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The hours after Martha’s death were a blur. Once the paramedics arrived and took her from his arms, Jud could’ve collapsed from exhaustion or maybe shock. He didn’t take in a word of what passed between Blanc and Geraldine when she returned. At some point, a hand pulled him to his feet, and he let himself be steered him outside. Once he was sat on a bench in the churchyard, he recognized Blanc was speaking to him. He’d responded with something, possibly not a coherent answer to whatever the other man had said to him.
At some point, he found himself taking a bottle of water from a paramedic with a whispered, “Thank you.” It helped a bit, giving him something to do with his hands, stopping him from reaching in his pocket and gripping the diamond that sat heavy there. Blanc was a constant presence, either sitting beside him or flitting away to speak to others at the edge of his periphery.
Eventually, he was at the police station, sitting across the desk from Geraldine once again. It took ages to go through everything that had happened since Wicks’ death. The missing flask, it transpired, had since been found concealed in Martha’s room. Geraldine let her annoyance be known as Jud explained again how and why he’d taken it. (“What the actual fuck, Father?”) Somehow they reached the end of it, despite Jud’s hazy memory around Samson’s death and his hours in the woods the previous night.
Once they were done, Blanc was waiting for him and drove him home once again. He finally left him at the rectory after getting Jud to swear that he could take care of himself without collapsing. (“Eat. Shower. Sleep. Or shower, eat, sleep, but either way be quick about it before you pass out, son.”) Somehow he managed to fulfill those promises (well, a handful of dry cereal and a few baby carrots left in the fridge, then scrubbing as much of the grime off of him as he could in 5 minutes under the water), and buried the jewel from his pocket at the back of his nightstand, before dropping onto his tiny bed. Whispered fragments of prayers passed his lips as he finally fell asleep. He didn’t stay asleep very long.
Early the next morning, Jud found himself returning to the chapel, drawn as soon as the sun rose without conscious thought of where he was heading or why. Once he was again faced with the outline of the absent cross on the wall, he sank to his knees, clasping his rosary before him, hoping prayer might catch him from the freefall of his thoughts. As he knelt, he let the memories of the last few days come back to him, though they were jumbled and blurred together, a mix of reality and imagination. Blood dripping off his fingers in the storage closet. Wicks exiting his tomb in the lantern light. Samson lying in the coffin, Jud sealing him in. Martha accusing him outside the church, her voice mixing with Dr. Nat’s cry of “killer priest!” The red devil head clasped in his hand. Mud everywhere and the dark of the forest pressing in.
Jud opened his eyes to stem the flood. The church before him was blurry and he blinked rapidly to clear his vision. Empty. The flock halved and dispersed, the monsignor dead, and the church left bare as the day he arrived. And here he was, the sole priest left with no congregation, in an empty church that had for so long held only hate. Haunted by ghosts. Haunted by the anger of a desperate young woman trapped by her father’s shame and judgment. Haunted by sins done in god’s own name. And here he was left behind as this lonesome church’s keeper. Even though he had failed in his mission, failed to bring good to these people. Failed to bring god back to this church before it was too late for so many. He prayed. Prayed for Martha, for forgiveness, for Grace, for love, for Simone, for comfort, for Vera, for freedom. For Samson, who had died in front of him that night, who had paid that price for trying to help someone he loved. For Louise, who he had almost turned his back on chasing his own selfish ends. For this town, that he had not been able to serve, had not been able to reach yet.
Samson, Martha, Grace. Samson. Martha. Grace. Thoughts of Dr. Nat and even Wicks rose, as well as the taste of bile in his throat at the awareness that he should be praying for their salvation and forgiveness as well. He pushed those thoughts away. Tried to refocus his thoughts on the case.
