All the Colors of the Dark — Chapter 73

73

He found himself at St. Raphael’s and stopped by the narthex. Hours from sunset and sunrise he felt as close to her when the town slept as he ever did.

Right then as he stood in footprints of penitents he let the exhaustion and thorough failure lead him into the building that did not ever lock its doors.

Patch could not understand such careless trust.

Candles burned, and the silence was a weight so familiar he drifted to the front bench and sat and contemplated asking for help when he looked

across and noticed the man parallel.

“Dr. Tooms,” Patch said.

The doctor knelt awhile longer and only when he had finished his business with God did he stand and walk over and settle close beside Patch.

He smelled of chard and metal, and his boyish face was drawn.

“You were praying,” Patch said.

“I was.”

“Is there a priest here?”

Tooms shook his head.

Patch said, “If I confess every bad thing to God…”

“Then you will still have done them, and they will still be bad.”

“I don’t want forgiveness.” Patch looked at the altarpiece, at the relief of golds and creams and the sainted windows.

“So what do you want?”

“Help.”

Tooms smiled like he knew of that ask and what the answer would likely be.

“When I was down there we quoted scripture to stay alive,” Patch said.

“And I repeat it back to myself, but it seems so vague.”

“Some say the translation isn’t literal. It’s a set of rough guidelines that don’t always fit.”

“I fucked up, Dr. T,” Patch said, desperate.

“Most people that come to church have.”

“I don’t know how to make it better.”

“It’s not your job to fix things, Joseph.”

He thought of the sanctuary bells, how they rang during the liturgy, and people knew to focus on that part, to block out everything else.

“Why are you here now?” Patch said.

“To ask forgiveness for acts I know in my heart I will commit again.”

Patch watched him awhile though the doctor seemed at peace. He wore smart shoes crusted with mud. His shirt carried a small tear along the seam.

“But you still ask,” Patch said.

Tooms stared at the cross. “And he still ignores.”

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