Chapter Text
Father Greg Davies checked every door, before heading outside and lighting a cigarette. The night air was hot, a rarity in Chesham. It was the peak of summer and he never had so many people visit the church, looking for a cool place, mostly. God came as an afterthought. He didn’t blame them. As time went on, he too had trouble believing in God. But it didn’t really matter. As long as he was helping people, he did his part.
He puffed a cloud of smoke, his eyes wandering on the notice boards. It was meant to be used solely for religious communication, but lately the people had taken some liberty with it and it was mostly pictures of missing cats and dogs with numbers to call if seen. It made him a bit sad, knowing that these furry little cute beings had probably found their way to heaven sooner than intended and away from their humans. He hadn’t realized how frequent animals disappeared and he probably would have been better off not thinking about that.
He averted his eyes, looking up at the sun disappearing behind a ray of clouds instead.
It was a Tuesday night. One of his two free nights of the week. On Mondays he was teaching middle schoolers at a nearby Catholic academy. He hated it. Kids forced by their parents to attend two hours of religious class after school, he could tell that not one soul in the room was happy to be there. Himself included.
On Wednesdays and Fridays, he organized food distribution. More often than not, other volunteers would come and help him cook in the afternoon. Some of them he liked. Some of them he didn’t hate. Because hate was a sin.
On Thursdays it was confession time, it was usually quiet but he dutifully waited for any lost sheep all afternoon.
Saturdays nights were dedicated to the choir. Technically, he wasn’t the one in charge of that bit. It was Mathew’s cross to bear. Mathew was the kind of guy who was always smiling and encouraging. A good lad all in all who was very eager to learn and teach new songs to anyone interested. Sometimes, the said songs were only loosely related to God, Jesus and all the Big People, but Reverend Davies did not mind. What he did mind was the way children, and sometimes adults, would treat Mat' if he wasn’t around to keep things under control since the young man was too nice to scold anyone. So every Saturday night, Greg made sure to be seen around, doing the cleaning or other menial tasks to encourage kids and grown-ups to behave and not give Mathew too much trouble. Of course, Mathew had never figured him out and Reverend Davies liked it better that way.
That left him Tuesdays and Sundays. On Sundays he was too tired by all the lecturing, praying and talking with the community to enjoy the free time. Hence his love for Tuesday nights. Also, it was the night he allowed himself a weekly fag and a sip of whisky.
However, it was too hot for this night to be a good night. Cassocks weren’t made for global warming weather. God didn’t see that coming, apparently. Sweat was dripping on his white collar and he fought the urge to tear it off and let himself breathe.
Not now, not right outside the church where any parishioner could see him. It wasn’t like many of them were around enjoying the moist air, but you never knew with them sneaky little bastards. He could wait five minutes to go up the road and get home. He wasn’t that desperate.
In winter, he would stay here longer, gazing at the stars, wondering what was really going on up there while enjoying the sight.
That was one of the few perks of having been sent to a small town. The rest was shit. He had never heard of Chesham before ending up in this pretty nice place. In a month, everyone knew him. It wasn’t London any more, where he had been trained. He couldn’t just slip out of his priest role whenever he liked and blend in. Now he was committed. People expected something from him, and he had to deliver.
In a sense it was good. It forced him to not let himself go. Maybe it was a blessing in disguise. But God did he long for a night out as simply Greg, getting drunk, forgetting about everything and waking up with regrets and a renewed faith.
He put away the cigarette butt in the little round case he was carrying especially to this effect and headed home. At least, there, he could take that bloody collar off.
The stench hit him first. It took him a moment to place it before realizing it was the all too familiar reek of homelessness. Churches in big cities all had their bums wandering about. And Greg used to walk around the city to handover food to those who needed, so beggars were his common crowd. Or used to be, because it was the first time one found his way to the Christ Church of Chesham.
The sun had already set, but there was still enough light for the priest to clearly see the man dressed in rags gripping at the small garden gate at the bottom of the stairs leading to the church front yard. He looked… unwell.
“Hello, Sir. I’m sorry, the church is closed for now, but I can offer you some food and a place to stay for tonight.”
The stranger didn’t reply. As Greg came closer, he felt a sort of unease. Even if Greg was taller than him, because Greg towered over everyone anyway, the man was bigger than average but stood hunched. His beard was overgrown and messy, eating at his face unevenly. He was wearing a pair of hideous sunglasses that he had probably found in a grandmother’s bin and the rest of his clothes were filthy but pretty regular, considering the usual style adopted by homeless people which consisted in wearing everything they could get their hands on at the same time since they had nowhere to stow them. The jumper, which was a bold choice considering the weather, had probably been pink at some point, with a cartoon character smiling on it. It was ripped in several places revealing the second most unsettling things about this man. He was white.
But not the plain British whiteness of someone who’s never seen the sun. He was postmortem lividity white.
And it wasn’t the most unsettling thing, because the most upsetting thing was that he was covered in blood stains. Old, fresh, big, small, there was blood in his beard, on his jumper, on his hands, on his trousers… everywhere.
“I’ve got to get him to a hospital.” Greg thought. “Or to the police. Or both.”