A sparkling jewel, a fortune so many had killed and died over. The Lazarus door falling open and shattering. That damned devil head, stirring guilt in his heart. And Benoit Blanc. Through it all. Blanc steadying him in the hallway of the morgue, offering him absolution. Blanc towering over him in the firelight, disapproval etched on his face. Blanc shoving him into the back of his car to stop him confessing to murder. Blanc, bathed in golden sunlight yesterday, just feet from where Jud was now, looking radiant and almost holy. His clear eyes focusing on Jud, full of warmth and…
The sound of the door opening behind him brought Jud back from his wandering thoughts. Heat, shame, guilt, relief all warring inside him.
“I thought I might find you here.” A distinctive drawl reached him where he knelt. Jud felt he should rise and face Blanc, but he’d been kneeling long enough for his legs to go numb, and oh well, it wasn’t anything Blanc hadn’t witnessed already. His hands tightened on the rosary, trying to maintain his tenuous grip on his emotions. He took a breath to reply and found he had no idea what to say to the detective.
Tap, tap, tap, tap. Blanc’s slow footsteps echoed softly through the still room. Old instincts had Jud counting his steps and tracking in his mind how far up the aisle he must be.
“Why are you here?” Jud asked, hating the crack in his voice. He hoped it didn’t sound too dismissive, not wanting to offend the older man but he couldn’t muster the words to clarify. He didn’t need to look around to feel the older man’s approach as though a thread stretched between them. Was that his body’s awareness raising as it always had before a fight, or something akin to his spirit reaching out and finding a tether as he did in prayer? Or maybe he was going mad. Which was the better option?
Blanc didn’t answer right away. His footsteps continued until he came level with Jud, who kept his eyes fixed on the patch of red carpet in front of him.
After a minute, Blanc broke the silence, “I don’t imagine you slept as soundly as you should have last night.” When Jud didn’t react, Blanc moved in front of him. His shoes were clean and polished, not a trace of the mud that must have coated the pair he’d worn previously as they had trekked back and forth through the forest at night. Jud could still see the traces of mud under his fingernails and along his cuticles. Perhaps he would always see it if he looked close enough.
“Would you allow me to help you again?” Blanc murmured, his hand brushing against Jud’s shoulder and hesitantly, gently coming to raise his chin, tilting Jud’s gaze up to met the detective’s. Blue eyes revealed concern, but his face was calm, comforting. The shadow of the cross was still visible behind him as it framed him like so many paintings of saints.
“How?” Jud whispered.
“Well, for starters, you could release whatever there is inside your head tormenting you. If I’m not very much mistaken, you’ve got some inane sense of misplaced guilt tearing you apart, my dear.” Blanc said, raising an eyebrow at him, “I am certainly no priest, but I can listen well enough.”
Bless me father, for I have sinned passed across Jud’s mind instinctively. His head swam and a vision of Blanc draped in a purple stole popped up. He blinked and cast his eyes downward to clear the insane image. There were several lines of thought battling for attention in Jud’s head but now that Blanc was here, offering to take them from him, he wasn’t sure what to say. Well, better start with the most important one. The piece of absolution he wasn’t sure he’d deserved from Blanc. Absolution or damnation, whichever he was given.
He swallowed and asked, “How sure are you that I didn’t kill Sam? I know Martha said it was Dr. Nat, but what if she was mistaken? I know I’m capable of that sin, and I was sure yesterday that I had…What if I was right? What if I’m still the same person I was at 17? A violent killer. God didn’t fix me, he just took me in his mercy. But maybe I don’t deserve to be redeemed.” He couldn’t tear his gaze from the detective’s shoes in front of his knees.
“Look at me.” Jud squeezed his eyes shut in refusal. Blanc’s hand returned to Jud’s shoulder and pressed down. “Boy, don’t make me tell you again.”
Jud huffed irritably but glanced up at the detective through his eyelashes.
“Good boy,” Blanc praised him softly. Jud’s stomach did something funny at that, distracting him for a moment from the open cavern of guilt inside him. Blanc’s gaze was steady and felt like a spotlight into Jud’s soul, searching him and exposing all his darkest flaws. “You did not kill Samson. I am absolutely positive. One hundred percent certain of that. I have been since it happened, but perhaps I should have taken the time to assuage you of that notion earlier. You were framed for these murders, Father, but that does not make it your guilt to take on.” His words were like an offering of water to a man lost in the desert, but Jud wasn’t sure he could accept the kindness.
