It had been a good long since Arthur had willingly entered a church.  The fact that the doctor had even been considering going to such a place would have been enough to make his father cry, especially if he knew his reasoning.  Really, there was only one thing that could pull him to the church, and it was no God.

Well.  Not the God the church was built for, anyway.

Face bruised, nose broken, and shoulder sewn up haphazardly, the man made his way towards St. Hilda's with an almost pleasant smile, a spring in his step, and a devil mask that did not belong to him.

Arthur opened the door and let the weight of them slam behind him, walking past pews before he realized the man he was looking for was not here.  He scanned the room before his eyes landed on -

The confession booths.

Oh, this was too perfect.

He continued towards those wonderful little wooden closets, stepping inside the empty booth and shutting the door behind him with only minimal difficulty.

"Father?"  Thin and calloused fingers fiddled with the mask, and though his voice sounded it, Arthur was not nervous.