Percy sat in his car outside the church; his shift having ended at least four hours ago; it hadn't even occurred to him to look down at his watch; but he had noticed that the sun had begun to go down and saw it cast its bright orange light through the window of the car windshield. He sat there, contemplating whether or not to actually walk in; something he hadn't done in years. There had once been a time where the church had been his only solitude when his family got too intense. If there was a word for the Wetmore clan, it was intense. But it had happened and he hadn't stepped foot in a church, let alone the prison chapel, in over five years. And here he was with a bruised up nose and cheekbone from Brutus's elbow, a diminished ego, and a bottle of bootleg whisky in his uniform jacket; all because of the new inmate that had damn near choked Dean Stanton to death right before his own eyes; while he just stood there.
Percy blinked away the tears that were beginning to brim and gave his head a slow shake, enough to cause his sweat moistened bangs to fall into his eyes, and shoved his shoulder into the driver's side door and swung it open. He gave the door a quick slam and hurried in thru the wide oak doors of the church; knowing that if he didn't get thru those doors he would turn on his heels in an instant and high tail it out of there.
Instantly he was hit with the smell; a smell that made him want to breathe it all in and relax. It was a comforting smell, a combination of the flowers, holy water at the doorway, candles lit at the alter, the oils. His mother had once said that all Catholic churches have a distinct smell, a smell that she attributed to the sense of the presence of God.
"Your name spoken is a spreading perfume..." He said underneath his breath, referring to the verse from Song of Songs. He took a deep breath; inhaling the incense, and walked toward the bowls of Holy Water and dipped his fingers in. Silently he blessed himself, mouthing the words of the prayer like he always had when he was a young boy; "In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen." Numbly he touched his wet fingers to his forehead and brought them down to his chest, to his left shoulder and then to his right. Slowly and methodically he made his way down the wide aisle of the church; cautiously looking up at the large stain-glass windows up above him that cast hazy colored light into the belly of the church.
Percy made his way to the front row pews and looked up; his tired and puffy eyes squinting up at the body before him. As a child he has always been intimidated by the image of Christ in front of him, the massive statue of the bloodied and crucified Son above the alter. When he was young he would have vivid nightmares of the blood of Christ dripping down onto him before drop by drop he was engulfed in a sea of blood that swept him away and down under. It was after dreams like this that he would wake up drenched in his own sweat and his to father's dismay and disgust; his own urine. On nights like this his mother would wrap her arms around him and rock him gently; softly praying with him and reminding him that God would always love him for who he was; for God's love was eternal. Those nights seemed like they could have happened a century ago.
Tears freely streamed down his pale cheeks as he continued to stare up at the crucifix. Without averting his eyes he knelt down on his knees before entering the pew. Underneath his light weight the pew gave a loud creak, causing Percy to give a quick hissing inhale of apologetic shock. Tonight was not the night when he wanted to be seen or heard; and he definitely didn't want Father Caffery to hear him. Tonight he just wanted to sit and drink in silence. Slowly he turned around to look over his shoulders; making sure he was alone. The church was quiet, save for his own haggard nervous breathing. He turned back and reached into his jacket pocket; pulling out the bottle of whisky. With a tug he pulled the loose cork from the neck of the bottle and took a deep swig; gulping down the whisky and feeling burn as it went down his throat. He continued to sit in silence, letting the tears fall down his crumpled face, and well onto his way to finish the bottle.
"Even our most broken believers have the decency to bring a flask when they feel the need to seek solace with the help of liquid courage." A familiar voice spoke up directly behind him; causing Percy to flinch and spill the remainder of the whisky down the front of his uniform; staining the crisp white shirt with pale brown liquor.
