Page 109 of Shrapnel

“It’s been a while.” Jamie finally turned to face the man. “We’re looking for Renard. You used to run with him back in the day.”

Father Connor’s smile dropped, and he looked between them quickly. “That was…. a regrettable part of my past. I’ve repented. Dedicated myself to my faith.”

Jamie nodded like it was the most reasonable thing he had ever heard. “Naturally. Back then you were what? A choir boy?”

There was a tension between the two. Father Connor seemed to finally study Jamie. “You look familiar…”

“Do I?” Jamie’s lips tugged up and Elijah felt a chill run down his spine. It was a dazzling smile, large and full of teeth. That smile never meant anything good. “I grew up around here.”

Father Connor began shaking his head but then he paused. Took another look. “You were that boy. The one who liked to sleep under the pews.”

Jamie opened his arms, shrugging like it was a cute story from his past. “That was me.”

Father Connor seemed to relax now. He crossed his arms and shook his head. “You and that other boy…oh, what was his name? You two used to sneak in here all the time. Father Cooke used to call you both the Fox Cubs.”

Elijah watched the interaction between them. Jamie’s smile faltered. It didn’t just disappear. It dropped. Jamie sucked his teeth.

“That’s not the only thing you called us.”

Taken aback, Father Connor seemed to sense the change in the room. “Pardon?”

“You had another name. Actually, there were a few. But there was one in particular that was my favorite.” Jamie stepped toward him, closing the space between them. He didn’t stop. He continued walking until he was too close. Father Connor stepped back, trying to create a socially acceptable boundary but Jamie just kept pressing in.

“Don’t you remember,Father?” Jamie asked, stalking after Father Connor until his back hit a door set into the side wall. “I remember. I remember being a scared little kid with a head filled with ideas about how the church is a safe space. A place I could go to escape.”

“It is…I’m sorry I don’t remember—”

“You don’t remember looking down your nose at me? A scared, hungry, cold child coming into a church to get warm? You don’t remember Father Cooke asking you to grab me?”

The color drained from Father Connor’s face. His breaths grew whiny, eyes darting back and forth. “I…F-Father Cooke had some terrible ideas…”

“Sinner,” Jamie spat the word. “That’s what he called me. A sinner with a whore for a mother. A sinner who needed to be cleansed.”

Father Connor’s lips trembled. “Father Cooke is gone.”

“But you’re here.” Jamie was smiling again, canines bared as he leaned in. “What didyoucall me, Father Connor?”

Head shaking, the man began scrambling for the doorknob. “I was a child—”

“What did you call me?!” Jamie screamed, his words echoing around the room. “What was the word,Father?”

His fingers grabbed the knob, slipping over the pockmarked brass. Spittle was forming at the corner of his mouth and Elijah thought he might throw up.

“F…fa-faggot…”

Father Connor finally got the knob to turn as he admitted to the slur. The door opened and the good Father fell inside. He landed in a heap on the tile. With horror, he looked around to realize he was trapped. There was only one door to the bathroom and Jamie was standing in it.

“That’s it.” Jamie laughed, shaking his head. He was still laughing, too loud in the space. “I was five years old. I was five years old when you grabbed me, told me I was a dirty sinner, and tried to cleanse me.”

Jamie lurched forward. He grabbed Father Connor by his hair, dragging him across the tiled floor.

“It’s ironic,” he repeated calmly, ignoring the way the Father was scrabbling at his wrists and screaming. “At the time I didn’t know what that meant, but now? Oh boy, now all I want is cock. I take it, I give it. You still think I’m a sinner?”

Father Connor whimpered, pulling at Jamie’s hand as it ripped strands of his dark hair from the top of his head. He kicked and screamed. “Please, I’m a man of God!”

“You’re a bully with a tax exception.” Jamie sneered, pulling him up to the toilet.

Jamie flipped the lid up, laying Father Connor’s chest over the porcelain. Snot dribbled down his chin as he fought Jamie’s hold, but there was no give. Jamie was manic. His eyes wide, pupils blown until there was nothing but black.