Father Charlie had been on his own level, but he was a different kind of man. Warm, nice, generous; all things that were in such short supply these days.
“To ask a man what his sins are,” Ezekiel paused, and he was so good at hiding his emotions, wearing a mask, that I couldn’t guess what would come out of his mouth next. “Is a very private matter. It is between a man and his God.”
“I think it’s also between the girl who’s the root of it.”
He leaned forward, towards me, and something danced behind the depths of his eyes. “Do you have sins you’d like to confess to me, Giselle Santos?” My name rolled off his tongue easily, and instantly something inside my gut twisted—and it had nothing to do with the soreness or the low ache from the bullet wound.
I opened my mouth, but no words came out. I hadn’t confessed since Father Charlie. I supposed if there was something to confess, murder might be the top of the cake, the cherry on top of it all.
He must’ve sensed something in me, a change in the air, for he got up and closed the door. Within another second, he was back by me, stare heavy on me. “We are alone. Whenever you’re ready to begin, tell me when your last confession was.”
Swallowing, I found myself whispering, “It’s been… a few weeks since my last confession.” A few weeks? That’s all it had been? It felt like years ago since I’d last heard Father Charlie’s voice in my head as the voice of reason.
“Tell me your sins.” He didn’t call me child, as Father Charlie always did. I supposed that was a good thing; I didn’t want Ezekiel to call me a child, for whatever reason.
“It’s a long story.”
“I have nothing but time for you today. Tell me as much or as little as you are comfortable with, and I will listen without judgment.” Right, because it was never a priest’s place to judge. It was their duty to hand out forgiveness on behalf of their God, to invite the righteous and the repentant to their table.
Tearing my gaze off him, I landed it on the tray before me. I’d eaten everything I would eat; the rest of the food I merely played with, pushed around with the spork. “I was… close to another priest. That cross that you brought back to me? It was his. He got it when he went to Rome for some holy trip.”
That cross waited for me at home, safe and sound. I kind of wished I had it here, so I could hold onto it, feel its cool metal in my hands.
“He… he did so much for me. I don’t know why. Maybe it was because my mother had been part of his congregation before she died, but… he made time for me. No matter what was going on, he always made time. He listened to me. He—” I struggled to push down the emotions welling up inside of me, the pain that threatened to surface as I spoke about Father Charlie. “—he cared about me. I never had anything like that before.”
Ezekiel watched over me, undoubtedly noticing how I struggled internally. “How so?”
“You work with the Hand. You know how men like that are like. My father… I might be his only child, but that never meant he had to love me. I was always a tool to him, something he could groom and mold how he wanted—something he could use however he wanted.”
“And what about your mother?”
“She died when I was young. I don’t remember her at all. My father doesn’t really talk about her much, either. I… I was having a hard time a few years ago, and he mentioned how my mother found peace in religion, so I went. I tried to find a purpose. I ended up finding Father Charlie, and he changed my life.”
“He sounds like a good man.”
“He was.” I smiled, even though tears threatened to spill. I wouldn’t cry in front of him. Hell, I didn’t cry much at all. Three years ago, when I’d lost my will to live; I’d cried then, but now? Now I was too far gone. “I wish there were more men like him out there. The world would be a much different place.”
Ezekiel asked, “How did you end up with his cross?”
“He wore it everywhere, underneath his clothes. It was always on his person, no matter what. One day, I went to the church, wanting to talk to him. The moment I walked into the church, I knew something was wrong. I found him in the confessionals. He’d been shot three times.”
Even at that, Ezekiel hardly reacted. He didn’t even blink at hearing that Father Charlie had been shot, almost like he knew or he’d been expecting the story to turn sour.
“The men who killed him were still there. They were in the back, rifling through stuff, looking for a score.” My eyes were on my hands, and I was slow to set down the spork, imagining them coated in red. Slick, sticky blood. “I took the processional cross and I went to them. They were part of a gang, the Greenback Serpents. They’ve gotten mixed in my father’s business a few times, especially lately. I knew nothing good would come of it, but it didn’t stop me.”
He had to have known the ending to this story, but he still asked, “What did you do, Giselle?”
I inhaled a deep breath, feeling the air fill my lungs completely before letting that same breath go in an exhausted sigh. “I killed them. I killed them, and I didn’t feel bad about it. I didn’t hesitate. I just did it. I killed them, and I took the gold cross off the one who’d taken it from Father Charlie’s body. After everything, I couldn’t leave it.”
It was the first time I’d ever admitted out loud to murder, and Ezekiel didn’t react at all, still. He listened to me, as impartial as ever. If I confessed to murder to Father Charlie, he at least would’ve gasped or looked sad for my eternal soul or some shit. This guy… he almost looked impressed.
“Well? Aren’t you going to say something?” I asked. When he still said nothing, I went on, “Those men that came into your church? They were looking for me because of what I did to their brothers. Their leader is a man named Atlas. No one knows who he is or what he looks like. My father’s been trying to find out his identity forever now, and he’s not any closer to it.”
“If you are truly repentant for what you’ve done, God will forgive you.”
“That’s the thing. I’m not. If I had the choice, I would kill them again. I would kill them a thousand times over, especially if it meant Father Charlie could live.” I smiled softly, but it was mostly to myself. “I don’t care about heaven or hell. I don’t give a shit about an almighty God forgiving my sins. Being a Santos means I live in hell every day.”
“You don’t have to be in hell. You can choose to be happy. I think your priest, Father Charlie, would want you to be happy again.” His gaze dipped to my mouth. “You should smile more often.”