The Unholy Ones

1:: JAMES BLACK

The man walks into the empty chapel slowly, sauntering down the aisles of pews, lightly dragging his long fingers across the aged wood. His movements are lithe, delicate, and silent, as the sounds disappear into the vaulted ceiling. In the pulpit, a kindly old priest stands, reading from his precious bible.

    The priest looks up briefly, spying the man walking towards him, and notes the way he holds himself: awfully mature, despite his young face.

    "Looks like you just missed the last mass," the priest calls, folding the book with a thud. The man looks up at him, pales eyes piercing through the dim.

    He chuckles lightly. "Actually, Father, I was looking for you," he begins, arrogant voice smooth and suave. "I'm in need of your help. My life is having...." He trails off, waving his hands as he searches for the right word. "Complications, I suppose. I'm looking to confess my sins, if that's alright." He says this with a devious smirk, a flashing in his eye. The priest smiles kindly.

    "Well, I am never one to turn down a voluntary confessional. That would be rude, really, to deny one time with the Lord." He steps back from the altar and gestures to a room just off behind the pulpit. "Come. Is it alright if we talk face to face?"

    "Perfect."

    As the priest turns his back, the man's teeth flash, glinting through the shadowy space. He follows, quietly.

    The priest gestures to an open chair. As the man sits, the priest closes the door, innocently sliding the dead bolt. The man raises an eyebrow, and the priest just smiles. "Don't want anyone to walk in on us, now, would we?"

    "No, Father. That'd ruin the moment."

    "Sitting down across from the young man, the priest takes in his appearance, letting the social stigmas and judgements pass over his head. The man's skin glows in the candlelight, awfully pale. He does not wear a winter coat this frigid January, but simply a leather jacket, a shade that matches his black coif perfectly.

    The priest grins paternally.

    "Let's begin. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, blessed be this man as he looks for the forgiveness of his sins." He takes a breath and looks at the man, who seems to be amused at something. Of course, the priest dismisses it; some laugh when they're nervous. He leans forward, placing a warm hand on the man's knee. "What's your name, son?"

    "James," he says with a nod, glancing down at the hand of the priest. Quickly, the priest leans back into his chair, clearing his throat.

    "James." The priest states it simply, folding his hands. "What do you wish the lord to forgive you for?"

    "Ah, Father, it's a long story. Do you mind my telling it to you?" He draws a leg up onto his lap, relaxing into the chair. The priest nods. "I'm hoping to make a sort of therapy out of this tonight."

    "Many people do," the priest says warmly. "Many find comfort in the warm, all-encompassing love of the Lo--"

    "Yeah, sure, whatever," James interjects, waving him off. The priest frowns. "Anyway. I've decided to only confess a little tonight, to get a portion off of my plate.

    "So, I've recently been told that it's kind of a sin to, well, kill people, and that's really been nagging at me."

    The priest pales, unsure of what he just heard.

    "You-- you didn't come here to play tricks, now, did you, James? To lie to a priest?"

    "Do I look like a liar to you, Father?"

    Falling silent, the priest turns his head to stare at a candle, uncomfortable under the piercing gaze. James continues, undaunted.

    "As I was saying, the fact that killing is bad has really skewed my moral compass. How could something so enjoyable be so... bad?"

    "Excuse me, I--"

    James looks him directly in the eye, his disconcertingly pale stare holding the priest hostage. "Let me speak, Father."

    Opening his mouth to argue, the priest starts to speak, but no sound comes out; his mouth moves though he cannot speak, likely because of James' command. Closing his mouth, the priest's eyes go wide and he straightens in his seat. Slowly, ever so discreet he eases his hand into his robes, hand closing around a bottle of holy water.

    "Very good," James muses, leaning back into his seat, crossing his arms over his chest, thick biceps pushing against his jacket sleeves. "You see, I call myself something of a professional killer. I get a nice snack, and the dealers pay me graciously. Now, I don't know if they're aware of how I... dispose of their target, but hey, a payment is payment. I live for the payday. Maybe I'm a vain glutton, too. Add that to the list of sins here, Father." James grins, running a hand through his hair and flashing a grin. The priest sits stock still, slowly unscrewing the top of his holy water within his robes. James carries on, oblivious.

    "So really, what I'm asking of you here, is... Should I continue to kill indiscriminately, or only take those who really deserve it? The real sinners? The thieves, the rapists, the abusers, the murderers..." He barks a heartless laugh, then fixes his humorous gaze upon the priest, who has yet to move. James waves his hands. "Hello? Can I get an opinion, please?"

    "You're a morbid, cynical, demonic, insa---"

    "Can I get an opinion without morals, please?" James stares deep into the priest's eyes once more, and his eyes go glassy as he opens his mouth to respond.

    "You should use your talents to help the world," the priest chokes out. "Take out those who do not deserve to live in the world of Jesu--"

    "Ah, I knew you had some good advice!" James says, cutting him off. The priest shakes his head, gagging at the words he just spoke. "I think that will do. Thanks for everything, tonight, Father. Really, it means a lot. Touches my heart, all the kindness you have to give." He places a hand on his chest as he stands up. The priest doesn't move, only following with his eyes. "Maybe I'll come back to see you. 'Til next time, Father."

    James stands and turns towards the door, reaching out to unlock the deadbolt as the priest suddenly springs to life. Whipping the bottle of holy water out of his robes, he holds it out in front of him.

    "Begone, foul demon!" He cries. "In the name of the Lord, begone!"

    Without turning, James just drops his shoulders, rolling his head back with a deep, disappointed sigh. "Father, I thought we could get by on good terms, but you've just gone and ruined it." He turns around, looking disappointed, hands hanging at his sides. "Try not to scream." His eyes go dark, and he bares his teeth in a savage grin as he lunges across the room, blindingly quick.

    He grabs the priest around the neck, wrenching his head back. The priest gurgles in protest, then quickly falls still, growing weak. James leans back, tossing the limp priest back into his chair. His head lolls forward, and he mumbles, still lucid. James squats in front of him, dragging a finger along his bloody bottom lip.

    "Tastes a little bitter. Does the Holy Spirit still disapprove of bloodsucking demons?"

    The priest spits weakly. "Begone, you devil!"

    "Alright, Father. But this doesn't mean I didn't like talking to you. Very therapeutic. Same time next week?"

    "I'll never allow you through these doors again!"

    "Unfortunately, it's public property, but I appreciate the threat."

    Standing up, James turns and saunters out of the room. Behind him, he can hear the disgruntled moans of the priest. Ignoring the sounds, the man walks past the fountain of holy water, absentmindedly dipping his fingers in the pool. He crosses himself, and grins.

    "Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned."

Word Count: 1332

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