Rating: T, not for this chapter, but for the overall fic, just to be safe.
Author's note: Okay, guys. Bear with me. It's my first foray into a crime fic. DL lovers, our favorite couple will still be front and center. This chapter was necessary for setup.
Forgive me for I have sinned …
Chapter 1
Father Sean Mulcahy stifled a yawn. It was near the end of a particularly tedious four-hour block during which he heard confessions at St. Thomas's. He was particularly weary after the 20-minute weekly session with Thelma Phillips, one of his long-winded parishioners.
"Oh, Father, I know Harriet – McHenry, the one with all the makeup – is a God-fearing woman and all, but she was all over Truman Alderson. It was shameless, shameless! Especially for a woman of her advanced age!" Widow McHenry was 76, Mrs. Phillips was 74. "Anyway, even though she was practically crawling inside his suit with him, I shouldn't think such nasty thoughts. I ask the Lord's forgiveness."
A litany of gossip and grievances disguised as confessions followed, and he sent her on her way with a few Hail Marys and Our Fathers. Hopefully, Mrs. Phillips was his last confessor of mundane sins. Father Sean sighed – he could hear the opposite door opening and readied himself.
"Um, bless me father, for I have sinned. It's been – like – 10 years since my last confession." The man's voice sounded artificially deep, like he was masking his true identity. The priest's interest was peaked – this was somewhat common, and it was fun to figure out who the would-be anonymous parishioners were.
"What can I do for you, my son?" He had a feeling he was going to hear a doozy.
"Well, you know, there's always those impure thoughts, picturing some of my hot coworkers in Victoria's Secret's finest. But Father, I went ahead and did it – premarital sex – up, down and sideways."
Father Sean brow furrowed with concentration. The voice sounded familiar. "Do you regret your actions?"
"Well, kind of. Problem is, I went out the next night in search of more – I couldn't help myself. After 3 women I still wasn't satisfied. I tried redheads, blonds, then … well … there were the collies."
Sean choked. "The collies?"
"Yeah, I found a couple near my apartment, and they were just so … cute!" the man's voice, now more than familiar – busted into laughter. "And they were just yelping! It was so sexy!"
"Dammit, Messer!!!!!" Sean bolted out of his cubicle to face Danny Messer, his friend from childhood. "You are such an ass!"
Luckily, at this late hour, no one remained in the sanctuary to hear his profanity. He couldn't hold back a grin as he pulled his old friend in for a hug. He and Danny had been thick as thieves growing up in Queens. Ironically, Sean often got into more trouble than Danny. Fortunately, his own parish priest, Father Andrew McPatrick, had set him on his path.
"You know, I was in the neighborhood at a scene and I thought I'd stop by on the way home," Danny was saying.
"Isn't it kind of late to be finishing up?" Sean asked, noting that it was 9 p.m.
His friend shook his head. "Dead prostitute – all of 17. Stabbed to death – not pretty, and a lot of evidence to collect. Her name was Sheila Carson, originally from Iowa. Her parents are flying out tomorrow – it seems Sheila left to become a sensation on Broadway a couple of years ago – ended up in a dumpster of 14th Street instead."
Sean echoed Danny's sadness. "A familiar story. I've heard it many times."
"Yeah, well, I've finished for the night – Stella took the stuff back to the lab so I could head home. You done here?"
"Yeah, actually. You in for a drink?
Danny feigned shock. "You want to go to a bar?"
Sean chuckled. "No. But any good Irish priest has his stash. C'mon."
A short time later, Danny and Sean were settled on the screened-in back porch of the rectory, tossing back some Bass Ale, discussing old times … and new ones.
"So, Messer, what's new? Or should I say who?"
Danny shifted. He and Sean had discussed the puzzle known as Lindsay Monroe before. "She came back from the trial last week. They got a conviction. She's … okay. We're kind of back where we started. You know, flirting, joking around. Nothing more." He sighed.
"Not enough, huh?" Sean nodded in understanding.
"I don't know. Sometimes it seems like she's waiting for me to do something, sometimes there's a wall … I don't know what to do. There's something a big part of me wants, and I'm not sure how to get it without screwing it up. Like, there's a beautiful vase on a high shelf, with no stool near by. If you reach high enough, you might just be able to reach it and cherish it. You grab in the wrong way, and the whole thing shatters. Boom."
Father Sean silently marvels at this new, introspective Danny. "What about the other part of you?"
"Oh, that guy? He wants to run away, right into the arms of some bar slut to forget my troubles. That Danny's a very bad boy, and the crap thing of it is, I know he will never been happy. You're the priest, what do I do?"
Laughing, Sean clapped his friend on the shoulder. "You definitely have more experience than I do in the chick arena, Messer. But seriously, watch and wait for awhile. Look for her cues. She'll tell you what you need to know."
"I hope so," Danny sighed, and decided to change the subject. "Now I just gotta find out what happened to Sheila from Iowa." Flipping out his cell, he pulls up the victim's mug shot the precinct sent.
A quick glance at the photo elicits a shocked gasp from Feather Sean. "Oh no. Not Sunshine."
Danny's eyes narrow at his friend's shocked expression. "Who?"
"Sunshine. That's the name she went by. I knew her, Danny. I knew that poor girl."
To be continued …