It had to be a Catholic church. Something about the feel of them was always the same, even without the eyes to see it. The familiar stations, the familiar flickering heat of prayer candles, the lingering aroma of old, worn hymnals and the thousands of other tiny smells that announced an altar, an organ, the coins in the collection plate, the faintness of wine and wafer, the heat of the sun through colored glass windows where the variation of temperatures due to the changes in color painted a picture inside of Matt’s head.

Not wanting to disturb the priest, wanting only to soak up the peace here and hope that it subverted the roaring devil in his head, Matt selected an empty bench near the front of the nave, genuflected, and after dropping his gym bag on the pew, sank down next to it with a heavy sigh.

“That is the sound of a burdened soul.”

“You’re Irish, Father…”

“Aye, that I am…though I have not been there in many years.” He often longed to go back, to see if his memories of the places from his youth matched the reality, but the needs of Havensport kept him here. “You have a good ear. Names’ Andrew…”

“It’s a gift,” Matt admitted, not inclined to reveal anything more than that. “Matthew…” It seemed less important to reveal his last name here. No one would know his father here, no one would know his history. Using his first name only kept him anonymous, kept him invisible in this smaller city. Invisible felt good at this moment, invisible, but not non-existent.

“You missed Mass…but I suppose you know that.” As he spoke, Father Andrew went about his daily routine of stuffing hymnals and Bibles into their slots on the backs of pews, picking up gloves or hats or other items left behind, sweeping bits of trash into a receptacle he carried with him. “Here for confession then?”

The corners of Matt’s mouth twitched as he contemplated how to answer that question. His hesitation was long enough that Andrew had likely given up on his replying, but finally Matt did murmur, “I don’t know exactly why I’m here, Father. I haven’t been inside of a church in a long time.” Truthfully, with the gap in his memory and no idea how long of a time period that gap covered, he could not say when he had last been in a church. Not for a service…he didn’t recall having done that since he was a boy, other than high holy days and funerals. He preferred empty churches, silent churches, where the stillness could soothe and calm his rankled spirit.

Knowing the sanctuary wasn’t empty might have deterred him normally, but this evening the notion of a priest’s company seemed a comforting one.

“Sometimes there is no reason. We are all blind in some way…all seeking answers…we go where the spirit compels us to be, where we might find answers. If you want to be here…if some devil has chased you here…stay as long as you wish. If you want to talk, my door is always open. If you don’t…that’s fine too.”

Matt chuckled, removed his glasses, and rubbed his eyes.

“What’s so funny?”

“I’m sorry, Father…I wasn’t laughing at you…you just…sound like someone I use to know.” That and the fact that this priest could not possibly know of the devils Matt carried in his soul. The irony of the words weren’t lost to him.

“No offense taken.” Matt could tell Andrew was smiling. “Given your expression when you came through the door…seeing you smile now…I’d say I’ve done my good deed for the day.”

“I admit…it feels good to laugh.” There had not been many light-hearted moments since finding himself in Havensport. He had not expected to find one here, to share it with a priest of all people.

Thank you :)

Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Giles/Faith, In Faith's Hands, 1,321 words, PG-13/T