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eddiemetalheadmunson · 3 years

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the dying of the light: a midnight mass fanfic.

chapter I: she wanted storms, is located by clicking Keep Reading below.

chapter II: electric chapel

chapter III: running up to the altar

chapter IV: coming closer

chapter V: after dark

chapter VI: in flames

chapter VII: into the unknown

this is an adult work of fiction with adult themes:

this story is rated E (explicit) in accordance to AO3′s rating system (scroll down to the section titled “What do the ratings mean?” for more information), meaning it is strictly an 18+ work of fiction. minors DNI, please!

trigger warnings/tags:

topics i will ALWAYS POST TAGS for:

references of any kind regarding non-consensual content

references of any kind regarding addiction/relapsing

references of any kind regarding sexual trauma

trigger warning requests:

if you would like me to tag any chapter for you personally, i am more than happy to do so. please don’t hesitate to ask. 👻

now, on to the first little chapter of The Dying of the Light:

chapter I: she wanted storms

The biting wind stings Lilith’s cheeks as the ferry she’s on chugs itself from the mainland to the disheveled little town of Crockett. Small towns have their appeal, in their own way, so it wasn’t as if she was completely dreading her stay. A new adventure was welcome, especially at this point in her life. This remote town in the middle of the sea offered one thing she knows she’ll never receive back home: anonymity.

Lilith was just as shocked as her parents to find that her Great Grandfather had made her a beneficiary in his will, leaving her the deed to his tiny house in the weathered town. She knew they’d shared a few lovely memories together, like walks to the ice cream parlor on the mainland and strolls along the beach near his house, but… it didn’t make much sense that she was the one inheriting his home. It was such a personal gesture. In addition, he’d left her a lump sum of money with a note in scribbled cursive that she'd instantly recognized from years of birthday cards and letters that she’d kept, carefully preserved, in her closet. She could never throw away any cards sent to her. It just felt wrong.

She pulls the letter out of her coat pocket for what must be the fifth time today and squints with a furrowed brow against the wind to gaze upon the scrawled words of someone she can no longer seek answers from.

“Do not go gentle into that good night.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”

You are my granddaughter born of the sun.

Thank you for shining on me in this life.

Stay strong for what is to come.

Shine on, my little one.

Always,

Your Great Grandad

She feels her throat close up for what feels like the thousandth time while reading his very last message to her before gently folding the letter up again and storing it securely in her satchel. As for what is to come, she has no clue, but she assumes he’s simply meaning “what lies ahead in life”. She rubs her cold, runny nose against the sleeve of her black coat and shakes off any lingering unnecessary emotions.

He left me this little house for a reason. I’m going to honor that.

Before she can dwell much longer on the past, the present brings her to her senses by way of a loud horn announcing the arrival to the island that makes her practically jump out of her skin.

“Jesus christ…” she mumbles with a light laugh at her own jumpiness, grabbing ahold of her suitcase on wheels and awkwardly making her way towards the dock. The air is even colder here against the shoreline and it feels as if the wind is snaking its icy fingers under her clothes, chilling her to the bone. It’s not until she wrestles her way down the ramp, almost slipping and busting her ass in the process, that she looks up at the tiny little town of Crockett before her.

Desolation. That’s the first word that comes to mind. The houses themselves seem so lonely, save for the few that have their owners relaxing on the porch. She feels a chill run down her spine as she crosses the threshold from dock to land, and somewhere deep inside of her, she knows that every step she takes carries more weight than the one before. It triggers a spike of anxiety, but nothing severe enough to make her turn back. It feels like a beckoning. The town almost seems to crackle with energy as her boots leave muddy indents behind her on the path to the house. The first rumble of thunder vibrates through the atmosphere and she shivers, instantly recalling a favorite poem.

“You will hear thunder and remember me...” she mumbles quietly to herself with a little grin on her face while waving goodbye to the ferrymen and thanking them for her safe arrival. Her Great Grandfather was apparently unconcerned with socializing, she realizes, as she stumbles in front of an incredibly worn little house sitting on the very cusp of town, as far away from other humans as possible. It sits not far from the wooded area to its left, its porch facing the water. It’s the only house that faces towards the sunrise that she’s seen yet.

Looking up at the worn abode has her gripping her bags so tightly her knuckles turn white. The handling of death has never been a strong suit of hers, but not for lack of trying. There was no one she wouldn’t comfort or help through their own journey with losing someone. It’s something she was quite good at, in fact: comforting others. But in her own life, death and all of its finality, well…for something so inevitable in this world, it scared her beyond belief. It never seemed natural to her, contrary to all recorded existence of life.

All at once, a sliver of a memory manifests and she recalls playing on the sandy bank, her Great Grandfather reading a book and lazily pushing himself to and frow on the porch swing as he kept an eye on her. She remembers it being cold, far too cold to swim, but jumping and splashing into the water with abandon all the same. Free and limitless and unburdened by life and its inevitable pain. She remembers warm arms holding her that night when she fell ill, crying for her mom, but eventually being soothed by the gentle motion of his rocking chair. She couldn’t have been more than five.

It feels like being punched in the chest, how strongly the memory resurfaces now that she’s here. She shakes herself off, squaring her shoulders and gazing towards the front door. Before she can second guess herself, she begins hauling her suitcase up the creaking wooden stairs leading to the front door. A moment of panic hits her as she realizes she doesn’t even have a key yet, but with a gentle turn of the knob, the door opens without protest.

She’s instantly relieved at how barren the living room is. No couch, no TV, no nick knacks, no pictures, no poignancy…she’d promised to help sell the property only. Her mom had handled all of the furniture and décor, making sure to ship certain sentimental objects or pictures that family members had requested.

Lilith can’t stop the quiver of her lips as she breathes heavily through her nose, trying to compose herself as the familiar pang of longing to see her mom and dad envelopes her heart. The ocean was healing to her mother and her illness, and after exhausting all other options, she had encouraged them to move to the Cayman Islands and find some peace, some relief. They fought her hard, but she knew it was the right thing to do, no matter how much it made her soul ache to be so far from them. She just wanted to see them happy and unburdened. A treacherous tear makes its way down her cheek and she hastily wipes it away in annoyance at herself.

They’re healthy. They’re happy. That is everything.

Another round of thunder rumbles through the house, rattling the windows as she digs out the blanket she’d bought for the plane ride and fans it out onto the floor, grabbing a hoodie while she’s at it to scrunch up and use as a pillow. It’s been a long journey, and she feels the exhaustion of traveling slipping into her bones, begging for rest. She raises the blinds on one of the front windows a bit so the lightning will flicker inside the house as she sleeps. Storms meant comfort. Storms meant not being alone.

She uses one of her feet to slide off her clunky combat boot and does the same with the other before stretching towards the ceiling, feeling some of her bones pop, and yawning obnoxiously. Crawling onto her blanket, she lets her heavy head fall, and as she fades into slumber, she briefly remembers the last words of the poem she’d been reminded of earlier.

“You will hear thunder and remember me…and think: she wanted storms…”

A brief flash of light, followed by the gentle tremor of thunder vibrating through the floorboards beneath her, lull her into a deep and dreamless sleep.

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eddiemetalheadmunson · 3 years

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heeeeey, ya filthy animals. chapter two of The Dying of the Light: Electric Chapel is complete. no warnings for this chapter, things are pretty tame. for now. hehehe.

click here for chapter I, "she wanted storms".

follow me, don't be such a holy fool /

follow me, i need something sacred from you /

together we'll both find a way /

to make a pure love work in a dirty way

electric chapel - lady gaga. listen here for the vibes.

chapter II: electric chapel

The sharp rapping of a fist against the front door jerks Lilith out of a particularly pleasant nap and she groans, rubbing her hands down her face sleepily. It’s dark out already, hence the pitch blackness surrounding her, and she wonders absentmindedly just how long she’s been out. The little house had gotten considerably colder with the breeze coming from the open water and she shivers a bit, grabbing an oversized hoodie from the backpack next to her and yanking it over her head.

With her bones popping in protest, she pushes herself up off of the floor and stumbles ungracefully to flip the porch light on, swinging the front door open. There stands a tiny woman with a rather strict demeanor and a prim expression on her face.

