Living Like A Saint

Jean wore his Sunday's best early in the morning. He looked in the mirror. A clean-shaven, porcelain-like face stared with its piercing brown eyes and its somewhat thin eyebrows raised.

Jean checked his mouth for any remnants of the eggs and rice he ate almost half an hour ago. Then, he turned off the bathroom lights, ignoring his dirty clothes wrapped in his towel on the hamper at the door.

Jean opened his filing cabinet with his keychain and looked at his accounted expenditures. He wondered briefly about future purchases and profitable investments. Jean shook his head and locked up the cabinet.

Eventually, Jean slipped on his shoes and the standard-issue black clergy cassock.

It was time. He had deacon duties to do.

The drive to the Renningberry Catholic Church took only minutes. Jean stepped out of his neat and tidy blue Ford Bronco. Although it was getting old, he took diligent care of it.

Jean jingled his keys and opened the rusty doors of the Church. Its noise brought peace to his mind. Even with all the tweeting of birds, it was nice to hear noises that could alert Jean.

Jean held his duties with solemn dedication and maintained the aging organ among many other things. Hours passed and soon, he was done.

Jean laid a Bible in his lap as he sat in front of the organ. His fingers danced across the keys, practicing different arrangement of Gothic music.

A loud thrum of a sputtering transmission broke into the melody, but Jean did not stop. Soon, Pastor Nick arrived. His large form comically contrasted his position, yet his aging appearance showed he did not lack experience. He was a decent-looking man in his fifties, after all.

"Jean! You're here early, like always, huh? You're such a good kid. Are you going to lead the liturgy again?" Pastor Nick called, walking towards the altar.

"Yes, Brother Nick. 'For the Lord Grants wisdom! From his mouth come knowledge and understanding.' Proverbs 2:6." Jean replied. He stopped playing.

"I still don't know why you come in so early. A talented and good-hearted kid like you should be sweeping the entertainment industry!" Pastor Nick chuckled. "You play music like a Heaven-sent angel, you know that, Jean?"

"I have faith the Lord guides me to help others. 'Trust in the Lord with all your heart; do not depend on your own understanding.' Proverbs 3:5."

"Jean! You don't have to be so stiff. Why do you need to quote the Scriptures when both of us are well-read?"

"We must stay true to our teachings. 'Without wise leadership, a nation falls; there is safety in having many advisers.' What better advisers can there be than the Scriptures themselves?"

"Well, I knew I shouldn't have argued with you. You keep drowning me in your faith. Lighten up a little, huh?" Pastor Nick scratched at his stubble.

"I'm just joking with you! I'm young but lacking experience. If I want to enjoy the world, I have to make my own fun, right?" Jean winked at Pastor Nick.

Pastor Nick jarred in his step as he was walking to his office in the basement, suitcase in hand. "Y-yeah. Life's too short to worry so much about. Just don't go overboard. You keep reminding me of old Pastor Francis."

"Fine, Brother Nick. I'll see you at Mass."

Jean continued playing the organ until the main congregation filed in.

Jean rang the bell as Pastor Nick stood behind him. They went through the Rites lethargically. When the hymns came up, Jean lively led the Choir and congregation. Jean preached for the sermon and homily about truth and happiness. He noted the tragic end of William and Veronica, with their children. The Profession of Faith and the Prayers passed quickly.

Small baskets were passed around for donations as offertory began. Soon, the end neared.

Pastor Nick only offered Natalie the pitiful amount of wine left in the chalice. She was recently accepted by Yaler, long served as a volunteer for the homeless and needy, and always had good behavior.

After the drink, she became a little flushed so Pastor Nick helped her sit on the side. Pastor Nick blessed the congregation but said Natalie told him she wanted to confess her sins privately before leaving on Tuesday.

Members of the congregation shuffled out, slightly tired but invigorated by the teachings of Deacon Jean and Pastor Nick. Their cars slowly pulled out and left only three behind.

Jean softly smirked. He cleaned up the pews and after the Mass methodically. Today was special.

