He’d long since lost his faith, but Jack found solace in the pure deafening silence of Blackwater Cathedral. The massively imposing stone building dated back to Golgotha’s inception and stood as a testament to the past, amidst the glass and steel jungle of the modern central sectors.
Late afternoon. The cavernous interior of the Cathedral was all but deserted. There were a few souls dotted about the place, hunched over or kneeling at prayer between the mahogany pews. To Morensky the place felt empty, like the void between his ribs burning cold, threatening to rise into his throat and choke him. His only recognised company: the flickering of thousands of candles in the darkness. Lit for the souls of so many departed. The only light invading the place was from the grey outside, colourfully diffused through stained glass.
Father O’Connor entered the main hall from a transept. He walked past the altar at the far end, bowing his head reverently as he did so. Then he spotted Morensky and silently wandered up the centre aisle between the hundreds of rows of dark stained pews. His footfalls barely made a sound on stone floor. Jack watched him approach as he took another hit from his hip flask and contemplated the mission he was about undertake with an ache in his gut the booze couldn’t cure.
The priest sidled up to him in the gloom. O’Connor looked down at Jack quizzically through his circular pewter rimmed glasses.
‘I recall a time I saw you every Sunday.’
‘Those days are over, Father.’ Jack smiled honestly at the priest from behind his glasses while staring at the candlelight. ‘I didn’t need this back then.’ He held up the flask for the priest’s disapproval.
‘You don’t need it now.’ The priest snapped. He registered Morensky’s surprise and nodded, instantly calming down. ‘You used to believe, once upon a time.’ He then added. This made Morensky smirk bitterly.
‘Yeah. Once upon a time Father. I’ve seen too much humanity since then.’
‘So why come here now? If we’re all as beyond hope as you seem to think?’ O’Connor asked sharply, always ready for philosophical debate.
‘We weren’t all beyond hope Father.’ Jack said slowly, the words rising like bile in this throat as his mind’s eyes saw Wanda tiptoeing naked through her apartment laughing, beckoning him to her.
‘I like the silence.’ He quickly added with the merest hint of another smile at the lie that covered the mental picture he was so afraid the priest could see. So much of her light would rub off on him, whenever they were together. . .
There was no fooling Father Derrick.
‘No, you like the isolation, I think.’
‘Maybe.’
‘Then what is it you want?’ The priest asked earnestly, arms folded across his cassock.
‘Justice…’
‘I think you mean revenge, don’t you Son?’
Morensky shrugged.
‘Vengeance isn’t justice, it’s only deeper chaos. There’s a lot of lost souls out there: good and evil. It’s easy to come in here and look for answers that don’t exist. Even easier to look up at that cross and condemn what you seem to think it stands for. Cutting yourself off from the world won’t help.’
‘Guilt by association Father,’ Morensky smirked from behind the shades. ‘Too many funerals in my family.’
‘So, that’s what the cross has come to stand for, in that bitter twisted mind of yours, death?’ O’Connor asked with the strains of passion and conviction in his voice. The priest had already drawn his conclusion.
‘I no longer know what it stands for Father. I only know that right now, as I sit, it’s peaceful in here.’ Morensky replied, looking both intrigued and mildly amused to be challenged by his priest.
‘I’m a man of faith, so for me the answers are different in here, like the atmosphere.’ O’Connor stated curtly, raising his voice so that it echoed eerily around the Cathedral pillars. ‘But you Jack, like so many others for whom bitterness and loss have driven them from their faith, have come to see the symbol of Christ to represent their loss. The crucifixion was a symbol of life, Jack. He died so that we may be forgiven and reborn. It was, ultimately, a positive not a negative. Daniel never lost sight of that, even after what happened to your mother, and his wife. And they were so beautiful son, so full of grace.’
Morensky heard O’Connor’s words, even respected them. But while he spoke of loss and the grace of CJ Morensky and Marasella Fox, all Jack saw was Wanda’s deathly white face smiling at him through strands of golden hair from the darkness beyond the pillars of stone lining the Cathedral.
‘I know.’ Morensky stood up to leave, again with no answers. ‘I’m sorry to have busted in here like this.’
‘His door is always open.’ The priest said openly with a nod back at the giant crucifix above the altar behind him. O’Connor gave him a kindly yet sad smile.
‘Why do you come here, really?’ He asked. Morensky shrugged again as he stepped away, edging nearer the exit.
‘I needed some calm… before the storm.’ He stated. O’Connor glanced over Jack’s shoulder at the open cathedral doors, puzzled. The snowstorm outside continued unabated.
‘Something you want to get off your chest?’ He asked following Jack towards the door.
‘Will you take confession before you leave?’ O’Connor asked, adding worried to puzzled.
‘Afraid not Father,’ Morensky smiled sadly at old family friend. They had different viewpoints these days, but he’d always respected O’Connor.
‘God doesn’t have that kind of time!’ Morensky reached out and hugged the priest to him tightly before heading back out into the swirling snow.
Darkgingerbread 