“So sorry to intrude on, well…” the woman glances up at her, no doubt, extremely tangled long red hair, “…whatever it was you were doing, but I was informed of a new resident of the island and thought I’d stop by and introduce myself,” she says curtly, plastering a genial smile on her face that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. Lily doesn’t miss the way she looks her up and down with mild distaste. To be fair, she probably does look like shit, but damn, she could at least pretend not to notice.

“Oh…yeah. Yep, that’s me. Um, I’m Lilith Rowan. I’m just here to help sell –”

The woman cuts her off abruptly. “Oh! You’re Frederick’s granddaughter! Yes, yes of course, I remember now. I’m so very sorry for your loss, dear. He was a nice man. Kept to himself, mostly…one of the few on the island who rarely attended mass, in fact,” she says, obviously oblivious to how rude she sounds.

“Oh. Well, church isn’t for everyone, I guess,” Lily shrugs, earning a piercing stare from the woman.

“I suppose not. Anyway, my name is Beverly Keane, I’m somewhat of a coordinator of things here on the island. I meant to greet you when you arrived but you must’ve snuck right past me,” she says, clasping her hands together and cocking her head to the side to study Lily in a way that makes her rather uncomfortable.

“I didn’t realize anyone even knew I was coming, honestly,” Lily chuckles. “I haven’t been here in what feels like forever. It looks like there’s a lot less people living here then what I remember,” she says, momentarily glancing around at the lack of the living surrounding them.

Beverly sighs, joining Lily in surveying the land. “Yes, we’ve had some…unfortunate events transpire over the years, but we march on. Not much else we can do. Most people here are admirably faithful, and we trust that Christ will see us through.”

Lily clenches her jaw and nods with a stiff smile. This lady was pushy as hell about the whole God thing. Great, she thought. I’m going to have her hounding me the entire time I’m here.

“Well, now that you’re here I suppose I’ll leave you to it. We do so hope to see you at the service tomorrow, dear. It would certainly make a good impression on the residents if you attend. An easy way to meet everyone, if nothing else,” she says, pursing her lips confidently and sticking her chin up in a way that makes Lily want to snort with laughter.

“Um, well, I don’t really do the whole “church” thing. Not anymore, at least. But I appreciate the invitation. I’ll…I’ll think about it,” Lily manages to grind out her response and barely suppresses a grin at how taken aback Beverly looks at her statement.

“Well…I suppose that’s the wonderful thing about God. You can choose to be saved at any time in life. Just make sure you do it before – well, I’m sure you know, dear.” She chuckles dryly at her own joke and brushes her dress off, smoothing the wrinkles. Before Lily can formulate an undoubtedly aggressive response to that, a low, gentle voice interrupts them.

“Who’s this, then? Have you been hiding her from us, Bev?”

Lily’s heart skips a beat when her eyes land on a tall, handsome man with a kind face making his way over to the porch. Thick and somewhat curly raven hair sits atop his head and his smile is the kind you can just tell is genuine. His hands are in his pockets, giving him a slightly boyish demeanor that is admittedly quite endearing, and he’s dressed in all dark colors: skinny jeans, a black cardigan and…

A white collar? He’s a priest?!

All at once, Lily realizes she’s basically just staring the poor man down. He grins and nods at her in a friendly greeting. She feels a blush creeping from her cheeks down her neck, but for the first and most likely only time, Beverly’s clipped tone saves her some pain.

“Monsignor! I didn’t expect to see you around this area of the island so late. This is Lilith, she’s here to take care of some real estate on the island for her Great Grandfather.”

Lily’s head snaps to Beverly in barely restrained offense.

“I mean, he’s dead, so…not really doing it for him, per se. Unless you’ve seen his ghost floating around town,” she quips with a raised eyebrow and a tiny smirk. She looks to the priest and doesn’t miss the way he inconspicuously chuckles, but then looks up into her eyes again with gentle concern.

“I’m very sorry for your loss, Lilith. Your Grandfather was a good man. He never had an unkind word to say about anyone, or so I’ve been told by Monsignor Pruitt. You most likely don’t remember him if you’ve been away as long as Frederick had said, but Father Pruitt is currently on the mainland on sick leave I’m afraid, so I’m just here stepping in for him while he’s resting up.”

Lily bites her lip and wracks her brain, trying to place the old man who’d led the church when she was little. A spark of a memory flits across her mind, and she can’t help but crack a smile and shake her head sheepishly at him.

“Oh god…yeah, I remember him. He was exceptionally…patient with me when I was little. I was kind of a holy terror as a kid. I remember one particular prank that may or may not have been my doing. He knew. He totally knew, there’s no way he couldn’t have,” she laughs genuinely now, leaning against the railing of the porch in thought. “He never ratted me out, though. Good guy,” she recalls warmly, hardly believing she’d completely forgotten about him until this moment.

“Yes, well – Lilith has informed me that, unfortunately, we won’t be seeing her at the church in the coming weeks. She doesn’t prefer it. To each their own, I suppose,” she nods at Lily in a gesture that is apparently supposed to be respectful but fails monumentally, and it sends a jolt of fire through Lily’s veins.

“I don’t feel like I need any help finding my moral compass, Ms. Keane. I mean, I could be a real psycho, y’know?” Lily quips. “I try to be as nice I can. I help old ladies across the street. I pay my taxes. Hell, I even recycle sometimes! I can’t have strayed too far from the flock, right?” She crosses her arms and tilts her head to the side to stare resolutely into Beverly’s eyes, which widen a fraction in surprise before she flares her nostrils and clears her throat.

“Well, I suppose the Monsignor and I have introduced ourselves, then. Best get to bed, Father, big day tomorrow. Oh, you probably don’t know, but tomorrow is Ash Wednesday. There’s a rather beloved event that follows the church service, the “Crock Pot Luck”. Welcome to all who worship our Lord and Savior, and…and of course, any newcomers,” she reluctantly informs Lily, nodding her head and turning on her heel to leave. She stops when she realizes the Monsignor isn’t following in her wake.

“Oh, I’d like to talk to our new friend for a moment longer. I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow at service, Bev,” he replies with a kind smile, turning to look at Lily again when Beverly, resigned, huffs and continues her journey home. Lily snorts derisively and watches her depart, shaking her head at the balls on this woman.

“New heathen, more like.”

The Monsignor takes a few steps towards her and shakes his head good-naturedly. “You’re far from being a heathen. Bev is…well, she’s very devout in her faith. Try not to take it personally. None of us are spared of her strict morality lessons,” he laughs gently as he reaches the bottom step of the porch, smiling up at her in a way that warms her from the inside out. “I’m Father Paul. Hill. It’s very nice to meet you, Lilith.”

“Oh, you can just call me Lily. Most people do. I mean, you don’t have to, just throwing it out there, if you’d rather,” she rambles, instantly feeling mortified at how awkward she’s acting.

What the hell? He’s a priest, you fucking moron. Get over yourself.

“Well, Lily. I’m glad you’re here. I wish it was due to different circumstances, but you’re always welcome here in Crockett,” he says softly, reaching out a hand to shake hers. She grins down at him and reaches her hand out to take his, instantly feeling a tickle of electricity through every finger at his warm, comforting touch.

“Thanks, um – shit, I’m sorry, I don’t know really know what the protocol is for this kinda’ thing. Do I call you Father each time I address you? Or, Father Paul? Just Paul? O’ mighty one?” she shyly jokes, rubbing a hand behind her neck in mild embarrassment. He laughs out loud at this, smiling beautifully at her – all white teeth and sparkling brown eyes, and she’s taken aback at just how ridiculously attractive he is. She wonders if he even realizes.

“Call me whatever you feel comfortable with. Most just call me Father Paul, Father Hill, etcetera. Nothing too fancy,” he offers, crossing his arms and titling his head a bit to study her in a way that makes her feel like she’s being x-rayed, but not unpleasantly so. She blushes at the thought of calling him “Father”. She’d never addressed anyone as “Father” in her entire life. It always seemed like such a stiff, overly formal title for her own Dad, or anyone for that matter. But calling him Father? It feels rather…personal, almost bordering on intimacy, and she isn’t entirely sure why it makes her flush as she thinks about it. These thoughts are enough to rattle her nerves, but she mentally shakes herself off and pulls it together.