“How do you know?” Jud pressed, his voice heated. “I’m the only person left who was there, and I thought I’d done it for Christ’s sake! Sorry,” he breathed the last word up toward the heavens before continuing, “Why didn’t you think it was all me from the start? I’m the one who’d killed before, who hated Wicks! The police were ready to arrest me. Geraldine would’ve if you hadn’t stopped her! Why? Why me?” Jud sat back on his heels and dropped the rosary in his lap to press his palms against his eyes for a moment, until red filled his vision. When Blanc didn’t respond, Jud dropped his hands again, frowning at him. Blanc was smiling, a tiny sad smile.
“You continue to surprise me, Father. You don’t see it. Do you?” Blanc asked. Jud simply stared so he continued, “The good in you. It was my first revelation in this case. Before I came here to your church, I familiarized myself with Geraldine’s accounts of what happened, and I knew there was one obvious solution for Wicks’ death. No miracles or hidden machines. One person with both motive and opportunity. I try not to make any assumptions on my cases, but there was certainly a pile of reasons you were likely involved if not responsible… But then I met you.” He reached out a hand, and his fingertips brushed against Jud’s cheek.
“And suddenly this murder was impossible again, because I could see that you simply hadn’t done it. I couldn’t point to evidence of anyone else conceivably having the opportunity or a reasonable alternative explanation for it, but the clear starting point for me to build this case around was the fact that you did not do it, Jud. I found myself rooted in my faith of that from our first conversation, where you went out of your way to show kindness and connect to a disbelieving stranger. As much as I wanted to solve this case, I found myself wanting to understand you and your bafflingly kind heart. You’ve shown the good in you time and time again the last few days, and it pains me you seem blind to it, my dear boy.”
Jud blinked and became aware that there were tears in his eyes as one escaped onto his cheek. He had no idea what to say to that, but he shook his head a little, unable to accept it. Blanc pressed his hand more firmly against Jud’s face to wipe the stray tear with his thumb. The urge rose to lean into that gentle touch, and as Jud gave in, it felt less like temptation and more like his first communion. Acceptance of a holy offering, a step forward as he balanced the weight of his sins with the love being given to him by Christ. Give us this day our daily bread.
Blanc’s palm was soft against his skin. His thumb traced over the ridge of his cheekbone firmly. Soothing, almost hypnotic in its repetition. Jud’s own thumb copied the rhythm, smoothing over the surface of a rosary bead in his lap. When Blanc slowed, he couldn’t help chasing that sensation, turning his head slightly more into Blanc’s hand. The movement brought the man’s thumb to slide over the corner of his mouth, catching on the swell of his bottom lip. Unconsciously (or perhaps instinctively, automatically) Jud opened his mouth. Barely a sliver, just enough for his lips to part. Above him, there was a sharp inhale of breath from Blanc. For what could only have been milliseconds, his thumb pressed down, depressing the pliant tissue of his lip. Then his hand was ripped away, an abrupt retreat. The detective had turned on his heel and started to pace along the front of the pews, hands clasped behind his back. Jud was left taking shaky breaths through his still open mouth. His hands gripped onto his pant legs to steady himself. His attention suddenly returning to his own body, he was mortified to recognize the hot arousal that had pooled in his gut while he had drifted. And to realize that he was half hard in his pants from a hand on his face and a couple sentences of praise. He didn’t know what to do with that.
He took a few deeper breaths. Blanc was still pacing, not looking at him. Despite what was surely embarrassment at the thought, Jud wished he would turn that intense focus back on him. He clenched his jaw shut again, trying to regain control. He felt set adrift again, no longer caught under Blanc’s gaze or touch. The shadows hanging over him had begun to dissipate with the detective clearing the air around him, but the dark was there ready to creep back in. Guilt he would continue to carry like a cross on his back, unable yet to set it down. Forgive us our sins, as we forgive those who sin against us. Jud shook his head to clear it.