Jean stretched and decided he took long enough. Pastor Nick closed the Church doors for his private session with Natalie. It didn't take a genius to figure out what he was doing.

Jean tucked his thick, hardcover Bible under his armpit. He slowly walked down the steps, appreciating the history of the stone foundation. At the door, he heard muffled noises. Jean unlocked the door and then knocked.

"Brother Nick? It's getting late. Shouldn't Natalie get home soon?"

Jean opened the door mid-sentence.

There, Pastor Nick stood, half-way thrusting into the sprawled form of Natalie. Her hands were bound by taut rope to sconces on the wall and her mouth was filled with a ball gag. Her legs similarly were spread apart, tied, and weakly moving in resistance.

Pastor Nick's arm was drawn back, with a riding crop in hand. It fell out of his grasp. Already, long red lines drew across Natalie's skin, slightly bleeding.

"Jean, wait!"

Jean stood in place, imprinting the memory. How many years had he known this was going on? Too many, that's how many. Father Francis didn't go to the grave willingly, and Jean knew this too...

"Jean, I can explain! This is… yes. She wanted this! We're just having adult fun! There's no need for you to be here!"

"Brother Nick," Jean said, coldly. "I was going to debate the Scriptures with you. 'My eyes are red with weeping; dark shadows circle my eyes." Job 16:16. Is that not what I see from Natalie? 'Shouldn't someone answer this torrent of words? Is a person proved innocent just by a lot of talking?' Job 11:2. Can I trust you anymore, Brother Nick? Shouldn't I trust the words of Natalie?"

Pastor Nick slowly pulled up his pants and walked over to the door.

"Jean. Forget this ever happened. Next time--"

"NEXT TIME?!" Jean thundered.

"Jean!" Pastor Nick bowed to Jean for forgiveness. "Please!" They stood in silence.

Jean began mumbling quietly.

"What was that, Jean?" Pastor Nick asked. Another moment of silence passed.

"I called the police. They're going to arrest you."

"What?! NO! I CAN'T END LIKE THIS! HOW DARE YOU, UNGRATEFUL WHELP!! I WILL KILL YOU!!"

Pastor Nick charged at the door. Jean fled, dropping the phone.

They both ran up the stairs, and Jean let Pastor Nick catch up.

Pastor Nick tackled Jean's legs and screamed in fury. They both fell forwards.

"Let go! Let go! LET GO!!!" Jean yelled at the desperate man.

Pastor Nick pummeled Jean's androgenous legs as Jean tried to slip away.

Jean smiled brightly.

His Bible fell like a guillotine. A cold snap broke the air, and with a swift kick, Pastor Nick fell down the stairs like a ragdoll. A sickening thump splattered the end of his fall.

Jean slowly walked down the stairs, enduring the pounding his legs encountered.

At the bottom, Pastor Nick spawled like broken toy, probably looking like what the many women he groomed and tasted felt like. A pool of red began forming.

Jean bent down to feel his pulse. There was none.

Jean stumbled over to Natalie. He removed the ball gag to hear her sobbing and slowly untied her limbs. She cried endlessly, so Jean patted her head.

"There, there. It's all over. 'He will wipe every tear from their eyes, and there will be no more death or sorrow or crying or pain. All these things are gone forever.' Revelation 21:4." he cooed.

Jean hugged Natalie until the police arrived.

The city launched an investigation into the incident. Many women attested to Jean's innocence and Pastor Nick's vile ways. There was enough physical evidence to put Pastor Nick behind bars for life and even more. People whispered rumors and spread gossip about Father Francis. Yet, Jean stayed a devout and proud Catholic Christian who acted in heroic self-defence.

Jean took over the Renningberry Catholic Church. Pope Jon Paul the Great commended Jean and took measures to condemn the sexual misconduct of the Catholic Church while apologizing to victims.

Jean continued living normally, albeit with more respect and publicity. He removed one more shackle, all in the eyes of the public. He could use even more subliminal messages to imprint his alibi into the mind of the public. Jean smiled more brightly in public. It was all going to plan, after all.

Wasn't the best disguise in plain sight?