“Gotcha’. Right. Well, Father Paul,” she says in an overly dramatic manner, punctuated by a flamboyant, tiny bow, “It’s nice to meet you, too. Thanks for not shunning me off of your island.”

His eyebrows raise in amusement at her response, and she quickly finds it hard to maintain eye contact. She suddenly becomes very invested in the grain direction of the floorboards beneath her feet. She clears her throat and bounces on her feet a bit, trying to ease her own self-induced embarrassment.

Ugh. Why do I have to act like a five-year old boy every time I talk to a man?

“I’d invite you in for coffee and a chat but there’s no furniture. Like, literally none,” she says, changing the subject and laughing lightly. His brows pinch together at this, and he leans his head to the side to peer into the barren little house behind her.

“You don’t have anywhere to sleep, then?”

“I do! No, I do. It’s just not “company” ready is all I meant. I didn’t – I couldn’t face any personal items if I was going to sell the house,” she manages to stutter out, suddenly feeling rather childish by how flighty and unprepared she must seem.

“You do know there’s a fairly large storm coming, right? Sometime this week. You’re rather close to the shoreline, if not the closest on the island. I feel…deeply uncomfortable with you staying here during the thick of it,” his voice falls into a murmur as if he’s thinking out loud, studying the distance between the shoreline and the house. Genuine concern etches itself across his facial features while he rakes a hand through his unruly hair in deliberation. It causes her heart stutter like a fucking school girl, and she studies his face as he’s looking elsewhere. Dark brown eyes canopied by thick lashes, pretty white teeth, a constant expression of kindness, and damn, those lips…

Dude. He’s a PRIEST, she hisses at herself internally before that thought can evolve. He’s probably this nice to everyone. That’s literally in his job description. You’re not special.

She laughs lightly in attempt to ease the tension coiling inside of her, watching her hot breath swirl into smoky looking tendrils amongst the chilly air. “Seriously, Father, it’s – I’ll be fine. I love storms, actually. They stay awake and, well, keep watch over me while I’m sleeping. We’re on pretty good terms with each other,” she says, trying to ease his worries. His deep, dark eyes land on her face, scanning her from her neck to her lips to her freckled nose and finally, to her green eyes. His facial expression tells her he remains unconvinced.

“It’s apparently going to be a pretty bad one. We’ll all lose power most likely, they say that’s pretty much a given. Are you sure I can’t convince you to stay somewhere else?”

She couldn’t hold back a bashful smile at his insistence. “I don’t even know anyone here to stay with, and I’d really rather not inconvenience anyone. It would be kinda’ awkward,” she says, chuckling lightly and absentmindedly playing with a piece of her hair out of habit. He gently scoffs as if she’s said the silliest thing in the world, his expression full of sincerity that has her cheeks growing warm again.

You have got to get your shit together, woman.

“Well, you’re more than welcome to stay at Monsignor Pruitt’s house. It’s where I’m staying, myself, until he starts feeling better. It isn’t my home so technically we’d both be guests, not just yourself, and there’s a perfectly good bedroom with no occupant.”

Lily’s eyes widen in surprise and she studies his face, wondering if perhaps he’s joking. “Are – you’re serious? You just met me. I could be a murderer for all you know.”

He smiles up at her and chuckles, shaking his head. “Yes, I can see you’re very dangerous. A – holy terror, I believe it was? – but I’ll lean on faith that you won’t throttle me in my sleep.”

She bites her lip in an attempt to hide the giant, dorky smile trying to form on her lips. “Hey, I am dangerous, thank you very much. I like you though, so you’re in the clear. I’ll let you live. Out of the goodness of my heart,” she says as she places a hand across her chest above her heart, failing monumentally at suppressing said dorky smile.

His raises an eyebrow in amusement and mild surprise, his expression one of curiosity and something else she can’t quite put her finger on. She internally kicks herself and feels her face flush, hoping he didn’t read into her statement the wrong way. Growing up with so many male friends had done her a disservice in that way, as sometimes she would say things that could be considered not entirely platonic because she was so comfortable being herself around them. It made for a few awkward situations where someone would start having feelings for her, thinking she felt the same, and the friendship was just never the same after she set the record straight with them.

“Well, I must say, I’m quite flattered, Miss Rowan. Or is it Mrs. Rowan? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to assume.”

She snorts inelegantly, shaking her head and crossing her arms. “Ha! No, your assumption is quite correct.”

Something flashes within his eyes as he nods, lightly exhaling in a way that could almost, almost pass as…mild relief? No, that wouldn’t make any sense. She scolds herself again, wondering what it was about this skinny priest with kind eyes and a warm voice, and really nice hair, the kind you can run your fingers through…or tug on…

She snaps back to reality and when she does, she realizes he’s been staring at her. Studying her. “Just think about it at least? No pressure either way, of course. If you’d feel better giving something in return for my hospitality, coming to tomorrow’s service would be more than enough,” he says, crossing his arms and looking off into the distance, feigning indifference at her answer.

She laughs, really laughs at this, recognizing that he’s teasing her. He joins in on the laughter and faces her again, his eyes lightly drifting across her form before snapping back up to meet her eyes. She pushes herself off of the porch rail and shoves her hands in the back pockets of her jeans, rocking on her feet a bit in thought.

“I guess that would be the neighborly thing to do, wouldn’t it? I’ll…um – I’ll consider it.”

He claps his hands together, giving her a sweet smile that has her insides buzzing like a hive of bees and takes a few steps back. “Good! I really hope to see you there, then. It would make the day all the more special. I’ll get out of your hair now, I’m sure you’re still trying to get settled in,” he says, backing up a few more paces to take his leave.

“Yeah…yeah, you too. I’ll be seeing you around,” she replies and returns the smile, trying not to react to his previous comment about her presence at the service being special, but manages to make an ass out of herself all the same by her stiff reply. He smiles and departs, lifting a hand to say goodbye and Lily does the same. She quickly scurries back inside the house, closing the door a little too loudly, and slumps back against it once she’s in. Her stomach is still doing little flips from their conversation and her head feels fuzzy. She hadn’t felt this instant of a connection with anyone in…well, ever, if she’s being honest with herself. But this connection was between her and quite possibly the most unattainable person she could think of.

Well, fuck.

#midnight mass #father paul #father paul hill x ofc #father paul x ofc #father paul hill #father john pruitt #midnight mass fanfic #the dying of the light #midnight mass fanfiction #ofc #Lilith Rowan #ofc: lilith rowan #riley flynn #sarah gunning #erin greene #leeza scarborough #joe callie #sheriff hassan #pike

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eddiemetalheadmunson · 2 years

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CHAPTER IV: COMING CLOSER

stranded in this spooky town /

stoplights are swaying and the phone lines are down /

with the moon i run /

far from the carnage of the fiery sun /

and it’s coming closer...

coming closer - kings of leon (highly recommend listening, this song sets the tone for the chapter) // read previous chapters here.

this was a tough chapter to write for some reason. probably because i’m so excited to write chapter V but it wouldn’t make much sense without this one, haha. cannot wait to get started on the next one! hope you enjoy, darlings. click the “read more” for the chapter. ❤

chapter iv: coming closer

She’s sitting cross-legged with a screw held between her lips; one hand gripping a screwdriver and the other hand holding onto instructions to the unexpectedly vexing Ikea couch she’d previously ordered when a knock on the door startles her into sending the screw flying. She exhales slowly, letting her face rest in her hands for a moment to regather her wits. A couple of long, deep breaths soothe the panic a bit, so she pushes herself up from the floor to answer the door.

Standing there, with the setting sun from behind the house illuminating all it drifts upon, is Father Paul. Golden hues dance in tandem within the dark currents of his eyes, his stare penetrating her to the point of speechlessness. The ceremonial robe has been shed, along with the reverent focus of the Good Word.

He looks positively beautiful. Ethereal, even…but those eyes. They contradict the possibility of a peaceful heart full of god’s reassurances. The cross upon his forehead is significantly smudged and his hair is rather disheveled for a day with very little wind.