“All of this…it’s my fault. It was all because of me.”
Blanc scoffed, turning on his heel. He didn’t look at Jud as he paced back the other direction.
“I pushed Martha to confess. Because of that, she felt she had to kill Wicks. And Samson wasn’t supposed to die but I was there and screwed everything up. And if Samson hadn’t died, Martha wouldn’t have killed Nat and maybe she wouldn’t have killed herself. And I-“
“That’s enough.” Blanc’s voice had an edge to it, that made Jud look up, “None of that makes it your fault. Martha’s actions were her own choices, and the fault of that whole concocted mess with Eve’s Apple can be shared between her, Wicks, and his idiotic father. Dr. Nat’s greed and belief that he could buy back a wife who didn’t love him caused him to take Samson’s life. Your presence there that night did not kill him, nor do you bear any responsibility for not saving him. Do you understand me?” He had approached Jud again, fixing him with a look that Jud couldn’t quite read.
“Yes,” Jud whispered. He wasn’t sure this would totally wipe away the memory of coming to with his hand on the blade in Sam’s chest, but the steadfast conviction of the man in front of him gave him something to cling to at least and shake some of the haze away. Absolution from the object of his faith. Until he could clearly hear it from God himself, maybe that would be enough.
Blanc’s expression had twisted. He looked torn and his posture betrayed the slightest shift forward, as if he were making the effort to hold himself back. Maybe Jud could’ve deciphered what that meant if his head wasn’t so full or he’d had at least one normal night’s sleep in the last three days, but his focus was shot. Perhaps he should return to the rectory and attempt to sleep, to clear his head. To let Blanc go as well, not keep him bound here, trying to guide a confused priest through his latest crisis. Jud moved to regain his feet finally. The pins and needles had him stumbling immediately and reaching out toward the nearest pew for balance. Blanc moved quicker though, supporting Jud by the arm and taking his weight. Before he could object, he was steered to sit on the pew. Blanc’s hand lingered on Jud’s bicep for just a moment before dropping as he sat next to him. They faced forward in silence. Jud opened his mouth a couple times to tell Blanc he was free to go, that he didn’t need babysitting or pity, but the words died each time. He also thought if the detective walked out now, he might not see him again and he wasn’t sure he was ready to face that.
“Can I tell you something else?” Jud broke the silence after a few minutes. Blanc gestured for him to continue.
“I’m glad he’s dead. Wicks. I should be forgiving him and praying for his soul.”
Blanc frowned, “He was a bigoted, hateful old man who worked tirelessly to keep others afraid of him and to keep you on the fringes, powerless. He poisoned others not just against your beliefs but against you personally. And from what you told me, he spent the past nine months sexually harassing you and abusing you.”
“It was only that one time he hit me.”
“Physically, sure. But that man took his anger and hatred of the world out on you in plenty of other ways. His death has not only ended his spewing of vitriolic bullshit into the world but also freed you from enduring it every day. I’d be more concerned if you weren’t glad he’s gone. With your incredible capacity for grace, you may find it in yourself to forgive him yet. But I wouldn’t blame you if not. I can tell you I won’t.” Blanc’s voice was dark and filled with the same quiet anger it’d held when he’d spoke about the failings of the church during their first conversation. Jud turned to look at him and caught that edge of anger in his eyes too, but it bled away as Blanc met his gaze, replaced with something softer. He looked tired and sad again. Jud thought he might hate that look on him. Familiar guilt bubbled up inside him for being the one to put it there. For not being able to offer relief back to this miracle of a man who had kept him, was still keeping him, from teetering off the edge through his recent trials.
“I don’t think I’ve said it yet,” Jud said, “Thank you, Blanc. You saved my life. I truly don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”
“Oh please, there’s no need,” Blanc grimaced awkwardly as he waved away Jud’s thanks, “When you weren’t tryin’ your hardest to confess to things you didn’t do, you were an invaluable asset to me.”
