In the middle of the disturbing memories taunting him as they haunted his attempt at rest, the sleeper roused himself, stumbled to the luxurious bathroom of his new accommodations, and splashed some water on his face. He did not bother to look in the mirror, for he knew that under his dull golden eyes perched sunken royal blue semi-circles deeper than the rest of the indigo fur. With the slowness of a man carrying a large rock on his back, Kurt Wagner returned to his bed, punched the pillow a few times, used his tail to pull the sheet over his shoulders, and fell into the abyss of sleep.
The dreams continued to plumb the details of his past missteps. Further and further back his memories plunged, spooling out as a fishing lure cast into water descends into deeper and murkier depths. His psyche knew he was not ready to continue reflection on the heinous dealings that, following the brief respite in the cantina, played out in the unvarnished terror and panic of his close call with evil. Although ultimately the experience had led to the offer of shelter in this unforeseen haven where he now slumbered, his reverie wandered back to the days when he tried to break free of his worst choice of careers.
"Hurry up, Smudge, no time for your primping," Tiny grumbled.
Kurt smiled at the massive mercenary and wondered why, no matter the setting, one always found a gargantuan man named "Tiny" or "Shorty" or "Stumpy." Tiny enjoyed making other people hurt, but to his teammates he offered an available shelter from retribution. A loose brand of loyalty was a necessity when one worked in the shady side of humanity. None of the group – Passmaster, Tiny, Smudge, or Donny – trusted another human being, not really, not deep down. But alliances were made, and the best squads, the ones whose members survived more often than not, held each other in what passed for respect in their state of life.
At the time when Nightcrawler resolved to leave the foursome of mercenaries and make a fresh start, PassMaster had gone out alone to locate the most vulnerable point in an upcoming political procession. The rugged former athletic star never told his associates any specifics about his previous career; they guessed from the few small slips in conversation that it had perished through drugs, temper, or a combination of such weaknesses. Donny, so named because he favored poisoning with belladonna, joined Tiny and Smudge on their way to eat. A measure of time-proven confidence allowed them to snatch a bite without feeling squeamish in Donny's company.
Kurt, hands in the pockets of his black denim trousers, said, "I want to stop off in a church first." Pretending to misunderstand the glares of the two companions, he explained, "It's on our way, and will not take but a few minutes. Give you fellows a chance to rest somewhere safe and comfortable."
Landing an assignment so close to this particular monastery made his current lifestyle untenable. In the shadows of its massive stone walls he had passed so many pleasant months in younger days, even under stressful circumstances. None of the crew mentioned the change in their mutant companion, but he felt their observation at certain times, caught them discussing him when his stealthy entrance to their run-down apartment caught them unawares.
Tiny and Donny started a card game in one of the side pews. Smudge removed his sword, stashed it under the back pew, and entered the confessional through the door marked "Screen". Mortification coursed through him as he avoided "Face To Face." On a kneeler whose threadbare pad must be older than himself, he waited for the priest to pull aside the panel on the interior side, leaving Kurt to speak to a silhouette framed in the translucent mesh square.
In German, he began. "Bless me Father for I have sinned. It has been 3 years since my last confession." He fumbled for a moment, hands twisting around each other. "Ahem, I am a Soldier of fortune, and … have done shameful things in my chosen career."
"You mean Mercenary, don't you, son? The Lord demands honesty if we are truly contrite, so start over and describe how you have spurned the laws of God's while chasing monetary gain."
Ouch. Painful words, like cleansing peroxide poured into a fresh cut. "I have frightened people, innocent people, made them think they were visited by demons. I have stolen and lied and cheated and lusted and betrayed confidences." Tears ran like thermal springs, coursing down the fine-furred cheeks and dripping onto his thighs as he sagged to his haunches. "Father, please, I have been blamed for a crime which I did not intend to commit. I cannot continue like this, but if I leave my current companions, it would mean a life of hiding." He choked on the unfairness of the lot given him. "I cannot easily blend in a crowd. Always having to look over my shoulder, that would be no way to live."
"Haven't you described an existence full of misery in your current condition? Are the few brief pleasures you will gain in this life worth losing your very soul?"
"No, Father, but ... I do not wish to die just yet. I haven't even found out why Gott put me here. I have chased so many dreams, and they all ended in blind alleys. In shadows." He did not tell of the times, in many strange cities, where he had crept in via belltower or open window, to cling to the darkest section of the ceiling and watch the Mass. Only to watch, never to answer the yearning internal call and receive the Savior's mystical embrace. Sometimes the words of the ritual spilled forth from his haunted lips in a whisper, the longing to feel part of the community, to be part of the Body, undeniable. No one heard. Perhaps not even Gott.
Compassion colored the words of the hidden priest. "You know about the Seal of Confession."
"Yes, Father."
"And surely you knew that I would recognize your voice, if not your predicament."
Kurt was silent. How should he answer such knowledge? Lie to the one who dispensed the grace of their Savior?
Urgency seeped through as the voice behind the screen whispered, "Seek sanctuary here as you have done before."
"Father Ludger, these men, they will not respect that idea. If you try to hide me, you will pull danger upon your own head. I cannot have that." He rose to go.
"We have not finished. If you leave now, I cannot give you absolution."
"But if I do not leave, I will place you in jeopardy. This is not how I wish to repay your kindness."