“Father,” she croaks, immediately becoming re-aware of her attire since putting it on after the disaster that was the church service earlier that day, and immediately wanting to evaporate on the spot.

She wouldn’t have remembered so quickly had he not openly gazed at the exposed skin beneath her ribcage where her crop top ended with eyes that widened, lingered momentarily, then quickly looked elsewhere. The pair of red and black checkered men’s boxer shorts and her Hello Kitty boot-slippers only added to the mortifying ensemble.

She almost backs away from the door to change into a baggy top and some sweatpants. Her mouth is already opening to tell him she’ll be right back and to sit tight. But then?

Fuck that. It’s my house. I can wear what I want.

“Do you – I mean, would you like to come in for a bit? There’s actually coffee being served this time. Very ritzy stuff. Still working on the couch, however, so hopefully the front porch swing will be up to your standards?” she offers, realizing she’s wringing her hands together when he peers down at them.

“I’m sorry to just drop by like this – I was on my way back from the Crock Pot Luck and just wanted to...well, to make sure you’re all right? I’ll be honest that I’ve thought of little else since this morning, and if I’ve done something to offend or upset you, I wanted to apologize – “

“Father, it’s - it’s okay. I’m okay, I mean. Everything is okay,” she cuts him off in a rush, instinctively placing a hand on his upper arm and giving it a light squeeze and a reassuring smile.

A wave of relief washes across his features and he lets out a breath slowly that he must’ve been holding in his anticipation. He chuckles dryly and shakes his head, reaching to take ahold of her hand that rested upon his arm and holding it then in-between both of his own, warmly.

A flood of adrenaline ricochets through her at the intimate gesture and she can’t help but stare for a moment at the way his big hands and long fingers envelop her own. He must mistake her reaction as discomfort and gives her hand a light pat before dropping it, the cold air immediately emphasizing the loss of his warm touch.

“I’ve always been a bit of a worrier, I suppose I should have just stopped by after the service and asked you then, but I didn’t want to encroach upon your privacy. Much like I’m doing right now,” he chuckles, his big brown eyes drifting up to meet hers. There’s a tenderness within them that rattles her, and she feels herself flush with heat, right down to her collarbones.

She swallows her nerves, forcing herself to keep looking into his eyes and smiles. “Not at all, I mean it. You’re my first friend here on the island, you have VIP access that others don’t.” She sees his eyebrows knit together in confusion and before she can hold it a back, a giggle escapes her at his utterly perplexed expression.

“Erm, VIP means you have extra rights others don’t. Like, there was this one time I had VIP tickets to a concert, so I got to meet the band one on one backstage. You have an all-access pass to stop by whenever you’d like. Not assuming you would like to in the future, I just mean you could. If, if you wanted,” she manages to stutter out, internally flipping herself the finger for apparently never learning how to communicate normally with the human species.

Oh my actual god. Why are you like this?!

It’s his turn to let out a little laugh, his hands finding their way into his pockets as he smiles at her, eyes twinkling and white teeth gleaming in a way that makes her stomach do flips.

“That sounds like a fairly exclusive privilege. Should I feel, dare I say, special for such an honor?”

“Don’t let it get to your head, Father. I’m just trying to butter up the big guy upstairs,” she says wryly, crossing her arms and raising a playful brow at him.

“Uh huh. Well, I suppose befriending a priest isn’t a bad way to go about it. Though truthfully, I have an awfully hard time believing you’d need such an advantage,” he replies with a small, sweet smile, his eyes casting downwards almost shyly.

Butterflies erupt inside of her at the almost imperceptible notion that he might actually be flirting with her, and she with him. Nervous energy clings to her now, causing her to clear her throat awkwardly and look down at her slippered feet. The little pink kittens on them look up at her almost mockingly as she blushes in embarrassment anew, reigning in the urge to kick them off of her feet and into the bushes nearby.

“Well, did you – I mean you don’t have to of course, but if you want, you can come in. Not much to see yet. Or sit on. But I can offer you coffee?” She realizes she’s wringing her hands again and slaps them down by her sides, willing herself to quit being so damn antsy.

He agrees with a gentle smile and they make their way inside the warm little home. As she passes by her now fully blown-up bed, she snatches her Blackstar hoodie and yanks it over her head, jumping ship on the whole I’ll wear what I want argument she’d had with herself earlier.

Pick your battles, Rowan. One at a time.

She busies herself in the kitchen and grabs the clean new mugs she absolutely didn’t need to impulse buy (her collection has long since spiraled out of control as it is) and smirks at the words on them written in a pretty gothic font. She decides she’ll take the one with occult symbols and upside-down crosses, which leaves him with the only slightly less offensive mug bearing the words: FUCK YOU, YOU FUCKING FUCK in bold uppercase letters.

“Did you want some help with this couch, Lily? I’m not bad at putting things together. Built some of my own furnishings at home, actually,” he calls from the living room, making her jump. She’s about to immediately turn down the offer, simply out of habit and ingrained politeness from her parents, but stops short.

I really have no clue what the hell I’m doing. And he offered, it’s not as if I’m forcing him.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to invite you in just to put you to work,” she chuckles, pouring piping hot coffee into both mugs carefully.

“It would be no trouble at all. But to be clear, I’m not insinuating that you need the help. I have no doubt in your abilities.”

She snorts and carefully makes her way into the living room. He’s crouched down looking at her mediocre handiwork so far, and looks up at her as she enters, his eyes very obviously drifting across her pale, bare legs before he seems to realize he’s openly staring at her exposed skin. He quickly re-directs his eyes to her face, giving her a smile that she can’t help but feel is slightly strained.

She has to look away so as not to drop the hot coffee out of nerves and wonders how in the hell this guy has such a hold on her. He stands and takes his mug gently with a soft thank you, but as he raises it to his lips for a drink, he stops short and studies the text. With a raised eyebrow and amusement dancing in his eyes, he tilts his head to look at her.

“Call me crazy, Lilith, but it's almost as if you’re trying to tell me something. If you don’t like me, you needn't've gone to such trouble.”

She barely contains the laughter threatening to burst out of her chest and bites her lip, her face scrunching up with the effort.

“I’m so sorry, Father, would you rather drink from the mug adorned with this instead? It’s not too late to trade.”

He laughs, his eyes crinkling delightfully at the corners with a full smile on display that completely disarms her.

God. I could get used to seeing that smile.

His eyebrows shoot towards his hairline as she twists the mug around to showcase the little symbols of “evil,” but before he gets a chance to react, a spike of self-consciousness hits her and she turns it back around.

“Just felt wrong to give you this one. Like, I don’t know. You’re too good to have something like this in your hands,” she exhales a breathy laugh and looks away from him, taking a large gulp of coffee that scorches her tongue and makes her eyes sting with tears.

Ouch. Not a good move.

As she squints away tears and waits for the pain to subside, he steps closer to her. “It would take a lot more than some profanities painted onto a coffee cup to upset me, Lily. Especially if the person who owned it is easily one of the kindest people one can cross paths with,” he says quietly, and her eyes quickly find his in her mild shock at such an intimate admission on his part.

“I — well, I mean, you just met me. You haven’t seen the worst parts of me yet. Not that you ever will, of course. Just sayin’,” she replies with a tight-lipped smile and redirects her gaze into her coffee cup, silently begging it to cool down so she can hide her face with a sip.

“Perhaps not. But that’s what faith is all about, after all. I have faith in you. God has faith in you. I hope someday you’ll share the same opinion of yourself as we do,” he responds, sipping his coffee and grimacing momentarily at the bitter taste.

Before she can truly take in what he’s said, she realizes she didn’t even ask him how he took his coffee. She quickly turns and crouches down to set her coffee cup on the floor next to her failed work-in-progress couch project and is about to ask what she can get him, but as she pivots towards him on the balls of her slippered feet, she notices one of his black boots has become untied.

Without giving it a second thought, she looks up at him with a grin. “Shoelace,” she informs him, pointing to his boot, then quickly and efficiently leans in to tie it. It couldn’t have taken more than a few seconds but as she stands, she catches his very obviously perturbed facial expression in response to her actions. It sends a jolt of embarrassment and slight shame through her, causing her to take a small step back in case she’s offended him.

