Flirtations of Temptation

Chapter 1

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H.P knelt down and put her shaky hands on the beam that ran across the oaky pew. She took deep breaths and murmured hymns and prayers and psalms; anything to quell her chattering teeth and aching bones and distract her from the whiplash pain of memories. This was not a regular occurrence but when it struck, it struck hard - almost like the storm outside.

Outside, the homely church Sister H.P made her home was being absolutely lashed by a horrific thunderstorm, although it is the season for such rapture-like weather. The rain was heavy and loud: barraged the roof and window panes like bullets. The nearby river was likely flooded; engorged with all the seasonal water. Left a blur behind wherein nothing could be seen out from inside and perhaps, in from the outside.

H.P was unsure of how much time she had spent listening to the rain and her own agony but a lot of it must have passed for her knees ached but her hands, her hands were quiet. Firm. She had regained composure and was now acutely aware it was past midnight and that her eyes itched with exhaustion.

She wearily got up and she felt like an old woman. As old and as fragile as the other ladies who worked this particular church. She had three senior sisters and they were all elderly; she was the youngest of the four sisters who did missionary work and the like for this church but she felt every bit as aged as those ladies who were in their sixties and seventies despite being a lady of twenty-three.

As H.P rose to her weary feet, she heard a knock on the bolted door. At first, she thought a branch may have come loose from one of the trees that lined the courtyard but it was far too persistent. Though not a curious woman, in times like these, perhaps she ought to investigate and then she heard a voice.

'Help, help, I beg asylum!'

A man's voice that was nearly drowned out by the rain. There was more scratching and knocking. H.P knew it was her duty to give sanctum to this poor man who was caught off-guard by the storm.

She slowly undid the bolt on the door and opened it. Stumbling into her grasp came a blond youth who was considerably shorter than H.P; but she was tall for a woman. He held onto her shoulders; gripped them tight with an iron-like clamp. He nuzzled up close to her neck and breast.

'I have no words to give thanks you kind, Sister.' he said. There was an oddity in his voice; he appeared to slur his "s" sounds. 'I thought for sure I was going to be drowned as a sewer rat out there.'

He looked up at her and H.P thought this man might be considered attractive to some. He had strong features but a curious mark on his face by his mouth. A cut or scar perhaps, fresh too.

'I seek asylum in this Church, may I please get bed rest for just one night. That is all I need. I will be gone by dawn should the weather permit.'

He was begging, grovelling perhaps.

'Well, let's get you out of the cold then.'

H.P pushed him off and through the darkness of the church and outside, she noticed something odd about the stains that marred his black garments. They did not look like wet patches acquired through trekking in the rain. There was mud smeared on his shoes and pant legs.

They moved a little closer into the foyer. A puddle had grown on the floor from where the door had been kept open. It would not be difficult to clean.

'I would be most appreciative if I could use any laundering services you may provide here, I promise a pretty penny for your troubles so that you may continue upkeep of such a lovely chapel.'

'I keep a washtub amongst my things, I am happy to scrub your clothes for you if you like. You must have travelled far, I don't recognise you.'

'Ah, how rude. I am Diego Brando and curious you should mention that. This is my hometown but my mother… relocated when I was but an infant.' He began to take off his outer coat and there was a deep, red stain spreading over part his torso on the white of his blouse. 'And to whom do I owe my thanks to; you do not speak like someone of the area… do I detect a note of Americanism in your tongues?'

'I am Sister Felicity and yes, I am from abroad. You would be correct in thinking I'm American.'

'What brings you across the pond, dear Sister Felicity?'

'I merely wander where my God commands me. I've also been stationed in Italy but it was in brief. My destiny is here, for now.'

'Fascinating.'

'Here, allow me to lead you to your sleeping quarters. I'm afraid we haven't any spare sets of clothes for you unless you would like mine but I feel like my nightgowns would leave you fabric to swim in.'

Brando chuckled. 'That is quite alright, Sister. I prefer to sleep all natural; even on frigid nights like these.'

H.P led him through the upper corridor that connected the public church to the private convent. At first, Brando was content with silence but he appeared to be of the vain sort who love the sound of his own voice as he kept trying to instigate conversation.

'Now tell me Sister, is "Felicity" your real name?' he asked. 'Brando isn't my real surname, I'll let you know that, in all fairness. My mother changed our names to disassociate herself from her husband upon our relocation.'

