Chapter Text
Faith had never been a thing Will Graham lacked. It had been there like a second nature, stuck into his bloodstream like the oxygen swimming alongside it. Rushing between organs and bones alike, keeping his body up and running. What else could you have besides faith when you saw the deepest depravity inside others minds. Faith rusts away at your bones, making them heavier than normal, especially if that faith is met with nothing but silence. Faith may ran in his bloodstream but so did scepticism.
So when he was called in for yet another murder, he wasn’t surprised. It was even less surprising when it was another in the Norman Chapel. It was the third in the past eight months, all splayed out in a way that suggested prayer. Heads upturned, eyes closed, and hands folded as if they were praying to a god high above in the rafters. Some had their entrails engraved, words strung in Latin. Always parts of prayers, perhaps some bible verses. Hands imbedded clearly with the wounds that usually stigmata would leave and strangled with their own rosary. Like they had been crucified before being positioned. It seemed as much that the killer was trying to create saints of their victims.
The angels painted in the corners of the arch right above the altar always seemed just as unmoving, yet unsettling. He’d peer up at them but never was able to remember which belonged to which side. The silver haired one always send a shiver down his spine when he gazed up at him, the golden circle behind him doing nothing to make him more holy. Will had just resorted to ignoring them after the fifth visit. Jack had been adamant he’d figure it out, even going so far as forcing Will to go in multiple times. It had been something about Jack and Bella frequenting the church and being unable to find solace now that it had been closed constantly. Will hadn’t cared much for the reason, more for the fact he felt eyes on him every second he was inside the large hall. He had even kneeled before the altar like it would give him the answers he needed, head tipped up at the angels.
It had felt uncomfortable, staring up so openly like he was praying more towards the ceiling than the god in question Himself. It had happened when he was sent in for the same murder the third time, being positive he wouldn’t find anything else in the mind of the perpetrator or retracing his steps. So he had knelt like he had seen others do before him, had seen others made done before him. Hands folded, head raised and eyes wide open. He hadn’t been there to pray either way. Praying for an answer had never done him any good, Gods don’t discriminate between the ones who have faith and the ones who have none. All get the same answer of silence. Staring up as if the painted arch could answer the question of why the killer had decided to pose their saints. The silver haired one had kind eyes, amused eyes it almost seemed familiar to him. Head tilted up like he was mocking the idea of a God himself. Will probably had looked too much into the angels, had stared too much up, because for a second it seemed like the eyes had flicked down towards him. As if the God he was supposed to be gazing up to, was less important than the man kneeling at the altar steps.
It had startled him, enough to consider himself done. He had tried to avoid the angel from that moment on. Afraid that his mind tricked him into seeing things that weren’t there. Somehow from the moment he walked in his eyes were always drawn to the arch above the altar. Will blamed it on lack of sleep, perhaps even that it was created to be like that, even if it was one of the simpler arches, more there to draw eyes to the altar self. It still left him unsettled like a deep ache in his bones. While faith had been something Will had always had, it did not mean he worshipped. Prayer had seemed useless after never getting an answer on why his mommy wasn’t coming back. Faith existed now solely for him to reassure himself that he would do the right thing, the right way. Even when he hesitated in his moments, when the thoughts tried to drag him under the waves that would suddenly show in his supposedly calm stream filled with deep black water. It hadn’t always been, yet when it changed he soon found comfort in the depths.
So when he was send once again, back into the church to gather information for Jack that was nowhere to find. Will set out to instead put himself down in the confessional booth. Knowing he wasn’t there for a confession but convincing Jack that he might learn things about the victims if he could act out their routines within the church. Honestly, he just was tired enough that he wanted to sit, the booth wasn’t comfortable, he’d known that from his younger years. It wasn’t comfortable, it did what it needed to do though. A place for him out of sight and earshot from others who might come to complain about his lack of progress. It hadn’t been helping that everyone kept claiming it must’ve been the will of God because there had been reports of “People hearing His voice while praying on the church pews by themselves”
Bitterly sitting there, waiting for the believable time that it would take for him to have put in to learn about the victims. He had known everything about them from the first glance already, there just wasn’t anything on the killer. So he sat in his silence until a slight rustling was heard and a calm voice asked him. “Have you found what you were looking for?” from the other side where the priest usually sits. Will hadn’t spoken to the priest himself, always being directed away from him by Jack. Something about him being the wrong person to speak with someone who devoted himself so wholly. Will hadn’t even been that bothered with it.
“That depends, I’m assuming you are Father Dilluca, what you mean with what I’m looking for” Will grit out, not enjoying the sudden surprise of the priest deciding to come pick his brain even if he was doing nothing of worth in the little booth, ignoring how his shoulder ached already from sitting so straight against the wooden back.
“I don’t believe you came here to find God, at least not in anyone’s words. Certainly you are not here for a confession, you would’ve come to me asking for my attendance. I am indeed Father Dilluca, you must be Will. Agent Crawford has spoken about you” The voice spoke, it didn’t boom and it didn’t fully drawl. The accent seemed more to mumble yet the voice itself carried a kind of dignity. Elegance, like the owner had never knew humility.
“I don’t care much for confession. I also do not care much for the things you have learned about me that you feel like you should be here to talk to me.” Will scanned instinctively to see if he could find the priests eyes between the lattice, knowing once he saw he could avoid. It would be easier. Finding that after a minute of his quiet scanning he could not see them, he pointedly looked at the part in front of him that did not allow for any sight.
