A/N: Update time, a new chapter for your reading enjoyment. As always, big apologies for the time its taken to get this story updated. I hope this one will be worth the wait.

Big shout out and thank you to the Princess of all FanFiction, Shannygoat herself. She took this chapter in a half-finished and disorganised state, and turned it into a piece of greatness. I honestly cannot thank this woman enough for agreeing to take this on. So thank you Shanny. You totally rock.

As ever, please R&R!

Live To Tell

"I have a tale to tell. Sometimes it gets so hard to hide it well. I was not ready for the fall, too blind to see the writing on the wall."

The sun setting in the distance bathed the sky in blood red waves. Broken in places by the final wisps of cloud, the heavens seemed to weigh heavily down on Ashley Massaro. Her feet scurried quickly across the pavement that was deserted, despite the early hour of the evening. The initial stirrings of a breeze played with her long, black, woollen jacket - pulling at the unfastened sides. Hugging her arms across her chest, she tried to wrap herself in the protection of her jacket. Try as she might, nothing could keep away the chill crawling beneath her skin.

Her unwashed blonde hair poked in random tufts from beneath her hood, her grey eyes staring suspiciously from beneath it. Heading across the street, she stopped outside the towering church. It wasn't often you found old-world churches in towns anymore, especially ones with such intricately painted stain glass windows. Stone spires thrusted into the early evening sky as darkened spikes stretching for the heavens, more than ready to bring its wrath back down it. Pretending she wasn't as unnerved as she felt, Ashley slipped between a crack in the wrought iron gates and into the courtyard.

Taking the faded stone steps up to the arch of the stained brown door, she hesitated. What right did she have to be here? Did she really think enough of herself to seek forgiveness from the holiest of places? Was she actually kidding herself into thinking she would receive some kind salvation for her actions? After everything she has done? Her presence here was nothing but a stain, one which marred the serenity inside. And yet, despite her misgivings Ashley was unable to tear herself away.

It wasn't like it mattered anymore. None of it did. All Ashley could do was try. Resting the flat of her palms against the door, she pushed gently. Relief flooded through her as the door creaked open. The church was dark, the last remaining light of the day filtering through the high arching windows. The blood red sky was diluted by the stained glass through which it poured, casting a myriad of colours across the darkened stone floor. Equally as the light took on an eerie glow, the shadows seemed to be malformed, having an almost animated quality as they silently crept across the floor.

Sliding through the door, Ashley let it swing to a close behind her, taking solace from the solid feeling of the wood behind her. The church was empty.

The roof was a high arc above her, seeming to looms miles above out of reach. Ashley could make out the intricate carvings of the arches as they spread from the walls and over the ceilings to support its weight.

And as much as the ceiling towered above her, the cobbled stone floor stretched out in front of Ashley. She followed it for what seemed like miles until she saw the crucifix hanging high on the far wall. Seemingly unable to meet the eyes of the sculpture, Ashley dropped her gaze to the floor once more. An old, worn red carpet cut out in front of her, leading the way to the alter. On either side, row upon row of low wooden benches sat mutely. A mixture of worn, tattered and brand new bibles were tucked into the seat pockets in front of the seats, the leather covers visible from inside the blue pouches. A few of the pockets were empty, and Ashley found herself wondering what had happened to the bibles that originally occupied them.

Not even sure why the though occurred to her, Ashley quickly stepped forward onto the carpet. The silence in the church was deafening, causing a vacuum that threatened to take Ashley whole as she became lost in a sea of concrete. She would have given anything to hear some kind of noise, some flicker of a human presence to fill the aching emptiness before her, but there was none.

Taking a few more cautious steps, she became aware of the faces in the window. Gasping back her own breath, the benevolent faces of the past Saints and other religious figures stared back at her. It was like they were accusing her on a silent crime, her presence unwelcome here. Ignoring the painted eyes are they followed her, Ashley tucked her head down so much so her chin rested against her chest. Her arms again found their way around her body, acting as a shield to her surroundings.

It was like being caught in one of those dreams, where no matter how far you ran you never got any closer to what was right in front of you. Nor could you escape what was chasing you. Somehow Ashley knew the normal rules of dream chases would not apply to her. Whatever it was that had followed her since she left her apartment was going to catch up to her sooner or later. The eerie sense that you were being stalked, that someone in the shadows was playing with you - bringing you to the brink of blind panic and withdrawing again. It was only a matter of time before whatever was preying on Ashley would catch her.

Her last hope was the sanctity of this church. She must have passed it a dozen times in as many days since arriving at the city. Each time, she had brought herself just that little bit closer to heading inside. Tonight was the first time she'd had the courage of her convictions to come inside. Ashley had hoped in vein it seemed that everything she had been running from would be left outside. That inside this church, she would know some kind of peace.

If anything, these greying stone walls had the opposite effect. It magnified every last ounce of self doubt and loathing, not to mention the guilt she had been carrying with her. They weighed heavily on her body and soul, but Ashley renounced them. She feared that if she allowed herself to comprehend the full range of repercussions that had resulted from her actions, she would loose herself.

