The sound of his voice carries far longer than necessary in such a small church.
Ian’s blessed words fly over the casket in front of him, and out through the wooden church doors, never quite landing where they’re supposed to.
The casket is draped in a beautiful sea of flowers. Various shades of white, green and blue.
The lilies remind him of someone he loved.
Loves.
Lately he’s not sure.
The burning candles crackle in sympathy with the mother’s cry.
Her son was young. Only a year out of high school.
There are not enough benches for a whole town inside the church. And yet they’re all here. Shoulder to shoulder on the creaking wooden benches. Cross in one hand, a bottle of salt in the other. Anger and revenge carried on their faces.
Because it’s the 5th in only two months.
Because they’re not usually this young.
It nags at Ian’s conscience.
The casket is closed, but everyone in this room knows that if they were to look, they would find two tiny holes in the neck.
No one dares to step outside after the sun has gone down, and every porch is barricaded by holy relics. The scent of garlic hangs in the air whenever Ian walks around the neighbourhood.
That one is a myth, Ian knows, has been told, but he still hangs them up outside the church because it makes everyone feel safer.
It has to stop, because scared people turn into angry people, and angry people turn to reckless people who end up in a casket in Ian’s church.
Or something far worse happens.
He has heard rumors of revenge. A planned attack, ambush. Kill the beast, cut its head off, burn it on a wooden stick!
It makes his stomach churn.
No one knows what the beast looks like, except for Ian.
And unfortunately for him, it’s the most beautiful being he’s ever seen.
Which is why his mouth feels dry, his words feel hollow and his prayers can only be interpreted as lies.
Because he let the beast in, and he’s the reason it won’t leave.
When Ian has him in his bed he can pretend it doesn’t exist. The grieving families, the scared children, his faith. The beast.
Because how can it?
Mickey, who’s so tender and pliant under Ian’s touch, the most beautiful thing Ian has ever seen, is the same reason he has put five innocent people six feet underground.
He feels the cross behind him burn into his scalp as he says his prayer and his mouth runs on autopilot until he says:
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