“Sorry — I just, I was already down there. I used to do that to my friends all the time. I’m pretty uncoordinated and one untied shoe is enough to take me down so I just always notice it, now,” she rushes out, her voice raising an octave as her nerves rattle through her bones.

He stares at her for a very brief moment with the same expression, then as if nothing at all has affected him, smiles tightly, and lifts his wrist to check the time on his watch.

“Lily, I’m so sorry to duck out on you like this, but I’m just now remembering I have a prior engagement I agreed to in about fifteen minutes. Could I come by tomorrow and help you with the — “

“No, no. I’m fine. I can handle it myself. I didn’t want you to have to mess with it anyway,” she manages to say with a clenched jaw and a tingling feeling of shock numbing her extremities. It feels as if she’s been slapped in the face.

I fucked up. I really fucked up.

“Um, here, I can take that for you. Sorry I didn’t offer any cream or sugar. I’ve only ever drank it black so I forget sometimes, that, that others, you know, don’t like it that way.” Her heart is pounding as she gently takes the mug from him, willing her hands not to shake as her fingers gently brush against his in the process and immediately turns and walks briskly to the little kitchen to pour it out and set the mug in the sink. By the time she turns around, he’s standing there in the doorway of the kitchen, watching her with a strangely conflicted look on his face.

“Don’t worry yourself, it’s just coffee. That’s all,” he murmurs, swallowing thickly and averting his eyes. The meaning of his words aren’t lost on her in the slightest and she has to physically restrain herself from recoiling at them.

“That’s true. Yep. Just coffee. Thanks for stopping by, Father. I’ll — I’m sure I’ll see you around town,” she nods at him stiffly, forcing a tense smile across lips that are threatening to start quivering, accompanied by the building tears tingling beneath her eyelids.

His expression softens as he gazes at her with concern, or perhaps pity. It immediately pisses her off. So, she hardens. Like she always does, always has, and fixes him with a blank but resolute stare that's about as genuine as the smile plastered on her face.

I’m not going to let you make me feel weak. God’s apostle or not.

He seems to read the unspoken message she’s sending and jerkily nods his head a couple of times, clearing his throat and taking a few steps back.

“Right, of course. Thank you for...for the coffee. And the company, of course.”

She tries not to grimace at the formalities he’s sticking to, as if they were just now meeting. As if there was no friendship continuing to blossom between them just minutes ago.

“Yeah, of course. Have a good rest of your night. I hope your...prior engagement goes well,” she says as they both simultaneously head towards the door. As he’s opening it, he turns back to look at her, and the solicitude within his gaze momentarily stops her in her tracks. His mouth opens and she sucks in a quiet breath, anticipation thrumming in the air.

Then, his mouth closes, and his eyes fall. He nods again, and makes his exit.

Lily is quick to close the door behind him and lock it noisily. Lock him out. Lock this feeling out. She feels slightly nauseated after everything that’s happened and twice as tired.

Sleep. Time for sleep. I’ll figure this shit out tomorrow.

So, she shuffles to the blown-up bed and flops down, kicking her slippers off and sending one of them flying across the room. She grabs her favorite stuffed animal, a fuzzy dog wearing the collar of her real dog who had since passed, and yanks the covers over her head so only her nose and mouth are visible. She wills herself not to keep thinking about that awful look he’d given her. Was he truly that repelled by her over such a simple gesture? She hadn’t meant to make him uncomfortable. Obviously, she’d crossed a significant boundary of his.

She feels a few hot tears slip across the bridge of her nose and seep into the pillow beneath her while the lonely night closes in from all sides. It settles its weight above and against her like a lover, but does nothing to warm the aching cold that is already making its home inside of her bones.

The next few days are spent in a funk. Lily knows that the longer she avoids leaving the house, the worse it’ll be when confronted by him, or anyone else in town, for that matter. Groceries are running low, however, and she’d officially excavated the last bits of coffee grounds she could collect at the bottom of the bag yesterday morning for her cup of morning coffee.

You know it’s just going to get harder the longer you’re holed up in here.

Even her voice of reason holds a gentler tone than usual, and she’s not sure whether to feel thankful or defeated by this realization.

This isn’t who you are, and you know it. Get up, shower, and walk out that door.

She groans, throwing the book down that she’d been reading (granted, it was the same paragraph over and over again) and decides to take her own advice despite the pit that’s formed inside of her chest that grows a little deeper with every flickering thought of Father Paul.

She decides to take her own advice and soak her bones under a hot, steaming waterfall of catharsis. She pampers herself with her best shampoo and conditioner, accompanied by her favorite peppermint body scrub. It’s not until she’s squeaky clean, smooth and smelling of cherry blossoms with a hint of something spicier, that she finishes up and exits the steamy bathroom.

Padding her way into the bedroom where there’s now a storage container with drawers full of her clothes, she walks past the window and does a double take when she makes out the figure of Father Paul further up the road. He’s talking animatedly to Leeza, and she can’t refrain from grinning at the little mannerisms that are unique to him and him only.

As if the man can sense that she’s looking his way, his head turns and looks directly towards her window. The slowly setting sun is shining into her room at this hour in the late afternoon, and a visceral panic rockets its way through her body as she tears herself away from the window to flatten herself against the wall next to it.

You’ve gotta’ be fucking kidding me.

All previous comforts attained through the hot water are instantly doused with a cold wave of reality, leaving her feeling shaky and overexposed. She crawls under the window in an insanely undignified manner while clutching her towel around herself, and pulls the cord so the worn blinds quickly descend with a loud smack upon the sill.

Her heart races from the adrenaline (and mortification) of possibly being seen dripping wet in only a towel by a fucking priest. She chokes out a loud laugh at this and shakes her head at the ridiculousness of the situation, pushing herself up off the floor now that she’s protected from view. She’d already been brutally humbled by him; might as well add being seen naked to the list.

She rifles through her clothes, slipping on her black panties and a Nike sports bra. Pulling on a thick, fluffy pair of pink socks she’d gotten one Christmas that reach just above the ankle reminds her that she should make sure to dress a little warmer than usual. The very few people she’d run into over the last few days warned her with a slightly unnerving veracity that tonight would be the beginning of one of their worst storms in a decade. She wonders how bad a storm can really be on an island. It’s not as if tornadoes can touch down here, right? The water doesn’t seem nearly close enough to reach her, despite Father Paul’s previous concerns, and there’s a building built on higher ground for people to gather in should the situation become dire.

She nods in self affirmation as she wiggles into a pair of black skinny jeans with a studded belt and her warmest sweater over a tank top. One leather jacket and pair of Doc Martens later, she’s grabbing her bag and locking the little house up behind her. Her damp hair against the steadily growing wind sends a chill down her spine, but it’s the quickest way to dry the ridiculous mop upon her head without the added effort of a blow-dryer.

The little town holds a strange energy this evening as the sun tries in vain to penetrate the gray sky full of dark clouds. That same unease she’d felt that tingled through her nerve endings the day she first stepped foot onto the soil of Crockett reemerges from the shadows of her mind. Her heart beats faster the further she distances herself from her only safe place on the island.

These cryptic, powerful premonitions of hers have always manifested this way, even in childhood. Especially in childhood. The worst ones waited until she lingered just on the cusp of sleep, surrounded by stuffed animals that, try as they might, couldn’t keep her safe. Not from the carnal fear that would descend upon her body when she awoke enough to see, but not move or speak. She remembers her eyes landing on that unnaturally dark corner of her room. In daylight, her walls were pink and her window let the light in. The white canopied mosquito netting surrounding her bed made her feel more protected than any door or vault ever could when being illuminated by the warm sun rays slipping through her blinds during the day as she’d play, but when the darkness came, so did the monsters. Everything that comforted in the light, haunted in the dark.

A chill snakes its way up her spine to the nape of her neck, making all of the hairs there stand up in instinctual fear. She feels as if she’s being watched by someone, or something, from every shadowed alleyway between the houses and abandoned buildings. Windows are boarded up securely in preparation of the storm’s oncoming wrath while the sun is becoming eclipsed by the ominous, inky clouds that slowly but inescapably creep towards the little island. She shakes off her nerves and quickens her pace, eventually spotting the dim lights of the grocery store in the distance.

