Malachi's confession earned him a glance, but no other reaction came from the doctor as he waited for him to finish.  Arthur hid any surprise he felt well.

A murderer.  Malachi Brennan, priest, father figure to little girls and boys from the street, was a murderer.  It was not such a hard thing to imagine.  What was hard, was - well.

Arthur adjusted himself in his pants.

"Because they're terribly annoying.  I have no clue why my parents had children after me, but it was a mistake.  They're awful."

How had he done it, Arthur wondered.  With that knife he carried with him?  Did he stab someone to death like he could have done so easily to Arthur?  Or did he use his hands to beat someone, or strangle them, or some other creative method he wasn't thinking of?

He forced himself to take a breath, calm down.

"What does that mean, return the favor?  I thought your father was the one carving your skin, what's your mother done?"