A Gangster's Gospel

Chapter 3: Sins of the Father

Trigger Warning: Religious Trauma, Violence due to homophobia

Jeremiah laid in bed unmoving as he stared at the ceiling. The squeaking of the fan rotating overhead was drowned out by the blaring alarm of his digital clock.

The bright sunlight was trying to force its way into his dark room as his slightly parted curtains let in a thin stream of light. The light was like a sword, slicing through the darkness of his room, illuminating a small sliver of the space with its dim glow.

Without turning his body or head Jeremiah reached over to his bedside table knocking over some stuff before finding the top of his clock and pressing the small snooze button.

Now with the alarm off, the soft squeaking of the fan filled the room, and his thoughts began to wander.

If we weren't in a church, I'd think you were trying to seduce me rather than save me.

Jeremiah sat straight up in bed. Wincing when the sunlight that was peeking through the curtains got in his eye.

Those words had been floating around in the back of his head ever since that man made his confession.

Jeremiah wasn't even supposed to be at St. Clementia that day.

He was there because Father Abrahim, the head priest, had a bad cold. The older man was afraid of passing it onto others so he stayed home and rested. He asked Jeremiah to come in that day even though it was technically his day off. Or as Father Abrahim likes to say, 'his day of rest'.

The man who confessed to murder seemed to plague Jeremiah's mind. His deep voice, smooth like expensive silk and the light smell of smoke and cherries was enough to have Jeremiah thinking sinful thoughts.

He could tell that the man was tall without ever having seen him. And with a voice like his; the impassive shameless way he confessed, Jeremiah knew that the man was far more dangerous than being a simple killer.

However, there was something that kept nagging at Jeremiah.

Though the man confessed so unemotionally, Jeremiah couldn't help but feel a deep sorrow behind his confession. Like his want for absolution was also his way of asking for forgiveness from not only God but the person whose life he had taken.

Jeremiah wondered if that man knew just how mournful he truly sounded.

After sitting in bed long enough Jeremiah got out and went into the small bathroom connected to his room and got ready for another day of volunteering at St. Clementia.

After showering and fixing his hair Jeremiah donned the standard priest uniform he had to wear at St. Clementia.

It was a black long sleeved, ankle length garment that fit him a bit too snugly at the waist and chest. They didn't have his size at the time, but they also didn't seem to be in a rush to replace it since it's been nearly three years. The garment was similar to a traditional Chinese male hanfu without the flare and intricate patterns.The black sash around his waist was wide and cinched him in a bit, and to finish off the outfit a small cape.

Normally a clerical collar would also be worn but Jeremiah wasn't required to wear one since he was a volunteer priest, not an actual priest.

Underneath he wore plain black slacks, a belt and simple black leather loafers with socks and garters to keep the socks from sliding down.

He looked at himself in the full body mirror behind his bedroom door.

His curls were fluffed neatly atop his head and his undercut needed a little maintenance. The wash and go routine he'd seen on YouTube wasn't a quick simple process but the results were worth the excessive amount of product.