Sinners and saints (Radiodust saint au)

✧*̥˚Chapter Five*̥˚✧

The disappearance of Deacon William was met with little suspicion on anyone's part. Father Alastor had been with the parish long enough to see a handful of other deacons and priests come and go with only himself and Father Ellis as the constants for three years now. A sudden departure was not the first either had seen, especially after Sister Margaret had her nervous breakdown weeks earlier.

That fact aside, however, the other two remaining clergy began to notice something almost miraculous.

Angelo began venturing down into the chapel more often, almost following Father Alastor like a little blond sheep, paying some attention to what the priest was doing with a modicum of interest. Asking questions. Reading what Father Alastor gave to him.

Behaving.

Angelo didn't sass out Sister Myrtle anymore, nor did he make lewd remarks to either Father Alastor or Father Ellis. He kept mostly to himself, speaking primarily to Father Alastor when needing to.

Sister Myrtle praised it as a miracle.

Father Ellis was stern as always, but his eyes held a softness as he gave Father Alastor his blessing in taking on Angelo's case with enough dedication to bring some change in the boy.

Father Alastor took no praise, little blessing. His health hadn't improved much since his short bout of the flu, especially with his fasting and late-night prayers and contemplation concerning his demon.

Angelo spoke of his own, of an angelic whore demon that attracted men to him whether he wanted it or not. It made Father Alastor wish so devoutly that an exorcism would end it once and for all, but the two Angelo had already subjected himself to proved it would be for naught. It gave the cold impression that Angelo wasn't simply possessed by a whore demon. Angelo WAS a whore demon.

And that put an even heavier weight of realization on his own shoulders.

That beast, that DEMON inside of himself that roared with hunger and blood. That beast that had been with him since he could remember. The realization that it was not a punishment of Hell, not a possession, but himself. It was all himself.

Father Alastor had thrown himself prostrate at the outside altar, breathless with sobbing as he prayed for forgiveness, healing, to be changed from this foul creature he'd been born as. Sometimes Angelo would sit close by to watch, never saying anything unless spoken to.

"Isn't il Cristo supposed t' listen to th' children?" Angelo asked at some point, hugging his knees to his chest. "Or is that just th' ones who were born normally?" He wiped at his eyes. "...y'think I haven't prayed about it? That I didn't ask 'why me'? I was born th' same way as my twin sister. We were baptized th' same day. Took communion th' same way. So why did I end up like this?"

Father Alastor sat next to him, his ever-present smile weary. "...I don't know," he said. "Since my youth, I've endeavored for nothing but the Lord's service. And yet here I am. With this...THING still inside of me."

Angelo hugged his knees tighter. "...y' don't feel anything?" he asked. "It don't feel weird or uncomfortable sayin' prayers or any o' that, even with it inside you?"

"...no," Father Alastor replied, sounding somewhat intrigued by the fact himself. "It never did. I always felt that what I was doing was RIGHT. Although..." His eyes darkened. "...nothing is truly 'right' about slaying men -"

"They deserved it," Angelo said harshly. "They wouldn't have stopped. And they wouldn't have stopped with ME. At least I'm able to ENJOY it in some sick way." His nails dug into his arms, his blue eyes almost black. "I'da killed him myself if I could'a gotten away with it."