemused all day—his usual self. The only indication I get that last night happened is when, as I'm preparing to leave for the night, he narrows his eyes at me from the door of my office.
“Our train to Monaco leaves on Monday morning at nine o’clock. Gare de Lyon.” He ends the sentence like a question—making sure I am still able and willing to do his goddamn dirty work.
“Okay.“ I turn to leave, phone in hand, but then think better of it. An idea forms in my mind. I quickly tap a few buttons and place it in my back pocket. Swiveling back around, I open my mouth a few times, trying to figure out how to phrase my question. “Father, do you... lust is a cardinal sin,“ I say, keeping my voice inquisitive. Ever the student. “This... vocation... that you're a part of... do you ever commit those kinds of sins? The ones of a carnal nature?“
Father Monsignor only gives me a small, sad smile.The bastard.“I do, and often.“ My eyes widen—both from surprise and disgust. Before I can reply, he continues. “God has entrusted me with this, Salem. I was not a priest most of my life, and therefore my needs are greater than most. I can assure you. I repent for my sins. And, I believe that release, as carnal as it may be, makes me a better priest. I am more patient. More understanding.“
I bite my tongue, tasting blood. I could rip his throat out with my teeth. He doesn’t even understand what it means to be a priest. I always thought he was unencumbered in a way. Strangely so, at times. Turns out, he was getting his rocks off with unsuspecting, kidnapped woman. Girls who didn’t know any better. Swallowing the vomit that’s threatening to work its way up my esophagus, I close my eyes and try not to think of the man I looked up to... forcing himself on women. “I see. And how long have you...” I shake my head. “Forgive me. I am merely curious. It’s none of my business.”
“Salem, you are one of the only people I can trust,” Father Monsignor murmurs.You shouldn’t,I think.I am plotting your downfall.“I know all of this makes me seem like a monster, but I didn’t enter priesthood solely to sell young, impressionable women to the highest bidder. Like you, my predecessor asked me to turn the other way. And, the money was nice. Eventually, I began to crave the power. The money. The women. You know as well as anyone that this profession doesn’t exactly pay well.”
“I see,” I mutter, trying to hide the bitterness in my voice.
“Parts of the world are war-torn, Salem. The refugees that come to the church... we can help them.”
“Help them?” How can you be helping them?
“We show them how God can heal their wandering souls.”
I open my mouth to respond, utterly shocked. He thinks—actually, legitimatelybelieves—he’s helping these girls. And by doing so, he believes that he’s still a man of God. That he’s a good priest.
“I suppose God has a plan for everything.” I give him a lazy smile, and Father Monsignor meets my grin with one of his own, just as a plan begins to form in my mind.
He thinks I’m talking about the girls.
He has no idea I’m planning to take him down, and if I had to guess, God is on my side this time around.
Evidence.
Every crime needs evidence.
I slide my finger across my phone screen and smile.
* * *
An hour later, I'm knocking on Felix and Henry's apartment door in Montmartre. Henry pulls the door open, and a look of surprise crosses his face. He's wearing a short, turquoise robe, and he has some sort of avocado green face mask on. I look at my watch sheepishly. I hadn't realized how late it was—past ten.
“Salem, what a lovely surprise!” he says in French, pulling me into a tight hug. Felix trots over to us wearing an apron, sweats, and a t-shirt, holding a spoon of what looks like batter.
“We were just making brownies,” Felix says warmly, pulling me inside and kissing both of my cheeks. Though Killian and I are technically closer in age, Felix and I have always gotten along better.
I smile. “Thanks. I actually can’t stay. I need to borrow a dress.”
* * *
Rosemary’s chair is empty, and Lily’s door is open when I push it open later that night. I make a mental note to remind her to lock it, especially when I’m gone. I hang the gown on the door frame of the bathroom and find Lily sleeping on the couch with a book on her chest, Jekyll lounging by the side of her head. Smiling, I take the book and set it on the coffee table, and lay a blanket over her.
Peaceful—she looks so peaceful when she sleeps. Like the demons that thrash through her when she's conscious are also sleeping. Glancing at the book, I almost laugh when I see it's the Bible. Just that gesture alone tears at my heart, makes me want to wake her up and extol her for everything she is to me. For everything she doesforme. But I don't. Instead, I make myself a quick dinner and pick up one of the romance novels she has lying around, settling into the lounge chair across from the couch. A couple of rolled up newspapers—Le Monde—lay by the front door. I suppose she’s stopped checking the obituary every day. Jekyll hops up and curls on my lap, purring loudly.