There is no Pike to sweetly greet her this time, much to her dismay, and her presence in the little corner store is announced with the pleasant tinkling of the bell attached to the door.

She grabs a basket and gets to work, wanting to get back to the house before the rain comes, but about leaps out of her skin as a deep voice from behind the counter announces themselves.

“Cutting it pretty close, don’t you think?”

She spins around, nearly knocking a few things off of the shelves with her basket before exhaling loudly upon seeing Sheriff Hassan now grinning at her from behind the previously unoccupied counter.

“Why do all of you do that?!”

“Do what?” His eyebrows raise a bit as he asks the question, genuinely perplexed.

“You know! That...that fucking stealthy ninja thing where you just show up out of nowhere and scare the ever living shit out of me,” she accuses light-heartedly, laughing and placing her hand over her rapidly beating heart.

“I meant no offense, Miss Lilith,” he says, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “I’ll do my best to announce my presence from here on out,” he declares with a chuckle, shaking his head and hunching over a bit to relax his forearms on the counter and give his back a rest.

“It’s Lily, and oh, yeah? And just how do you plan to do that? I guess I could get you a bell to wear around your neck,” she teases, grabbing a box of chicken flavored ramen and a few cans of SpaghettiOs.

He feigns offense by slapping a hand over his heart dramatically with a look of anguish and she can’t help but laugh out loud at the display. The easy smile he wears looks good on him, she observes, smiling sweetly at him in return as she wraps up her shopping.

“Kidding, kidding. It’s a good thing that you can just appear somewhere incognito, being the head honcho of the law on this island. You do a good job of it, Sheriff.”

He grins, breaking eye contact and casting his gaze downwards with a gentle nod. Hoping she hasn’t made him uncomfortable (she’s apparently become a pro at this as of late), she clears her throat and finishes up her shopping: water bottles, a big bag of Dunkin Donuts coffee, some canned goods that can be safely eaten right from the can if the power shuts off, and the essentials for making a hearty sandwich. She grabs a premade salad on her way to the counter and a few packs of Reese’s peanut butter cups as well.

As she places the last item on the counter, an astonishingly loud crack of thunder slices through the atmosphere, making her squeal in a most undignified way and clutch her chest.

“Jesus christ! Where did that even come from?! It was fine when I was walking here,” she pants, gripping the counter and lowering her head to take a few deep breaths in an attempt to calm her frantic heartbeat.

“Not a fan of storms, huh?” He’s gazing at her with a trace of concern when she looks up to meet his eyes and she smiles at him reassuringly, shaking her head.

“No, actually. I love a good storm. I just get startled easily if I’m caught off guard. Sorry for the theatrics,” she chuckles, blushing in embarrassment and impulsively tucking a strand of long, red hair behind an ear. “It feels like the world is more alive than ever when it storms, don’t you think? It’s kinda’ comforting to know the earth has its own agenda. It’s own power. Something us humans can’t get our hands on and control.”

He stares at her and as he does, she sees his pretty eyes flicker with an emotion she can’t even begin to place that instinctually makes her pull back the reins incase she’s rattling on too much.

When three bags are full and paid for, she slips her arms through the holes to carry them with each of her forearms and grins at him.

“You should get home soon, too. I’m really sorry for getting here so late, hopefully I didn’t hold you up. Stay safe, yeah? You and your kiddo.”

“I’ll be heading out right after you – by the sound of the wind I think we got done just in time. You stay safe, too, and make sure to stay inside.”

She snorts at this. “Why would I go outside?”

He grins wryly and crosses his arms. “Not sure why, but something tells me you’re a bit of a wild card. As your Sheriff, I’ve gotta’ protect all of my citizens – that includes you, too, miss.”

She chuckles and playfully shoves his shoulder. “Very funny. I think I can manage to take care of myself. But I appreciate your dutiful efforts all the same. I’ll see ya’ when all of this blows over, Sheriff.”

The two part ways and Lily hastily power walks towards her destination. The sky has turned almost completely black with large, looming clouds that are moving significantly faster than they were before. Thunder rumbles ominously in the distance, but it gives her that same little thrill and excitement that comes with an approaching storm. It’s already almost completely dark and as she stumbles along, she abruptly remembers that she forgot to buy candles and matches. She freezes on the spot and turns to look back at the general store in the hopes the Sheriff hadn’t locked up yet, but the windows were dark and the “Open” sign had been turned off.

Damn. It’s gonna’ be a dark night.

Shrugging it off, she increases her pace as that same feeling of being observed from the shadows settles into the back of her mind. The air is practically shimmering with the energy of the storm and she feels goosebumps erupt across her skin as the cold wind slices through what she’d thought was a warm sweater and jacket.

Finally, she reaches the porch and hastily unlocks the door as the wind starts to truly blow in earnest, whipping her hair around ridiculously in the process. Once inside, she locks up with a relieved sigh and brings her storm stash into the kitchen, setting the bags on the counter. Grabbing a water bottle and a Reese’s peanut butter cup pack, she flops down on the little couch (which she did figure out in the end) and grabs her laptop, looking to see if the house had any interested buyers. Day after day, there was virtually no activity surrounding the poor little wind-whipped shack at the edge of a desolate island. She worries her bottom lip at the realization that she now feels some attachment to the place, as well as a connection to her Great Grandfather she hadn’t experienced since she was tiny.

Parting from the house forever was going to be more complicated than she’d ever anticipated. The walls around her creak with age but stand strong, protecting her from the chaos brewing just outside the door; they’d done this for years, now. For her grandfather first and now her, as well.

The rain has started colliding noisily against the roof, and a deep rumble of thunder vibrates through the floorboards as she closes her laptop and nibbles on her Reese’s. She frowns and gazes out the window into the heavy rain as the unbidden thought occurs to her that the house wouldn’t be the only thing on the island she’d have difficulty parting with.

#midnight mass #father paul #father paul hill #father john pruitt #father paul x ofc #father john pruitt x ofc #father paul hill x ofc #father paul x oc #ofc: lilith rowan #john pruitt #paul hill #midnight mass fanfic #midnight mass fanfiction #mike flanagan #my writing #the dying of the light #father paul x lilith rowan

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eddiemetalheadmunson · 3 years

Text

i think i'm finally satisfied with this chapter. kinda. i think. 😬

possible tw: some inner dialogue from main character regarding addiction (alcoholism) in this chapter.

no other warnings that i can see. as always, please let me know if there's a trigger you need specified. i want you to feel safe and informed of what you're going to read.

hope you enjoy, darlings.

you showed up just how i had seen it /

in my dreams, speaking words i needed /

a violent crashing from the ceiling /

you reached out and caught me from the demons

listen to altar by machineheart here.

chapter III: running up to the altar

A warm ray of sunlight upon Lilith’s face wakes her the next morning. She cracks an eye open and surveys her surroundings, momentarily forgetting where she is, still trapped in that hazy world between asleep and awake. She sits up slowly with a long, drawn-out yawn, and pieces of the puzzle start slowly coming together.

Fuck. That’s right. I’m in Crockett. Got here yesterday and met Ms. Keane, and met –

Her inner dialogue chokes for a moment at the memory of Father Paul who, in hindsight, now seems like a bit of a fever dream in the early hours of morning.

A tingling jolt gently rattles through her body the moment her mind thinks of him and his sweet smile, accompanied by the mop of unruly hair on his head that practically begged to have a hand running through it. The way he spoke to her. The way he looked. The way he cared about her safety. The way he –

Stop. Stop it. This is a ridiculous, stupid, pointless situation.

She very well knows it. She’d hoped that after a full night’s rest, this jittery, disturbingly unbalanced feeling that the soft-spoken man had evoked within her would run its course and die upon the sunrise of a new day, like so many other things in her life that became more rational with the rising sun.

If anything, that trepidatious feeling had only grown stronger. She’d dreamed about him. Fucking dreamed about this man she’d exchanged only a few sentences with the night before. It wasn’t sexual in any way, but it set her aflame inside all the same, remembering being held in two strong arms and smelling a scent of forest and spice and warmth. Something inherently created in her mind for him, and him only.