Ashley stumbled, concentrating on her pain more than where she was going. Just catching herself before she toppled to the floor, Ashley placed her hand against her heart pounding in her chest. She had reached the front of the church, and the crucifix loomed towards her against the wall. Veering uncontrollably to the left, Ashley could not catch herself this time as she desperately wanted to be beyond it's gaze. A strangled cry escaped her lips as her side connected with the stone floor. Her hood feel free of her head, spilling her blonde locks around her head. Warm tears fell down over her cheeks, her body sobbing silently. She felt broken, unable to even lift herself from the floor.

Looking up at the crucifix again, she noticed the eyes of its occupant piercing straight thorough her. No matter the angle at which her head moved those eyes, compassionate, concentrated, forgiving, still gazed at her intensely. And what was the most remarkable was that those dark painted orbs still shown on her with care and sympathy although they were marked by fatigue and their own pain.

How was that possible? The lack of malice and judgment on His face was enough to make her heart ache. She had been an active participant in the destruction of four lives, including her own. She played an intricate role in making sure that two people never found their happiness, resulting in an additional two, feeling only pain. Yet the man stretched out on the wooden cross seemed to have seen through that. His face offered her comfort.

His forgiveness only increased her pain.

Ashley's head turned to the left at the sight of warm light twinkling in the corner. Rising to her feet, she straightened herself out and dusted off. That moment of self pity, that feeling of loathing was forced back down insider herself as she ran her hand over her tears. Although Ashley knew that she was alone - she needed to be in fact, the sight of another person and the gentle sparkle of the candles seemed to draw her in the direction that a man stood regardless.

Taking slow steps, as if she were in intruder in this house of forgiveness, Ashley's slender body strolled over to the Pricket Stand, a table holding dozens candles, much like the one of the other side of the church. She remembered this as a child. Blue candles for St. Joseph's side of the church, red for the Holy Mother. A sense of warmth spread over her at the distant memory of her grandmother explaining that the blue candles were for the male Saints, while the red were for the women. She didn't know how much truth was in that, Grams often had her own explanations for things, but even that knowledge made her feel like less of a heathen.

As more candles were lit the frame of a small man came into view. He was dressed in black, from head to toe, and the patterns of light danced softly on his balding head. His hair, what was left of it, framed his head like a halo. Neatly tapered grey locks neither touched his ears nor his collar. "They don't light themselves." His soft voice spoke volumes to Ashley, though he never turned around to face her.

Standing in front of the huge statue of the Holy Mother, Ashley looked up and studied the figure, paying particular attention to the small infant she held in her arms. Those eyes were the same. They still looked at her as if to tell her that everything, in time, would be alright. The mere sight of them forced her to turn her head away.

She watched the man in black light several more candles, his lips moving silently when each flame touched the wick. She couldn't take her eyes off of him. She felt like she needed to know how he did it… where his faith came from. Surely he had never done anything in his life to warrant what she was feeling. If he had, he wouldn't be able to offer prayers to Saints with such ease.

Turning fully to face her, his white collar came into view. The priest held the wooden plank out to her, the flames illuminating his strikingly blue eyes. His eyes….they were like John's. "No thank you." She had no right to light a candle. Who would listen to her prayers? Her soul hadn't rested since she had lied to John. It had grown increasingly fidgety since she had noticed the dull twinkle in Morgan's when he appeared on Good Morning America. Ashley's soul was disrupted when she finally locked eyes on Jeff's watery, reddened, and dilated green ones. Lighting a fucking candle wasn't going to change that.

Blowing out the stick in a quick breath the priest stood next to her in silence. "You know, sometimes when we refuse to kneel before Him, he has a way of pushing us to our knees." He rested a wrinkled, liver spotted hand upon Ashley's shoulder and gave it a soft squeeze. Then without words, he rounded her and made his way to the first pew and took a seat.

Was he waiting for her? It had been years since she had been to a church and she couldn't remember what Grams had said about Confession. Wasn't there supposed to be a box, like phone a phone booth or something? On the television shows they all went to confessionals and the priest slid open a little door. She wasn't pouring her hear out to this man, not in the presence of that baby and that cross. They weren't hearing what weighed on her heart. If they heard it, they would never forgive her, not that she needed to be forgiven for anything. She hadn't done anything wrong.

Yet there was something that made her feet move toward the old man. She didn't question when he scooted over and she took a seat beside him. That part was over, now she sat there silent, hoping that she wouldn't have to open her mouth. She glanced in his direction and noticed how his eyes were transfixed on the crucifix hanging above the alter. He had his hands folded neatly in his lap and a look of complete calm and trust on his aged face. "He listens, you know. Even if you don't want to talk to me, tell Him. He can help you."

"He can't help me." She scoffed, feeling the warmth of her tears prick her eyes again. How did get this way? She was hurt, she lashed out, she tried to protect what she thought was rightfully hers. And somehow everything fell apart. "There's nothing wrong."