Jud leaned forward in an effort to make the detective listen, “No, seriously. Thank you. When you arrived, I was literally on my knees, begging for help. And you walked in, like-“ like my salvation, my guardian angel, like God had heard me and sent you in his stead. Jud stopped himself, knowing his take on divine intervention wouldn’t mean much to the self-proclaimed heretic. Blanc seemed to know what he was thinking anyway, with a raised eyebrow and a rather dubious look. “Like…the Good Samaritan,” Jud finished instead.
“The Good Samaritan?” Blanc was clearly trying not to roll his eyes.
“Yes, I know,” Jud huffed, “But seriously, you showed up out of nowhere and offered me, a stranger you’d have every reason to distrust, help when no one else would. Mercy for a neighbor. You stopped where most people would keep walking.”
Blanc smiled. He still looked more amused than convinced, but he didn’t argue, so Jud counted it as a win.
“What on earth am I supposed to do with you?” Blanc mused, affection written plain on his face.
Impulse had Jud leaning forward suddenly, moving before his brain had the chance to object. Pressing his mouth against Blanc’s in a messy, out-of-practice sort of way that felt for a moment like fire coursing across him, scarring and cleansing in equal measure. In another heartbeat, Blanc’s lips moved in response, and Jud wrenched himself back.
“I’m sorry,” Jud blurted out, trying to catch his breath. He wasn’t sure if he was talking to Blanc or God in that moment, “Fuck, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.” He pressed his forehead against his clasped hands, swallowing hard. His face was burning. For better or worse, it did feel like his freefall had finally come to an end…he just wasn’t sure how hard he’d just slammed into the ground.
“You said before that your god loves you when you’re guilty,” Blanc said, his deep voice more tightly controlled than Jud had heard it before, “but I must say he and I don’t see eye to eye on that, my dear. I’d much rather see you let yourself want without shame. Apologize to him if you must, but don’t apologize to me.” He placed a hand over Jud’s wrist, not pulling or gripping, just offering a touch that Jud could retreat from. He didn’t move.
Jud shook his head sadly, “I need you to understand- I can’t want- This isn’t something I’m going to just walk away from, Blanc. Being a priest is my life, my purpose. I won’t sacrifice it.”
“And I would never ask you to,” Blanc countered, “Never ask for more than you can give, my dear. Say the word right now and I’ll go, we can pretend this whole conversation never happened.” Something twisted painfully inside of Jud at that. He recognized the out he was being offered and knew that Blanc meant to keep that promise. He knew what answer he was supposed to give now. Somehow that felt like more of a betrayal. Lead me not into temptation, but deliver me from evil. Well, God had delivered, hadn’t he?
“Tell me to stop,” Blanc murmured, lifting Jud’s hand to his mouth. His eyes bore into Jud’s, a silent question, as he pressed a kiss against his bruised knuckles. Finding no resistance, he turned the priest’s hand over and pressed his lips to his wrist over the pulse point. A shudder passed over Jud’s body, but he didn’t pull away. Blanc leaned forward, releasing the younger man’s arm to place a hand on his knee. “Tell me to stop,” he said again. Jud reached out and caught on to Blanc’s arm by his elbow. Not wanting to push away, just needing to anchor himself somewhere. Blue eyes flickered down to his grip, then back up to his face. Another question. “Use your words, pretty boy,” the detective practically growled. Jud whined in the back of his throat.
“Please,” he whispered, unable to articulate more. Blanc’s other hand reached out; he hooked a finger into the priest’s collar and pulled him forward. Jud went eagerly. The hand on his knee tightened.
“Tell me to stop.” He was so close Jud could feel his breath against his face. The blue of his irises was mostly swallowed by black now. He was desperate for the man to stop asking and start doing. This was a leap of faith, and he was ready to jump.