She lets out a small whine of frustration and roughly shoves her long hair into a messy bun atop her head with a hair tie that basically lives on her wrist at this point. She walks over to her suitcase on the far edge of the room and lays it down, unzipping it to search for a new pair of clothes. A very strange, fleeting thought dances through her mind without her approval.

Look nice for him.

She blanches, ripping out a pair of leggings to wear under her big hoodie and an old pair of dirty, white converse shoes just to spite her own treacherous thoughts. She had a few things to do this morning before the service, which apparently, she was now resigned to attend. She’s not sure when she decided this – you know exactly when you decided this, you priest loving harlot – but apparently her mind had made itself up for her. She snorts and shakes her head at herself before grabbing her little coffin-shaped backpack and stepping out into the chilly morning air.

She began walking in the direction one of the ferrymen had pointed out to her the day before as to where she could find the Sheriff’s office and a store. She was starving and needed some groceries, at least to tide her over for the next couple days. Most of her things would arrive today that she’d ordered in advance; a blow-up bed, a little couch that she’d need to assemble, and an odd assortment of other essentials. There were plates and mugs, even some silverware, still residing in the kitchen. That much she felt she could handle seeing, as it wasn’t overly personal.

By the time she’d made it to the little general store, she’d passed by several friendly islanders that had made a point to introduce themselves and welcome her to the town. A ridiculously pretty woman named Erin, who was sitting on her porch, wrapped up in a cozy blanket with a book in her hands, a woman with a very sweet, cheery disposition named Mrs. Flynn, and a young boy riding his bike who had skidded to a halt when he saw her to say hello. He was a Flynn as well, Warren Flynn. Meeting them left a little pep in her step. She hoped that everyone would be this nice.

She finds the general store and as she makes her way to the door, she notices an adorable dog with a brindle coat and big brown eyes patiently waiting for his owner. She can’t restrain herself from crouching down next to him to give him some pets.

“Hi baby! You are so fuckin’ cute. And look at your pretty coat. I’ll have to pick up some doggie snacks so I can give you a treat the next time we run into each other because you seem like suchagoodboy – “

A light cough from behind her startles her, and when she whips her head around to see who it is, two men are staring down at her with barely suppressed grins.

She jokingly winces. “The baby-talk voice came out, didn’t it?”

The man with a beard and a friendly smile barks out a laugh at that, and the man next to him chuckles. She sees the little badge on his coat and realizes he must be the Sheriff.

“Maybe a little bit. We won’t tell anyone, though,” the Sheriff says with a smile, reaching out a hand to help her up. She’s momentarily distracted by how ridiculously good-looking he is – what’s up with this town and all the gorgeous men in it? – before taking his hand and standing up.

“I’ll hold you to that, Sheriff,” she replies with a light laugh. “I’m Lilith, by the way, but you can just call me Lily. Here to take care of some real estate on the island,” she says to them both, shoving her hands into her hoodie pocket.

As they exchanged names – which were Sheriff Hassan, Joe, and his dog Pike – the stern woman from the previous night comes strolling past them. Pike lets out a thunderous bark at her arrival that makes her jump rather comically, then turn to scowl at the men.

“You see? He snapped at me. Snapped right at me, just passing by.”

Joe reaches down to pet his faithful companion. “Pike doesn’t snap. Sometimes barks, mostly just to say hello. He’s just big, is all – sounds bigger than he means to.”

“Snapped. Thought he might have a go at my hand if I reached out. I’m telling you, Sheriff, it’s a menace,” she says indignantly, glaring at the dog peacefully resting by Joe.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Keane, he was just waiting for his dad,” Sheriff Hassan responds, trying to gently defuse the situation.

Ms. Keane begins to mumble something that sounds a lot like "speaking of menace" and sharply glares at Joe, but Lily cuts her off mid-insult.

“He.”

Ms. Keane looks up at her in mild confusion, followed by Sheriff Hassan and Joe.

“I’m sorry? ‘He’, what?” She enquires condescendingly, turning to face Lily now.

“A ‘he’. The dog. You called him ‘it’. I just assumed you didn’t know,” Lily says in a level voice that doesn’t even remotely match the annoyance stirring in the pit of her stomach.

Everyone goes quiet. Ms. Keane opens her mouth and closes it, not sure how to respond, as it wasn’t an outwardly aggressive comment on Lily’s part, but it definitely held an undercurrent of spite.

“Pike works, too. That’s his name,” Lily says with little smile, filling the silence. Ms. Keane’s face turns into something twisted and cruel, her true self rising to the surface rapidly, and then looks to the Sheriff again.

“A menace,” she hisses, then turns on her heel with her nose in the air and takes her leave.

Lily watches her in mild disgust as she walks down the road at a clipped pace, and when she turns to the men, they’re both staring at her with raised eyebrows. Joe has a wide grin on his face, and Sheriff Hassan looks at her in what she can only place as pleasant surprise.

“What? She’s a good Christian woman; she’d never call one of god’s creatures an ‘it’– she just didn’t know. So, I told her,” Lily replies, giving Pike another scritch on his head as he looks up at her with his tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth adorably.

“Y’know, dogs can sense evil. That’s what they say, anyway. Kinda’ funny that he doesn’t bark at anyone else, isn’t it?” She says with a chuckle, almost to herself, before remembering the whole reason she was there. “Oh! Sheriff Hassan, I actually came to talk to you. I was told you have a key for me? For the house that’s up for sale?”

Sheriff Hassan looks at her with mild amusement and curiosity, but nods and makes his way down the steps. “Follow me. I’ve got them in the office.”

“Awesome. It’s really nice to meet you, Joe. And you, big boy,” she says, giving Pike a gentle pat upon his head before departing with a smile and a wave. Joe is still looking at her with an openly humored expression, and waves back to her as she follows the Sheriff.

Sheriff Hassan enters a small building next to the general store, ushering her inside, and digs a little key from his pocket to unlock a drawer in his desk.

“Aha, there it is. Easy to remember this one,” he says, handing her a pair of keys that look like they belong to a dungeon door or some haunted castle. She takes them in her hand to study them, and all at once, she feels her heart being squeezed, thinking about how many times her grandfather's hands must’ve used these throughout his life to open that creaking door to that tiny house. Thousands of times. It looked like a skeleton key in a way, unique and old-fashioned, but sturdy and strong. Tears prick the corners of her eyes as she closes the keys in a tight fist. She instantly knows that these will be what she keeps to remember him by. She’ll have new ones made for a new lock before she sells the property.

“I’m – I know how hard it is to lose someone. I’m sorry for what you’re going through right now. I didn’t know him well, but he was always nice to everyone, including me. Never seemed to give a damn what others thought of him, either,” Sheriff Hassan says, smiling at her and resting his hands on his hips.

“They…. well, the people here, they didn’t like him very much, did they? He wasn’t religious. Spiritual without a doubt, but not religious,” She asks, calming herself down and looking up at the Sheriff. He scratches the back of his neck awkwardly, averting his eyes, and his expression tells her everything she needs to know.

“Bastards. All of them. ‘God-loving Christians’, my ass,” she mumbles, sniffling a bit to stop her nose from running. “I bet you were nice to him. I’d put money on it. So, thank you for that. It means a lot,” she finishes, her voice cracking on the last few words. She cringes in humiliation, but before she can think too much on it, a warm hand comes to rest upon her shoulder.

When she looks up, she sees the compassion in the man’s eyes. She sees the pain. The loss. A tiny glimpse of the story that is Sheriff Hassan’s life and all that’s lead up to him settling on this isolated little island tucked away from the world.

“It never gets easier. When we lose someone, I mean. We just…get stronger. We have to. You’ll get there, too,” he says kindly, and the way he says it feels so genuine that she can’t help but believe him. She smiles up at him, and he smiles back. An understanding.

“Well, I should probably get going. Have to pick up some food and get ready for the church thingy,” she says while pocketing the keys.

He looks rather surprised but doesn’t say anything. Lily grins at his reaction. “It’s…it’s a long story. Well, not really. I got roped in by the Priest,” she chuckles, feeling her cheeks warm by merely bringing him up in conversation.

“All right. Well, be good, don’t start any brawls or you might end up in jail with only me for company,” he teases with an admittedly beautiful smile.