“Not quite as fond of eye contact are you? Not even if you can’t fully see them?” The voice remarked with humour. Will could almost imagine the eyes filled with amusement from the angel above before shaking his head to will the image away. He had known Father Dilluca’s eyes are green.
“Eyes are distracting, it takes away the purpose of a conversation if you just constantly have to bother with looking at another. With thoughts usually focused upon the colour or the dilation of the pupil, it never leaves any space for actual focus on a conversation” Will had practically spit out back at the priest. Disliking the smugness that accompanied his arrogance. Father Dilluca hadn’t looked too old to Will, perhaps his early sixties. All he had known was that there was no real interest for Will to be talking to this man.
“You do not need eye contact to talk to God either, so I understand where you’re coming from” The amusement was evident, sending Will’s blood alight. It had seemed such an easy way to deter people from speaking to him, yet the priest seemed determined. Not allowing him to cut the conversation short as quickly as he would like.
“I guess you would know, seeing as nobody has come eye to eye to speak to God. Neither have you.” Will had muttered back, causing a soft laugh from Father Dilluca. The amusement even more evident than it had before, once again reminding him of the mocking eyes of the painted angel. Surely the halo should’ve been split with a crack through the middle, Will mused. Nothing holy about any of it.
“I surely have not, I don’t believe I am ready for a judgment that large yet.” the priest had told him in return. Calm in he way of taking no offense of the other mans rudeness. Less interested in spitting venom back than hearing what the man meant. Even without seeing the priest Will knew he had his full attention. Feeling the same kind of watched like he felt when he had knelt in front of the altar, angel eyes flicking down to him.
“I thought because you were served and devoted to your God, his judgement wouldn’t be too harsh. After all, devotion is what they all say will bring you closer to God and closer to Heaven. Isn’t that exactly what you are here for?” Will wondered loudly without seeing the man it was harder to read his motives. It didn’t bother him as much as it probably should, he felt the soft amusement never faltering, as if the Priest was incredibly fond of him.
“I guess you are right, I am also here to absolve their sins in the name of God and to care for our community when no other does it.” Voice still just as bright, filled with fond amusement, the priest never faltered. His words kind in ways Will himself wasn’t. “I feel like we will sadly have to end our conversation. Another of God’s children will probably like to speak to me. If you could be so kind.”
The never ending kindness was directed at him a little more forcefully. “If you wish, I’ll know you’re here and we can continue our conversation another time.” Father Dilluca proposed. “I wish you much luck, Will. May God be with you on your journey to find salvation for the ones who deserve it.” In that moment was the only hint of bitterness Will had been able to notice come forth, amusement far to be found.
“And with you, Father” Will had stumbled out as he got up, slightly dazed at the quick change in pace. Deciding to indeed retire towards Jack to tell him what he had already known. Keeping his conversation to himself. Not seeing any interest in it for Jack or anyone else. Stumbling past waiting worshippers, unable to help as their mutters when he finally vacated the blocked off church.
The sound of blood dripping was loud. Nothing dampening the sound in the silence that held mass in the Norman Capel. Will had once again found himself kneeling in front of the altar, this time forehead leaning against. He was sure if he knelt on the pews, the eyes of the angel would’ve flicked down towards him with their usual cruel amusement. It had never occurred to him to kneel closer to the altar, not even when he had knelt to learn about the victims. He had kept his distance from the altar as respectfully as he could. It felt constricting, the closeness. It was like he was finally fully praying up to whoever the killer had been praying to.
It felt hot on his throat, like it was burning him. Dripping down in trickles that kept coming. It wasn’t long before he realised what he felt was a rosary made of thorns constricting tighter around his neck. It didn’t hurt, Will didn’t feel much of anything besides the warmth that seemed to envelop him. Spreading from his neck, down his chest, to his gut. His eyes blurring the art of the ceiling, angels combining in front of his eyes. There weren’t even supposed to be angels where he was looking, yet the amused angel looked down on him again. Watching the angel glance down past him, down to his stomach, he had done the same. Taking in the way his intestines were spilling out of him, slowly being burned engravings in.
“Damnant quod non intellegunt” was written on tissue. The smell of them burning it in to themselves, slowly appearing letter for letter was gag inducing, yet Will’s eyes never strayed from the strange beauty of it. “They condemn what they do not understand” like it had been engraved into the first victims intestines. Antony Dimmond had been an avid visitor of the Capella, Will had learned after going through testimonies. He’d also been first found, strangled with the rosary he brought to confession. Everyone agreed it was an unfortunate accident until they learned he’d been cheating on his wife with a man. No less his old professor, who he been a teachers assistant to and had 2 kids. Perfect picket fence life ruined by yet another. It had been speculated Antony had been killed for this act, Will didn’t believe it.
Especially because the next phrase being engraved had been “ciurmatore” in Italian. Bitter and harsh, almost sloppily done. Like Antony had done something much worse than adoring a married man. Watching the same words get burned into himself, Will didn’t move. It wasn’t horrendous to him, it seemed just even. Especially with the angel watching him from above, more pleased than ever. Even as the halo that was supposed to be projected behind his head wasn’t there. Even as his robes weren’t the same white, and his hands looked blood stained. It seemed to please, his willingness to still pray as he was carved open for the God he was supposed to pray to. Nothing else had ever felt so just.
Will awoke with a start. Hands flying to his stomach to feel, for a second a long scar was left across his stomach, fingers touching uneven skin before scrambling for the light.
Nothing was left there, besides the flood of emptiness filling the cavity that was supposed to be there.