“Please,” he begged. The word had barely escaped his mouth before Blanc’s lips were on his again. Jud immediately parted his lips, letting Blanc steer him into a deeper kiss, tongue sliding over his lips and teeth. His hand moved from the dog collar, coming around to press firm against the back of Jud’s neck. Jud moaned into his mouth. He felt Blanc smirk before the man pulled back and moved to suck at his neck instead.
Jud was painfully aware of his years of celibacy as he slid his hands up Blanc’s arms, trying to find where to place them. The hand on his knee was creeping up along his thigh, and Blanc’s mouth had found the edge of his tattoo. A sharp nip there had him gasping, the slight pain at his skin a contrast to the burning sensation enveloping his insides.
“Blanc,” he gasped, “Benoit- fuck-“ He couldn’t seem to get any words from his brain to his mouth, but luckily Blanc seemed to understand, relenting his efforts to mark up his neck. The older man huffed a laugh against his skin.
“That’ll have to wait until we get out of these pews,” he said, pressing another kiss against his tattoo. Jud nodded dumbly, not really following his words as his mind was busy melting a bit. His fingers were idly tracing patterns onto Blanc’s sleeves, disconnected from his brain. “Alright, c’mere,” the detective instructed. His hands moved to grip Jud’s hip and under his thigh, guiding him up and to swing his leg over until he was straddling the older man’s lap. His arms came to rest comfortably around Blanc’s shoulders. As soon as he was settled, he was pulled into another kiss, rough and messy. Blanc’s right hand was splayed against his ass, kneading into him as his mouth drew more noises out of the priest. Despite the wood digging against his knees and the awkward angle, Jud rocked his hips against Blanc’s fervently. Blanc worked open the top few buttons of his shirt to access his collarbone. His mouth roamed over the exposed skin, each pulse of pleasure and pain pulling gently on that tether around his soul. His breathing became heavier, Blanc’s fingers tightening on the back of his neck.
“Please,” he rasped out again, not sure what he was begging for but knowing Blanc would give it to him.
“So needy, aren’t you?” Blanc whispered, then gently soothed a bite he’d just left with his tongue. Jud moaned, pressing closer. The heat and friction of the detective’s clothed cock against his own erection shouldn’t have been enough, but it was. “Gonna be a good boy and come for me?” Blanc’s voice betrayed his own desire, intense and pulling Jud deeper still. He nodded and choked on his saliva trying to find an answer. “Let it all go baby, I’ve got you. Let me see you come apart, sweet boy.“ Jud bit his lip to keep from crying out again.
It should be humiliating, Jud thought, being reduced to getting himself off by dry humping in another man’s lap. But somehow there was a peace to it, his mind quiet as pleasure built. The kind of stillness he usually found deep in prayer. Maybe that was God reaching out. Maybe it was just steadying arms of the detective around him, holding fast. Either way this was the kind of ecstasy they wrote psalms about, Jud thought. His vision of the light in this empty church and the man before him was almost blinding as he reached his peak, incomprehensible praise or prayer falling from his lips. He buried his head against Blanc’s shoulder to shield his eyes, and his hips slowed.
Blanc was smoothing a hand down his spine, murmuring comforting words in his ear. Jud felt dizzy, boneless in a way he didn’t remember from his past life’s experiences. His forehead against the detective’s neck, the arms encircling him, his knees aching against unyielding wood, were the only points of awareness keeping him from floating away it seemed. He waited for the guilt to come seeping in, expecting it as the thing that would force him to move, stand, leave this bubble of safety. But it didn’t. Even with the sensation of cum drying in his pants, Jud couldn’t find any shame within himself, only a gentle warmth of being held, physically and spiritually.
“Blanc?” He murmured, his words almost slurred, “Are you-“
The detective shushed him, “Don’t worry about me. How about we go and getcha cleaned up though, huh? You could use some rest and we can talk about this later.” Jud nodded. His legs shook under him when he stood, but the ground under him was as firm as it had been in months.
He wasn’t sure yet where this path was going, but as Blanc steadied him, he felt certain he was following where God was leading, with his guide to bring him towards the light.