“We’ll see!” she replies with a laugh as she walks out the door and heads back to the little store beside them.

9 AM comes swiftly and sets her nerves on edge as she quickly realizes she has nothing even remotely appropriate to wear for a church service. She packed for comfort, so most of her shirts have either band names on them or something ironically satanic.

Yeah, that’ll go over smoothly.

She finally unearths a completely plain (hallelujah!) long sleeve black shirt that she’s had since high school that somehow survived the test of time, and a black pleated skirt that falls just above her knees. She yanks a pair of tights on and is relieved to see that they have no holes in them, then throws on her chunky black boots adorned with multiple silver buckles, almost losing her balance and falling in the process.

She runs to the bathroom mirror, swipes on some mascara, tidies up her brows and applies some blush on her rather corpse-like complexion. After a quick spritz of her favorite perfume, she’s raking a brush through her tangled hair and stumbling her way to the front door, her heart beating out of her chest.

This is so stupid. It’s just a church. It’s not a big deal.

She calms herself enough to put her hair in a quick, messy half-up, half-down look. She runs to check on it in the bathroom. Her hair is past her hipbones at this point and she grimaces at how damaged it looks from going so long without a trim, but shrugs and grabs her bag, rushing out the door.

To her horror, she sees that there’s no one left outside of the church, meaning the service had already begun. Meaning she was late. Meaning she’d have to direct every person’s attention towards her when she opened the doors to the tiny church.

Goddammit.

She was about to turn around and head back to her humble abode before the fleeting memory of Father Paul’s delighted smile stops her in her tracks. She might not have agreed to go, but he seemed so excited when she was considering it. He was kind. She could make it through one service, as a ‘thanks’ for his warm welcome.

Fuck it. They’re all just people. Like you. You’ve opened the door to scarier things.

She squares her shoulders and gently opens one of the doors, slipping her way inside without drawing any attention. They’re singing a pretty psalm; one she could swear she’d heard before in her childhood church long ago. There’s a two-person pew to her left, the furthest seats in the house, and she quietly slips her bag off of her shoulders and sits, a rush of relief coursing through her veins.

She grabs a hymnal book from its place in the back of the pew sitting in front of her and begins flipping through the pages. It would feel awkward to be the only person not singing along.

The song finishes and Father Paul takes front and center. Somehow the man has made one of those ridiculous blanket-like Catholic robes look…quite nice, actually. Regal, almost, the rich blue color bringing out his brown eyes and raven hair. If he hadn’t presented himself as such a nice guy, she would be annoyed. It’s hardly fair if he looks good in everything.

It takes him all of 60 seconds to place her in the crowd as he scans the room, almost as if he’s looking for her. He stumbles over a few words from his impassioned sermon when their eyes meet and it makes her heart stutter pleasantly in her chest. She offers him her signature, slightly crooked grin and a discreet nod. He responds with a little smile that warms her from head to toe before jumping back into his sermon with ease.

The end of the service comes quicker than she’d anticipated; it was rather easy to listen to him speak. He had a way of saying things that made even her feel a little spark of inspiration, which was quite a feat considering the topic. One more hymnal is announced before the end, several minutes after Father Paul has taken his leave through the back. As she frantically flips through the pages as the piano begins, a hand gently intervenes from her right and flips to the right page almost instantly.

She startles with a small squeak, barely restraining herself from flinging the book into the rafters, and turns to see Father Paul doing a very poor job of suppressing his amusement.

She tries to glare at him, she really does, but all she can manage to do is clap her hand over her own mouth so she doesn’t burst into laughter during the intro of the song. It’s an actual blessing when the congregation starts singing, giving her the opportunity to duck her head and let out a genuine string of giggles. She pulls it together quickly, taking a deep breath and smashing her lips together to disallow anymore maniac laughter from slipping through.

Father Paul is still singing along with a neutral expression, the only indicator of his own struggle not to lose it himself shown in the very obvious tension of his neck. He must've taken the little book before she'd had the chance to drop it in her laughter, so she gently takes hold of his wrist and guides the hand holding it a bit closer to her so she can sing along.

Her heart just about exits her body when he gently slides it towards her, his right hand completely enveloping hers beneath the book as he secures it in her grasp. He doesn’t instantly pull away and she pretends not to notice. So does he.

He probably doesn’t notice, you wanker.

When he pulls away, his fingertips gently brush across her knuckles, making her clench her jaw in an effort to not react. She scrambles to find where they’re at in the song, and joins in rather ungracefully, hoping her face isn’t reflecting the rush of feelings currently overwhelming her inside.

His singing voice is calm and soothing, much like his personality, but when she joins in, he abruptly stops. It takes her a moment to notice, but when she turns to look up at him in question, she meets him eye to eye. A look of gentle wonder shines within his gaze, momentarily knocking the breath from her lungs. He smiles kindly and nods his head towards the book, encouraging her to keep singing. So she does, despite her cheeks blushing red and her mouth going dry.

Her voice is a bit wobbly at first and her eyebrows crease in the effort to slip back into the song echoing across the little church. She manages to do so, but her hands shake every so often as she sings. She can feel his eyes on her now and again, and it takes an enormous amount of restraint not to drop the book and run. Run from his openly captivated gaze as he listens to her sing. Run from the feeling of pride that fills her at the thought of him liking her voice.

The song comes to a close and she, monumentally relieved it’s over, slaps the book shut crisply, sliding it back into the little shelf on the pew before her. When she turns to attempt a normal conversation with Father Paul, she finds that he’s gone. A wave of relief washes over her, but riding on its coattails is a small jab of betrayal as some members of the church stand and do a double take upon seeing her. She averts her eyes and sits down, feeling smaller and smaller by the minute.

Why did he have to ditch me now of all times?!

As she's debating whether or not to make a break for it while he's gone, he returns with a reassuring smile on his face. He extends his hand to help her up, then reaches behind her to softly press his large hand upon the small of her back, guiding her forward. The warmth of his touch and all of its tenderness, she quickly decides, is worth the glaring awkwardness of the entire situation.

He ushers them both gently to the stairs beneath the altar, as others follow suit without question or fuss. When he leaves her side and takes his place above her, she feels the absence of his touch like a ship's anchor being cut loose. He speaks of Ash Wednesday. She sees Ms. Keane appear to his left, offering him a small trinket containing what he will mark his congregation with. Then she sees a golden goblet, passed reverently into Beverly’s hands.

Panic seizes her heart in a vice grip as she puts two-and-two together.

Wine. It’s fucking wine. How could I forget this part?

Father Paul is already dipping both his pointer and middle finger lightly into the onyx powder, but faulters for a moment when he sees the visceral fear reflected in her green eyes. He gives her a reassuring smile, probably assuming that it’s just nerves causing her to clam up, and places a finger upon her forehead, gently making the sign of the cross.

“Lilith – remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return,” he murmurs, his fingers lingering upon her skin a beat too long as she stares up at him, eyes pleading for him to understand. Beverly holds the drink up and nods her head, summoning Lily to come forward, her lips pursed in obvious disapproval of an outsider taking part in this sacred ritual.

She looks Father Paul dead in the eye, glancing from him to the golden chalice holding a poison more lethal to her than any other, and desperately mouths two words:

I can’t.

He gives her a look of confusion, and it feels as if the church walls are beginning to close in on her. At a complete loss, she lowers her eyes apologetically, shaking her head in defeat.

"Sorry", she whispers so only he can hear her, not bothering to wait for a reply before side-stepping out of the line and making her way down the isle.

She pretends not to notice all of the eyes studying her as she passes by, and desperately hopes no one noticed the odd exchange that's just taken place. Tears tingle behind her eyelids and she, for what feels like the millionth time in her life, feels a stab of jealousy at just how easy it is for everyone else. How harmless.

She pushes the doors open, momentarily blinded by the sunlight illuminating the island, and jogs home, feeling anything but saved.

#midnight mass #father paul #father paul hill #father paul x ofc #father paul hill x ofc #father john pruitt #father john pruitt x ofc #crockett island #ofc: lilith rowan #lilith rowan #ofc #beverly keane #erin greene #joe callie #sheriff hassan #warren flynn #annie flynn #mike flanagan #my writing

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