H.P sighed. 'No, "Felicity" isn't my real name.'

'Oh, do tell?'

'I am afraid not, good sir,' H.P replied tersely, 'that I would be in betrayal of my vows if I were to let you know my real name.'

'Not even a little hint?'

'Not even a little hint.'

H.P paused by the room of one of her cohort. She mused then knocked. Brando noted the door had a plaque and was dedicated to the stationed Father here.

'Father John, we have a guest so do not be alarmed if a stark naked male is roaming the halls come morning in search of clothes.' H.P informed the silent door. She shrugged. 'Well, he can't say I didn't make an effort to warn him… Perhaps you shouldn't leave your room until I return your clothes to you.'

H.P began to move on and her guest continued on her heels. He seemed enamoured with her; not necessarily in a romantic way but he was attracted to her like metals are to a magnet.

Brando snickered. 'You don't seem to be the usual Josephite.' he said.

'Likely because I am not a Josephite.' H.P replied.

'You know what I mean.'

They turned a corner and H.P opened a door. 'There's no lock on it but you are safe here.'

'The priest isn't handsy?' Brando asked.

'That is not something you ought to make light of.' H.P replied.

'Oh? He is?'

'I can assure you, dear Brando, that Father John takes his chastity vow very seriously.'

Brando chortled to himself as he sauntered into the guest room. H.P followed him and he looked around. It was modest, austere, and he suspected that the nunnery was of no different furniture; perhaps clothes stocked in the inelegant drawers.

'This will do nicely, I appreciate your charity, Sister Felicity.'

'It is but my duty.' H.P replied.

'Hm, but calling you Sister Felicity doesn't suit me, I have decided.' Brando informed her. 'I'd feel much more comfortable calling you something a touch more… familiar. My friends, family, fans, and lovers all call me "Dio". I give you permission to address me as such.'

'I am not interested in becoming any of those things to you, Mr Brando.'

She sighed and Brando began to further undress himself. H.P supposed his physique was impressive. He had the body of an athlete: toned and lean but H.P didn't care for it. He had his back to her but as he cast off his shirt, he realised that he could feel eyes on him. He lifted his head, turned it slightly but almost a touch too far; almost to an unnatural degree but it was early in the morning and H.P was tired so perhaps it was her imagination.

'Regretting your choices, Sister?' he asked.

'I'm just trying to work out what sort of person you are.' she replied. 'You gave me no warning and began to undress in front of I, a holy woman.'

'So it isn't just the priest who takes his chastity vows seriously then?'

'Yes.'

'How dull.'

H.P sighed. 'If you wanted your chastity preserved, I could turn around but we are both adults, I thought we could behave as such.'

'You aren't attracted to me at all in the slightest, are you? I've had women trip over themselves to bed me.'

'I am sure those women have enjoyed their choices and I enjoy my own choices as well.'

'Well put.'

He continued to undress. He languidly loosened his pants and H.P half turned away.

'Are you sure?' he asked. 'If we're skirting sin, we may as well go the whole distance. Because I can assure you those women most certainly enjoyed their choices.'

'I am quite well thank you. I know exactly what sort of man you are now.'

H.P turned around and Brando huffed.

'What sort of man do you think I am?'

'One of low morality. I suggest before you leave our quarters, perhaps you ought to go to confession first. Perhaps, you might find a little grace there.'

'How often do you frequent confession, may I ask?'

H.P could hear a snarly smile in his voice; as though we were trying to incite some sort of trickery.

'That is business between God and I.' she replied.

'Well, mine own sins is the business between our Almighty Father and I too.'

The wooden floor creaked. With the creak, another one was brought and now, it seemed as though the whole building was swaying thanks to the wind and rain.

'Are you certain you wish to sleep nude tonight, the private quarters are known to be draughty?' H.P asked.

'It would be indecent to wear the bedclothes of a holy woman.'

'Not out of charity, I suppose.'

'But what if I have immodest thoughts thanks to the wafting smell of you on your clothes?'

'I can assure you, the smell of unscented soap is not the least bit arousing and you will be too cold this room to even care for lust.'

'I'll be sure to remember that when you return my laundered clothes to me. Could you please turn around so I may hand you my clothes? I apologise but it's nearly the end of the world out there and I got very much the worst of it.'