"Jesus Fucking Christ!" Percy hissed as he turned around to face the voice, patting down his shirt in an attempt to run the drink off his chest before it soaked onto his skin. A pew behind him sat the very man he had hoped he wouldn't see, Father Caffery, a middle aged man with wire thin round glasses and light brown hair that had just begun to grey around his temples. Father Caffery lounged against the pew with his arms spread wide against the top of the pew, exposing his massive wingspan; for the Father had been a tall man though not as abnormally so as Brutus Howell and John Coffey.
"So not only are you acting like a disrespectful alcoholic in the house of God but also saying his name in vain; here of all places." Father Caffery raised a hand and gestured to the air. Percy gritted his teeth and turned back in the pew. He held the bottle to his lips before realizing the glass was near bone dry. Percy curled his top lip and dropped the bottle onto the pew beside him with a hollow clank and pulled a packet of cigarettes from his jacket; and rapped it against his palm before pulling one out along with a match. He struck the match against the arm rest of the pew and lit his cigarette; savoring the flavor as he let out a cloud of smoke. Behind him he could hear the Father give out a disgruntled huff.
"If you're going to smoke, you could at least offer one to me." To anybody else, the priest would have seemed annoyed at Percy's behavior, but Percy knew the Father well enough to hear the hint of amusement in his deep voice. Father Caffery had one of those comforting voices that made him a great priest and made his sermons extraordinary; sermons that made you want to listen no matter how tired you were from a night of revelries and sin. Percy brought his cigarette to his mouth and inhaled deeply before he reached back over his shoulder to hand the Father his packet of smokes. They sat in silence as the Father struck his match, puffed on his cigarette, and Percy rested his head against the back of the pew to gaze up at the crucifix again.
"I'm not lying nor exaggerating when I tell you this; but its wonderful to see you back here again. It's been too long. Your mother would be proud of you." Percy could hear the true sincerity in his voice.
"Please don't." Percy's voice cracked as he spoke. "Please don't talk about her. This isn't about her." Percy pleaded, his voice was overcome with sobs. He leaned forward and resting his elbows on his knees, his hands covering his face as he continued to cry. Overcome with emotion, he hadn't been able to sense the priest jumping up from the pew behind him and rushing over to his side; his large arm encircling Percy's quaking shoulders. With his warm touch Percy leaned over and buried his head into his black cassock.
"The Lord is close to the broken-hearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit." Father Caffery pulled Percy away from his chest, his hands firm on each side of the young man's shoulders. He looked down into his bloodshot eyes and watched as the young man tried to pull himself together. Father Caffery gave him a short nod and continued speaking, "Proverbs 34:18."
"He will wipe away every tear from their eyes and death shall be no more. There will no longer be any mourning, crying, or pain for the old order of things have passed away." Percy's voice felt stronger and no longer cracked when he spoke. He wiped away his tears and his lower lip twitched into a weak and nervous smile before he averted his eyes away from the priest.
"Revelations 21:4. Good, good." Father Caffery kept a firm hand on Percy's shoulder, giving it soft squeezes in his grasp. "I won't ask you if you're ready for repentance. Just being here tonight is enough, drunk or not." The Father raised his hand and held the young man's jaw in his palm; softly stroking his tear streaked cheek with his thumb. The young man's blue eyes flickered up to meet his own. "Is there somewhere I can take you; somebody who can watch over you tonight?" The older man asked softly, his voice had molded into one of a father comforting a scared and distrustful child.
Momentarily Percy's eyes glanced down to the side, his dark brows furrowing as he thought the request through. In a state like this he wouldn't dream of being seen by his father; besides the old man was out of state on yet another business trip. A few months ago before he was hired on at the Mile, Percy Wetmore wouldn't have been able to list a single person's name, but tonight the only name that came to mind was that of the man he worked under, the man who's name came from one of the Son's own Apostles, and a man that Percy knew despised him and viewed him as nothing more than a spoiled child and a liability to have on his Mile. But nonetheless, Paul Edgecomb was the only person he could imagine to be willing to hear his drunken apologies and pleas. Percy Wetmore gave a short nod of yes.