He took a few careful steps.
“Sir?” he asked again.
The man looked up, as if finally noticing him.
“Oh… Hello. Are you a priest, by any chance?”
His voice was surprisingly soft and his accent sounded posh. Properly posh. Drug addict, thought Greg. Son of a rich family who spiralled into addiction and got fucked by life. That explained the shades and could explain the blood: substance abusers weren’t keen on bright lights and hurt themselves on the regular without even noticing.
He had dealt with his share of them and they often meant trouble. Though, they were usually younger. In their late twenties or thirties… their life expectancy was dramatically low and it was quite a miracle that this one had managed to get to… his fifties? Probably more like late forties but the beard didn’t help.
“Do I look like a priest?” Greg asked, biting his tongue afterward.
The man was clearly high as a kite and in no condition to understand the joke. He could have dropped the sarcasm for a minute.
“I’m… I’m not sure. I can’t see very well.”
Oh. Shit. The sunglasses could mean something else entirely. Did he just fuck around with a blind hobo? He was definitely going to hell after that. Not that he had any hope of getting to heaven anyway.
“Sorry, priests are not famous for their sense of humour. I should stop trying. I am indeed a priest.”
He was now standing two stairs away from him. For some reason, he didn’t like the idea of getting closer. The man’s knuckles were even whiter than the rest of him, clutching around the black metal bars, as if he was afraid that someone would tear him away from it.
“That’s… that’s great. I… I do need a priest.”
The man paused before every word, as if trying to remember how to speak. Greg was reminded of some dark and lonely nights when he was too drunk to form a coherent sentence. Not a good recollection.
“With all due respect, Sir, what you need right now is a doctor. I can call a friend of the church to come and take a look at you, for free, of course.”
Greg knew better than to talk about hospitals. Big institutions always scared away people who had rejected, or been rejected by, society.
“No… thank you. That’s very kind, sir. Huh… Father… I’m… I’m dead already, I just need some help… you know, to get to the other side…”
“Oh, do you?”
Greg was almost sure that the man was gonna collapse and hurt himself on the spikes on top of the little gate. It occurred to him that putting spikes there wasn’t a very wise thing.
He forced himself to take one more step.
The man jerked backward, still holding on to the gate, his arms stretched.
“Huh… please… can you not get too close?”
Greg took a step back and nodded. He could be intimidating.
“Alright, what about here? Is this fine?”
“Yes… thank you… it’s… you see… the smell.”
The smell? Greg’s smell? Or was the man aware of his own filthiness to some extent? Hard to say. It wasn’t like he was making much sense anyway until now.
“Good. So, what is the matter, Sir?”
“Well… You see… I… I was in an accident… And I died… But I didn’t… I’m still here… I can’t seem to go away… I tried many times. It doesn’t work.”
Greg licked his lips, thinking. Death was quite common in his line of work. People wanting to die as well. And people failing to die, too.
“Just to be clear, we’re talking about suicide?” he asked evenly.
“No… Yes? I don’t know… It’s… I don’t know. It’s just putting things right. I’m sorry, Father… It’s hard to think. My head hurts…”
“It’s okay. In your own time. And you can drop the Father, I’m Greg.”
Talking. That was most of his work. Listening to people, get them to calm down, to speak, gaining their trust and helping them. He was not a natural at that, but he had learned.
“Oh, nice to meet you. I’m Alex.”
“Nice to meet you, Alex. There’s a nice bench, up there in the garden. We could have a sit and talk about your issues if you’d like.”
Alex seemed to consider this for a moment.
“I don’t know if I can.” He said.
“Well, as it happens, I’m the boss around here so I can…”
“No…” Alex interrupted. “It’s… it’s dangerous.”
“Dangerous?” Greg echoed.
“Yes… because… of the smell… and my… huh… demon?”
Greg wasn’t that surprised. People with mental illnesses who tried to rationalize what was happening to them by invoking the devil was common, be it bipolarity, schizophrenia and all the likes. He didn’t blame them, they needed an explanation and when they didn’t find one, they made their own. Sometimes it was easier to think yourself possessed rather than to acknowledge that your brain was simply not working like everyone expected it to.
“A demon, eh? Want to tell me more about it, Alex? See if I can help?”
“Huh… It’s just. It’s bad. And it won’t let me die.”
That was a first. Usually, with suicidal people, the “demon” was the one telling them to kill themselves, it was never the one keeping them alive. That was going to be a long talk.
“I’m just going to sit down on this step if that’s okay with you, Alex? I’m an old man and my knees are not what they used to be.”
“Oh, yes… sorry about the bench. It’s… you know…”
“Yes, dangerous.” Greg finished.
A hint of a smile bent Alex’s lips. The smile of someone who isn’t used to people taking them seriously any more who’s just happy to be properly listened to for once. Greg allowed himself an encouraging grin.
“Yes, dangerous.” Alex repeated.
“So, Alex. You want me to help you with that demon?”
“Huh… Yes? But… you just need to help me die, and he’ll go away. I think.”
“So, you want me to kill you?” Greg clarified.
