“I plan on it,” I said huskily, barely recognizing my own voice.
He crossed the small floor space of the cell and reached under his pillow for the bible, opening it to the middle where a ribbon acted as a bookmark and laid the open book on the bed.
My legs dangled over the edge of the top bunk and I leaned forward, watching intently as he emptied the pillowcase and lifted the razor, inspecting the sharpness of it with his finger before he lifted his eyes to mine and smiled.
“You do good work,” he complimented.
“Always aim to please,” I said as he placed the razor onto open page of the Holy Scripture before he covered it with the ribbon and closed the book.
“Let’s go Pastore,” the guard called from behind the sheet.
I jumped down from the bunk and shoved my hands into my pockets, fingering the weapon rubbing against my thigh. Victor untied the sheet at one end and let it hang from the other as he tucked his bible under his arm and waited for the guard to open the cell.
“Wait,” I called.
Victor looked over his shoulder at me.
“Think God could find forgiveness in me too?”
He studied me for a moment, remaining completely silent and I thought he would deny me. I knew what he was going to do, he never tried to hide it from me and now I was asking him to allow me to bear witness. His lips quirked, and he granted me the faintest hint of a smile.
“Come, my brother, you want to see God work in mysterious ways? Let me show you his divine powers,” he said, his voice almost sounding like a hymn.
The C.O. raised an eyebrow at Vic but the mob boss paid him no mind, leading me out of the cell. As we walked the cell block I felt the inmates eyes on us and wondered if they knew what was about to go down. I diverted my eyes to Vic and watched as he held his head high and moved his lips. I leaned closer trying to listen to him and I heard every other word but it was clear the man was praying.
It takes a certain breed to do the things we do and each of us has our own way of getting in the zone. Whether it’s reliving the pain you suffered in life or listening to a particular song there’s something that gets you pumped and ready to take blood, a ritual one partakes in before he sanctions the beast within and takes a life.
I’m not sure if Vic prays to God or if he really thinks he becomes him, but it’s almost fascinating to watch him evolve into a holier than thou persona.
We stepped into the chapel which the only thing that showed God’s presence was the small wooden cross hanging on one wall, high enough that no one could reach it and use it as a weapon. A man in a cloak stood in the front of the room and Victor made the sign of the cross as he passed him, taking a seat in one of the folding chairs in the front of him.
I glanced around the otherwise empty room before I took a seat beside Victor and watched him lay his bible on his lap. The officer that escorted us stood in the back of the room, leaning against the wall as the priest recited mass to us.
I kept looking towards the door, rubbing my hand over my pants over the screw resting in my pocket, anticipating the moment when I came face to face with Jimmy Gold.
The moment never came.
Church continued.
Vic received Holy Communion.
I sat back and watched.
Then the priest walked over to Vic, he dipped his thumb into Holy Water and drew the sign of the cross on his forehead with his finger.
“God forgives you, son,” he said.
“Amen,” Victor whispered as he closed his eyes and became one with God.
The priest dropped his hand, looked to me and side stepped until he stood before me and dipped his finger back in the Holy Water. My eyes widened as he lifted his hand and I felt the cool water touch my forehead, surprising me I didn’t go up in flames when his finger touched my skin.
“God forgives you, son,” he repeated.
I stared back at him, forgetting the response I was supposed to say and watched as he dropped his hand before closing his bible.
A moment later he was gone.
The officer followed him out the door and left Vic and I sitting in the first makeshift pew of the prison’s chapel. I wondered if every inmate finds God or just the fucked up ones.
The door opened, forcing me to tear my eyes away from the wooden crucifix and stare in horror at the man who walked into the room. He was ugly, scary looking as all hell, he was the devil. A man who used to be covered in some of the finest ink had skin that was so worn and badly burned that it was almost translucent and the parts that weren’t were sutured with pink puckered flesh.
The left side of his face resembled the villain Two Face from the Batman comics.
I had to look away because staring at him for too long made me feel sick.