"There's something wrong with all of us." The priest rested his back against the bench and sighed. He blinked slowly and calmly continuing to stare into the eyes in front of him. "When I was younger I thought I could change the world. Now, I only hope to change people's hearts."

A surge of anger swept through Ashley and she felt herself cringe. "Change my heart? How about fixing it? It's broken. Can you do that? Can He?" Why was she so angry still? Why couldn't she let it go? How dare they let her harbour all of the guilt on their own? They had all moved on in their own ways, getting on with their own lives. Yet, she was stuck feeling like everything was falling apart. Why weren't they still grieving?

"All you have to do is ask Him."

Her laughter filled the church but she stopped to catch the tears that had slowly started to creep out of her eyes. "How do I tell Him that my fiancé left me for a man? Doesn't your book say something about that? Or how 'bout this? The man's fiancé and I stopped them from being together. We did what was right. They didn't belong together." The tears started to flow freer and her voice cracked with each word she muttered. "Morgan should've just married Jeff and left John and I alone. Jeff was perfect for him. He loved him. Why did he have to want what was mine? John and I would have been happy. We had our problems, but we would've worked it out. He…he asked me to be his wife once..."

The sound of the bench creaking as the old priest leaned to his side to untie his rosary, made Ashley close her eyes. Even he didn't get it. The story was too twisted, he couldn't possibly understand. She didn't know if recounting what had happened was worse than him dismissing it to play with his necklace.

But there was something cathartic in letting it out. She hadn't been able to talk to anyone since everything happened. And even if he wasn't listening, she found that once she started talking, she couldn't stop. She didn't want to. "I lied to them. I told John he wasn't coming, that he had up made with Jeff." Her voice grew more distance as relived her part in the destruction of everything. "I took the ring he had for Morgan and I put it in my purse. I watched him walk away…God, his eyes were so blue." She licked at the tears rolling down her face and huffed out a breath before continuing. "I told Morgan that John didn't want him. I told him it was better to just make a clean break. I did what was best for everyone. And it was so easy." Letting a sad smile cross her lips, Ashley closed her eyes at the memory. "You should've seen the look on his face. I thought I would feel better knowing he was hurting…"

"But vengeance isn't yours." A calm voice sounded through her tears, forcing Ashley's anger to rise again.

"Then whose is it? Him? He was taking too long. I had to do what needed to be done. They wouldn't have lasted. I had to stop it from happening - to save John from himself. John belonged with me. I loved him. We were supposed to be together! Not them!"

Nodding his head in calm understanding, the priest placed a hand on Ashley's. "But did he love you?"

That hurt. Not because of what he said, but because it was the truth. "He would've learned to love me again. He just thought he loved Morgan. Morgan needed to be gone so we could work out our problems. John was going to love me the way that he used to." And why wouldn't John want her? She was beautiful, fun, she knew him better than he did himself. They had a history. He just needed to remember that.

"And now?"

She didn't want to talk about now. Now everything was fucked up. "He barely talks to anyone. John's so angry now. He walks around in this daze. I don't even recognize him. And Jeff…he's such a good guy. But he's so messed up; I doubt he even knows where he is most of the time."

"What about Morgan?"

Ashley turned cold eyes on the priest and her lips curled into a snarl. "Who gives a shit about Morgan? This is his fault. If he didn't try taking everything… Now John's all…and Jeff's... I'm in a church talking to a stranger…If he didn't he use Jeff and tried to steal John, none of this would have happened."

There was a long silence as she gazed upon the man sitting next to her waiting for him to affirm her retelling of the tale. He had to understand that she wasn't at fault, yet she harboured guilt of it all. It wasn't fair. She just needed to put it past her and maybe by him agreeing that she had been right in her actions it would start to get easier.

"God has a plan for everyone…"

"I don't care about God's plan. What about my plans? I was supposed to be married, living out my life with the man that I love. Why wasn't that in His plan?" The sarcasm in her voice was unmistakable. "You know what? Never mind." Running the back of her sleeve over her teary face, Ashley stood from the pew and started toward the alter. She couldn't make it past those eyes. They followed her everywhere.

The priest never moved but watched the way she stared. He knew what she needed, but getting her to accept it was going to be up to her. "Forgiveness goes a long way. You have to forgive yourself, before you can forgive anyone else."

"I don't need to forgive myself." She said sternly. "I haven't done anything wrong. This is Morgan's fault. All of it. And maybe it's time that He," she pointed to the crucifix, "understood that and stops punishing the rest of us."

Not bothering to say anymore, she stood up. Lifting the hood of her coat, Ashley eased it over her head in an attempt to block out the eyes she felt were burning into her more than anything else.

As quickly as she came, she was gone again, scurrying back through the church and out the wooden door. It swung to a loud close, drowning the old man in a sea of echoes. Sighing softly, he mumbled a silent prayer to give the girl strength.

If he had learned anything about forgiveness in his decades as a man of God, he knew she was going to need it.