"Then why did you send that child to me?"
Kurt slumped with the realization of his deceit in using a child, passing by that morning after serving at altar, as a messenger to ask the priest for a middle-of-the-night meeting with a penitent for whom secrecy was vital. "I am sorry ... I thought only of my own safety."
"Are your friends stealing our chalices, perhaps breaking into the poor box?"
Friends. If only that were true. "No! Not at all. I needed forgiveness, but ... the cost is too high."
"Is it so hard to find a new profession?"
"The cost of your life, Father. The safety of the Benedictines in the monastery." He sighed. "My own life is of little value, it seems."
"Look at the corpus on the crucifix in front of you, my child. Is that life, offered freely to redeem you, of little value?"
Kurt tried to respond, but his throat squeezed shut from shame. In a few moments, he said, "I did not think this matter through. It is clear to me now that I cannot endanger you or the good brothers by hiding in the monastery. But please, Father, please, I will give up this way of life. I will amend my ways and run away where there will be no temptation to do such harm to people." The rite continued, and at the end he crossed himself with grateful fervor and soaring relief.
Kurt's smile plummeted as he approached his stony-faced companions.
"Smudge," Tiny said, picking his nails with a well-honed knife, "you shouldn'ta spilled your guts to the priest. Now I hafta spill his."
"No, my friend, I didn't tell him any details of our adventures, only my sins."
Donny tossed his last card onto the pew and cocked his head toward the blue man. "What kinda stuff counts for sin nowadays?"
Kurt shifted on his feet, embarrassed at the close inspection. "The usual things that people do."
"Such as?"
He reminded himself that his sins were removed as far as east from west. Nonetheless, he bent to retrieve his sword, hoping his words would be muffled. "I have lied, stolen, killed—"
"You ain't never killed nobody, Smudgepot, I know it for a fact," Tiny said with a chortle, still letting the knife flash.
The mutant froze, fingers wrapped around the sheath. He swallowed hard and said, almost to himself, "Not for money. Not a stranger." Silence curled around the threesome like nerve gas. Kurt stood and faced his companions. "You are in no danger from me. It was an accident," he said, voice quavering. He cleared his throat and continued, "But I have committed all these other terrible sins, and for what? For nothing."
"For a lotta cash," Tiny grunted. Passmaster, who had clomped in through the large oak front doors during the exchange, quoted, "For what is a man profited, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul? or what shall a man give in exchange for his soul?"
The three stared. Tiny said, "Where'dja learn that? You watch TV preachers back home in the States?"
Passmaster shrugged his muscular shoulders. "My granny taught me some Bible learnin', but I ain't noticed too many Christians trying to live what they all flap their gums about on Sunday. So I set my sights on sports. That didn't turn out so good, but this here game suits me fine. No pressure of folks watchin' your every step, and time to enjoy myself when the job's done."
"But mein Freund[1], what will happen your last day on earth? How will you answer the Great Judge?"
"I'll go to my grave happier than them suckers who lived for the pie in the sky. Do without all their lives, or do and then regret it, and we all die just the same. I plan on enjoying my stay here."
Donny wiggled his hands in the air. "Enough of this religion stuff. The point is, Smudge squealed us out and now there's gotta be payback." He rose, pulling a gun from an inner pocket of his coat. "I'll take the priest, you guys deal with Smudge here. Nothin' personal, of course."
Kurt began to unsheath his sword, but it would not budge. Tiny's grin told him everything he needed; a favorite tactic of the behemoth's was to superglue doors shut to prevent his victim's escape. With the ease born of a lifetime's practice, the former acrobat belted the sword across his back, hopped to the wall and scrambled across the vaulted arch, hoping to distract the trio in a chase, giving him time to think of how to save the good Father.
No luck; Donny was headed toward the confessional.
Kurt teleported onto the ceiling of the middle unit for fear of materializing inside the clergyman. "Father! Give me your hands!" The priest raised his arms and – BAMF! – they were soon in the basement of the parish hall annex. Many times had Kurt given out food to the hungry during his time in hiding. It would only be safe for a while, but perhaps that was all he needed.
"Father, I must find a way to secure your safety – and that of the others."
"God will protect us."
Kurt wanted to believe that, but he had seen too many things in his young life to trust only to divine aid. His team members were far more ruthless than he, and they would not consider the immorality of slitting anyone's throat, much less that of an innocent priest. "I am sure He would want me to do a good deed and spare Him the trouble of protecting you," he replied, forcing a smile.
The priest sat on a wooden folding chair and pulled the rosary from the belt of his robes, but paused before beginning his prayers. Instead of a loop, it hung in two uneven strands.
"Ach, Father, I am sorry! I broke your rosary!"
"Such a small thing, it's not worth worrying about. As in all human endeavors, a circle is only as strong as its weakest link, and it got hung up on the garden gate several times last week."
An idea swooped into Kurt's consciousness. Yes, he thought, that might be the answer. "Father, I beg you, stay here and do not leave. Secure the door behind me and check that all the windows are locked."
Father Ludger aimed at him the stern look he often gave to wayward novices. "You aren't going to break a commandment so soon after receiving absolution? I would hate to think you had such a flimsy purpose of amendment."
"No, I promise, no one will be harmed." Not permanently, he added to himself. He rummaged around in the storeroom until satisfied with his makeshift weapon.
[1] my friend