H.P turned around and kept her chin, and her eyes, up. She had no doubt in her mind that this vagrant very much enjoyed the idea of having her witness him naked. But, she was somewhat surprised when she realised he was using his sopping wet clothes as something as a stand-in for modesty. He was slightly wounded; scars and injuries that were half-healed, scabs and bruises. If H.P had to guess, they were a combination of defensive and attacking wounds hence why his back was clear; creamy skin free of degradation.

'I have no words to express my sincerest thanks to you, Sister.'

'H.P.' she replied, unthinkingly.

'Oh? What's this? Have I finally begun to crack the lonesome nun's shell?' he asked, teasingly as he tapped at his lower lip in thought.

Upon bringing attention to his face, H.P noticed how dry his skin was. It was cracked and reminded her of a river bank in drought.

'Perhaps, perhaps not. I will see you in the morning with your clothes. I suggest that you don't do too much wandering lest you scare the sisters. If they saw you, I think they would expect the Devil.'

Brando bore a roguish smile. Perhaps, it would have charmed other women but it made H.P hostile in all honesty. She didn't know what it was about this man, slightly younger than her, but he set her nerves on edge. An uncomfortable feeling but one H.P knew all too well and, in previous experiences, had been found to be addictive.

'Yes, ma'am. I will wait for you to bring back instructions. Until then, any coins you may find in my pockets, please keep so they can go back to the Church and you may continue your good charity.' he said.

'The convent will appreciate your goodwill when it puts local produce on our tables or cleaning supplies in our closets.'

H.P bowed slightly and allowed her eyes to dip down. Brando was not wearing underwear and he was an expected. Pompously proud of an organ of average size; perhaps under, or so by the lengths, H.P had read of in biology textbooks in her youth. She brought herself up and her hair swished beneath her ears.

'Enjoy your stay, Mr. Brando.'

'Your hair is a most curious colour, Sister, tell me for my eyes must be deceiving me but… was that red or pink?'

H.P fumed. 'It must be your eyes. It is dark in here, no electricity or candles after all. My hair is auburn if it is urgent to your knowledge.'

'My mistake. Well, I hope my chores don't keep you too wake, you appear to be getting crabby with tiredness.'

'Sweet dreams.' H.P told him through gritted teeth.

'Sweet dreams.' Brando replied with a most flowery breath.

H.P stepped out of the guest quarters with his clothes over her arm. They were deathly cold. It was amazing that he had survived at all. She wondered how long he had been wandering for before happening upon her church. She chose not wonder why he was there in the first place if this was his hometown. Surely he would have relatives here that he could have sought refuge with first.

H.P returned to her own quarters and lit a candle. A little bit of smoke wafted up in near colourless curls. The fresh wax an oddly soothing smell. She knelt down by her bed and brought out the washtub. The older ladies of the convent had given her space since she was a young woman and supposedly deserved it. H.P knew the truth though. It was because they detested her.

Had heard rumours of her of her prior to her transfer.

Anyone would be afraid of such stories and such circumstances.

H.P yawned as she performed her new chores. Though she was tired, she was still scared to sleep perchance she dreamt and she knew, she would not know sweet dreams. It had been a nightmare, after all, which had kept her praying in the church after midnight.

She was quiet as a mouse as she snuck around the convent, boiling water and pressing clothes. The stains Brando had acquired during the night were difficult but H.P managed. She scrubbed and she scrubbed and she scrubbed until her flesh fell off and into the sudsy, bubbly water and clumped. But surely that was a dream; a peculiar delirium thanks to tiredness.

H.P pegged to the clothes on a line that was strung across her room with clogged fingers; chubby little stubs that were hardly digit-like at all. She went to bed soon after, utterly tired. She fell asleep to the smell of lukewarm water and clean clothes marred with unscented soaps. She fell asleep to the sound of the roof being lashed most viciously by the rain. She fell asleep to the lull of news memories: deviant banter and scratching at the front door.

She awoke to a most confrontational morning, unlike anything she had ever been through before. Though, it came too close to some of her most harrowing experiences but even then, this was abhorrent. Never before had police reported to the church for something like this: a warrant for arrest.

'Sister… Sister Felicity, dearest, Sister!'

H.P stirred to the sound of Sister Josephine's watery voice pressed to the door with the utmost concern. H.P dropped her legs over the sides of her bed and realised, almost idly, that her hands remained as they had been yesterday morning but the echo of a surreal memory attempted to convince her otherwise. Along her long fingers and knobbly knuckles, she found no fault. Although, they were still vaguely prune-like thanks to her early morning laundering of Brando's clothes.

