Hell's Angel: Devil's Backbone (BK 2)

Forgiveness

Alison's POV
(bellamysgirl)

Seems like just yesterday I was standing in this exact same position, tuning out Father Lantom's words, staring at the letters chiseled into stone. But this time I was alone. No guests to feel embarrassed about crying in front of. It's not like I ever stopped anyway. But this time...this time the words in the stone read differently. Frank Castle. An exhale pulled me from my trance like state.

I swiped a tear out from underneath my eye. All it did was leave a smear where another took its place. But at least I felt like I tried. My eyes shifted up. Father Lantom looked solemn, holding his Bible in his crossed hands. "Alison...do you have any words you'd like to share?"

Share? With who? I quickly shook my head. "Alright then," he nodded a little, watching me. "That's all I've got. I could read some scripture, if you'd like?"

"No, no, um...it's okay. I don't think he was very religious." I waved away the offer with a shake of my head, trying to be polite about it. He started toward me, where I stood at the end of the grave. "That's funny. I remember you telling me something like that about yourself when we met at Ben Urich's funeral last year," he recounted, lightheartedly. He came to stand beside me, turning to face the grave.

"Because it was true," I replied, sniffling.

He turned toward me just a bit. "And now?"

"I'm not sure what I believe anymore," I shook my head, casting my eyes down. "Or that I would even be allowed to step foot in a church after what I've done."

He all but scoffed, voicing his opinion on the sentence with his demeanor. "No one else knows but me. Sure, people can gossip, have their own opinion...but that doesn't cast you out. People will always try to tell you who you are and what you should or shouldn't do—I'm even doing it right now. But what you did...was because you've got a strong heart. A good one. I think the church could use a few more people like you, in all honesty."

I almost laughed. Seriously? People like me—the people that kill others, break the law, hide fugitives, aid and abed mass murderers, and lie under oath? Yeah, people like me. Though untrue, the statement had a nice sentiment. "I appreciate the vote of confidence, Father," I sighed.

"But?"

"But...I think I'm too broken to be strong anymore. I don't want to keep going like this, this...desperate, white knuckle grip on the last drop of sanity I might have left only to find out every time that I didn't have any to begin with," I continued, semi-quiet. "I'm just...empty now, and I have no one left. It's back to where this all started and I feel like I'm going crazy."

He was quiet a moment. Then he turned a little more toward me. "I understand you've had some...very tragic losses. But what about what you still have?"

"What do you mean?" I raised an eyebrow.

"Well, you have your son. And your still friends with Matthew, aren't you?"

I hummed quietly, indecisively, and turned back toward the grave. No, Father, I'm not. Would that be too cynical? Probably. Then how to phrase it without being bitter? I inhaled, "I'm keeping my options open with that one. I'm not sure if this is something I can forgive."

"You know, sometimes forgiveness isn't a feeling. It isn't this...magical, mystical revelation of emotion. But it's more of a conscious decision to heal yourself, rather than the other person," he reasoned, calmly. I nodded slowly, taking in the words. He continued, "Sometimes it's a sign, flashing brightly in your face. And other times, you wake up one day and realize you don't want to hurt anymore, and haven't for a long time. It comes from the strangest places. Just keep your mind open."