“Yes. That would be… huh, very kind, Father.”
“Greg.” Greg automatically corrected.
“Sorry. Greg.”
Greg rubbed his eyes behind his glasses. Well, that was an unexpected request. Who said being a priest was boring.
“Alex, you do realize that ‘Thou shalt not kill’ is one of the main rules? The main rules of my occupation, I mean.”
“But… Since I’m already dead, it’s… different? No?”
“I’m sorry, I forgot about that part. Care to tell me how you died?”
“I… huh… It was night. I was walking the dog… It was raining… And then there was a car. It was going too fast for that road, the car. I called her back, my dog… it was too late. So I jumped in front of it. Of the car, I mean. It didn’t hurt. It was just… I knew I was gone, that’s all.”
Greg would have liked to see his eyes. After all, eyes were the mirror of the soul. But if Alex was indeed visually impaired, he couldn’t ask him to take his glasses off, could he.
“And… you came back?” he probed.
“Yes… I… Well, I just… The demon woke me up. I think.”
“Okay… So the demon took over your body?” Greg ventured.
Sweat was dripping on his forehead, and he found himself fidgeting with his collar. He craved another cigarette but managed to fight the urge. Instead he focused his attention on the poor lad. Dying and coming back to life was quite a typical event in the religious business, he had experienced it first hand. Of course it messed with the brain and some people lost their marbles after that, but for some reason he had hopes for Alex. He looked way out of it but not out of reach, with time he could maybe bring him back to normalcy, whatever that was.
“Huh…” Alex hesitated. “A bit… I can still… I have some control. But he wants me to do bad things. Very bad things.”
“Bad things?”
Alex simply nodded slowly, swaying a bit.
“Very bad things.” He repeated in a whisper.
“Can you tell me what kind of bad things?” Greg asked.
A pause.
“Very… very bad things.” Alex simply echoed.
“Alex?”
“Very bad things.”
“Alex, do you want exorcism?” Greg offered, trying to pull him out of his new mantra.
“Bad things… I… don’t want to do them, though.”
Greg didn’t reply. It was no use. Alex had clearly gone too far. He would probably come back on his own. He just had to wait it out. He wouldn’t have minded if it wasn’t for the heat.
“I don’t like it… hurting people. It’s bad.”
“It is bad.” Greg agreed.
“But, it’s… you know… the smell.”
“So… the smell is dangerous?”
“Yes… It’s so strong… No, thank you.”
“Thank you for what?” Greg enquired.
“I don’t want an exorcism, Father Greg. It’s too dangerous. Please, don’t.”
“Alright, Alex. No exorcism. How about a bit of food and rest then?”
Alex’s whole body tensed. His hands gripping even harder. He shook his head.
“I can’t… I… No. It’s bad. I can’t. Bad. Bad things.”
Great. Greg had agitated him. Precisely the opposite of what he wanted to do.
“Alex, I’m not going to do anything you don’t want to. I’m just trying to help you out. You can always turn my offers down, I won’t mind, priests have thick skin.”
“Do they? I’ve never touched a priest…”
Wow. Where did that came from? Alex’s grin metamorphosed him. It was a glimpse of what he might have been like before… whatever had happened to him. A middle-aged man, who liked puns, who probably had a wife, a family and a steady job. It was uncanny.
Greg felt like he had to hold this Alex here and tried to keep the banter going.
“Well, not surprising, we rarely are the hugging type.”
“I’m not the hugging type.” Alex pointed out mechanically.
And then his smile faded and he was back to being an intoxicated middle-aged homeless man.
“Well, I am.” Greg replied.
Because he was. He used to be, at least. When he could hug people without it being seen as weird. He had never confessed it to anyone, but it wasn’t like Alex was going to tell on him. Or that anyone would believe him for that matter.
“But let’s forget that. Alex, I believe you’ve come here to ask for some help, and as a matter of fact I am here to help people. So I would very much like to help you if you tell me how to do so. As I said, if you need a place to stay for a bit, if you need something to eat, something to drink, I can offer that. If you need medical assistance too. And you know what, if you really want me to kill you, I’ll think about it. But I need to know you a bit better for that. To be sure I’m doing the right thing.”
“Really? You’ll do it?”
“If it’s the only way…” Greg lied.
He just had to convince Alex to stick around long enough. Lying was part of the job anyway.
He rose up with a grunt and went up to the garden gate. Alex moved as far back as he could without letting go of the metal bars.
“It’s… the smell!” he exclaimed, seeming horrified.
From up close, Greg could see that his hands were severely burned. He raised an eyebrow but made no comment.
“The dangerous smell?” he simply said.
Alex nodded frantically.
“It’s… the bad things… No…”
And then…
Then Greg decided that all of this was a product of his imagination. Maybe some heatstroke or something like that. Because there was no way someone could move that fast. Not in peak condition let alone in whatever state the poor sod was. In a blink he was standing on the other side of the road and another blink later, he had vanished entirely.
“What in the…”
Greg pulled open the garden gate and looked around. No sign of Alex. He didn’t like that. He didn’t like that at all.
That night he indulged himself with a bit more whisky than usual.