Brando.

She sighed and then huffed and then decided it was best to face Sister Josephine's madness head-on. H.P would allow herself to be accountable for whatever that vagrant had done during the night.

H.P was not prepared for what Sister Josephine had to say about Brando as H.P was unaware of the police presence swarming at the front of the church.

H.P sluggishly got to the door and opened it. 'Yes?' she said, her voice clogged with sleep.

'Are you the one who brought Diego "Dio" Brando into our good establishment?' she asked.

'Yes. And I am aware he is a lusty rogue but I assure you, his flirtations mean no harm. I doubt he would rob us whilst wearing nothing; not even his drawers and the like.'

Speak of the Devil and he is sure to appear, Brando came into view behind Sister Josephine whom he was lucky to tower over. He wore his sheets like a toga; like the men in statues, H.P had seen in Italy. She rolled her eyes. He bore a ridiculous grin and brought her attention to his garments through gesture. He seemed quite proud of his handiwork.

'Are you aware that it is not theft or crimes of sex that he has sought asylum for?'

'Oh, so he is but a traveller with no home.' H.P said. 'Huh, I hadn't expected that. I thought for certain he was a petty thief.'

'Sister Felicity!' Sister Josephine yelped and then became afraid of her own voice. 'Sister Felicity, she repeated herself quieter this time, terrified, 'he has been charged with murder; patricide, no less!'

'I can assure you, darling Sister Josephine, my father's death has nothing to do with me. I wanted to reconcile with that man despite our past. Make a fresh start, re-establish a father-son bond. Perhaps we could have played catch today. Besides, you heard the Constable. He'd never seen such handiwork before. Inhuman, he was telling you, remember or has old age begun to rob you of life's smallest pleasure: memories?' Brando prattled.

H.P licked her lips. 'I… I need to get ready for the day.' she sputtered. Her hands began to shake; she paled.

'What's the matter, dear Sister Felicity? You look like you've seen a ghost.' Brando asked.

'I need a moment, that is all.' H.P said.

'Yes, you would… wouldn't you?' Sister Josephine agreed, almost accusingly.

Or was H.P imagining it?

Of course, she was imagining it. She was as tired as the dead and had just been told the man she had welcomed as a guest as a possible murder suspect. Of course, she was imagining it for Sister Josephine was a meek and docile old woman and wouldn't purposefully say something to accuse H.P through the contrary.

H.P slunk off and awkwardly shut her door in the faces of Sister Josephine and Brando. There was sweat dripping down the side of her face and it was getting awfully humid in here. Perhaps it was because it was the morning after a vicious springtime rain. Yes, that had to be it. Certainly. Most certainly.

H.P was quick to get into her sisterly uniform. She slipped a habit over her head and she prayed that she had been imagining but she could have sworn. No, that was ridiculous, of course, she was imagining it. But, she could have sworn the hair she wore to the sides of her face, the hair that framed her face, had turned a crisp pink that was too many shade variations from the auburn that it was supposed to be.

He remembered this morning when she had spoken to Brando and has mentioned confession. It just struck her, right now, that she hadn't gone for ten days now. She usually visited in periods of two weeks. That was her routine. No wonder things were becoming complex but there were too many factors at play here, right now and too many unreal things were happening.

H.P drew close to the window. There were gorgeous stained glass artworks imbued in the planes so she couldn't see out of them without a prismatic rendition of reality. So, she opened it just a crack. She caught a puff of wind: refreshing, cold wind that still carried the scent of fresh water. She glanced around, did her best to not be seen from her vantage point, and confirmed it.

She was not familiar with the individuals themselves, not when they were dolled up in their police uniforms and the like anyway, but she knew of them. They went to church frequently enough; she had served them communion a few times, she was quite certain.

These men clustered around the front door. They skulked and stalked around like predators after prey. Whilst H.P could not discern the crime, it was apparent that they were looking for a criminal trapped in the church.

H.P closed the window and locked it. Her knees grew weak. Her heart pounded fiercely in her chest. She returned to her door and greeted Sister Josephine and Brando; they were also now accompanied by Father John and Sister Bridgette. A most divine wrath was brewing and H.P was determined to face it all.

She stepped outside of her room and Brando elected to join her. Soon, they were encircled by everyone who made their home in this church. The only one missing was Sister Agatha and she the most charismatic and charming of the Sisters here so she was likely trying to peace keep in the foyer.

'I am not familiar with the processes in which we must go through as these are serious allegations Mr Brando is facing. However, I was the one who allowed him into our midsts… I even washed his clothes for him.'

Brand smirked.

H.P was, for all intents and purposes she realised now, an accomplice in his crimes of patricide.

'Dearest Sister Felicity, I can assure you. I have no blood on my hands.'

He raised his hands and bore them, as though to prove they were clean but all he did was made H.P notice how grotesque his fingers were. His nails were ugly; almost claw-like and his skin was rough and nigh crocodilian.

'And I can assure you that my clothes were only muddied from the time I spent adrift last night. I have returned to this town after twenty years to remedy the bond between my father and I. I have nothing but the most sincerest wish to reconnect with Dario despite the fact twenty years ago, he and my mother attempted to kill me… I believe it was a night like last night in which the river flooded and the rains were biblical. God saved me then and he will save me again, I am certain.' Brando bragged.

Then, he shrugged. 'I would mourn but how does one mourn their would-be murdered? A man whom they do not know? I believe the beast that slew my father was not me. I am but human: I bear no fangs or claws and I believe it were such weapons which shredded my father to deat,; or so I have been informed by the same source as you: that courageous Constable Kelly. I admire his work, I would not have been able to stomach the sight of such a ravaged corpse in person.'

He talked a pretty word but H.P sensed there was something lurking beneath the surface of such eloquence. Something horrific.

'By this man's word, we may believe he has confirmed and sustained belief in God-'

'I was confirmed under the name of Saint Anthony of Padua, you know.' Brando piped up obnoxiously.

'Then, until his suspected crimes prove true, we will give him sanctuary on the good faith that he is innocent. However, Constable Kelly is under the impression that it will take five days to gather the evidence he needs to prove his hypothesis that Diego Brando murdered his father Dario. After all, our sanctuary does not mean much in this new age of legality and science.' Father John declared.

'Padre, from the bottom of my heart, I thank you. If it were I, I would spurn my request for asylum but I assure you, I am a good Catholic boy at heart. It breaks my heart to know my father is dead and it is not in Heaven where he rests. He had the gall to refute my olive branch and he left me to drown in those rains last night just as he had tried twenty years ago.' Brando said.

Father John took a sharp breath and he eyed H.P.

'Sister Felicity,' he began, 'for the next five days, I would appreciate it if you kept our guest on a short leash and a sharp eye on him. He is to not leave our holy grounds for if he does, he is a dead men. The police wish to crucify him.'

'I will make certain that he is on his best behaviour.' H.P replied. 'I will also make sure he assimilates into our way of life over the next few days.'

'For my safety, bed, and board: I would lick your boots clean.' Brando announced.

'That won't be necessary.' H.P said.

'I'm sure you'll find ways to keep yourselves occupied over the next few days of this voluntary house arrest.' Father John said.

'I have many debts to repay.' Brando replied.

'Despite the disruption,' Sister Bridgette said, hoity-toity and very much perturbed, 'it will become life as per usual regardless.'

'Of course.' H.P said.

The elders of the clergy dismissed themselves thereafter. The moment they seemed out of earshot, Brando released a great sigh. He clung to the wall and acted dramatically. This was the persona that H.P had been waiting for.

'I would rather puncture my own eyes with cactus needles than do any of those pompous fools even the tiniest favour.' he announced. 'I'm a guest! I should be treated as such; the status of whether or not I'm a murderer should have no bearing on that.'

H.P could not bring herself to say anything in reply to that. Instead, she retreated back into her room and collected Brando's clothes. They were still a little bit damp but overall, they would be fine to wear. She saw it as little difference to putting clothes back on after coming from a swim or shower.

'Here.' she said. 'Now, you don't have to parade around in your bed sheets.'

'You've done a wonderful job, Sister.' Brando replied as he accepted his clothes from H.P.

He smiled. 'But,' he said pointedly, 'you must admit, I make it look like tasteful.'

'No, you really don't.' H.P said.

Brando gasped in jest but he nudged the door closed with his foot. He then began to put on his clothes. H.P knelt down by her bed and like a child, almost, she began to recite her morning prayers. Without thinking to, Brando followed along her mutterings. Was he purposefully speaking loud enough for him to echo or was it a coincidence?

Neither of them were sure.