[CW: Religious self-denial; reference to murder]

Gabriel closed the door of the confessional behind him and looked around. There was no one left in the church. It had been quiet, with only a few people coming for the sacrament of confession this afternoon. He wondered whether it was the damage the runaway parish priest had caused or whether they mistrusted Gabriel over his temporary demotion to assistant priest and removal of the faculty to hear confessions. It had been restored now, along with his role as parish priest. He could hardly feel happy about it. But perhaps that was good. It protected him from pride. Instead, he could focus his efforts on bringing his parishioners back safely into the fold.
 
He seated himself in the front pews, placing his purple stole over the back of the seat, and stared at the altar for a few minutes. Then he knelt down and prayed, that the people whose confessions he had heard found healing and strength to better their lives, that he might have been a worthy channel, that the Lord would give him strength to devote himself more entirely to his mission, that he would feel the spark again. Then he quietly recited a prayer attributed to St. Ignatius of Loyola that he liked, hoping that this would somehow make him feel that old passion again.
 
“…to give and not to count the cost,
to fight and not to heed the wounds,
to toil and…”
 
There was a sound by the door and his voice went even quieter.

Sam didn't really know what he was doing here, he hadn't been to church in almost six years, and when he did go he didn't really feel any kind of way about it other than bored. He had to try something though, these past few months he had just been feeling sort of lost on what he should do. Being not only in a new town but a new country meant he really didn't have anyone to talk to outside of Cerise, and right now talking to her about what he had done was the main issue.

So he found himself walking through the front door of the church, looking and feeling very out of place in the building. he stood there for a good ten seconds before remembering to remove his hat, and even when he did he fidgeted with it uncomfortably. He had not removed his gun either, his colt still hanging in its holster at his hip and he wasn't sure if it should be, but he didn't see anyone to check it with, not that he'd want to part with it anyway. Old habits die hard after all.

He saw the priest at the front and thought he could barely make out a whisper coming from him. He seemed busy, so Sam looked around and spotted the confessional and approached it. Going in and taking a seat, he placed his hat on his leg and waited in silence. He oddly felt like a child about to tell an adult that it was in fact himself who stole the cookies.

Gabriel heard the person approach the confessional and enter. It was past the stipulated time, but no one should be turned away who asked for the sacrament, unless for grave reasons. And so Gabriel finished his prayer, got up, took his stole and also approached the confessional.

Once he had sat down and put his stole back over his shoulders, he closed his eyes for a moment and reminded himself that he was here as a vicar, not on his own account. Then he opened the wooden cover to reveal the grate between himself and the penitent.

He made a cross over the grate. "In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit."

Sam did not know what he was doing in here...literally. He knew you were supposed to confess what you had done wrong, but didn't know if he was supposed to say something specific, say it in a certain way or anything like that. So after a bit of hesitation, Sam just started talking, "Well...just to get this out of the way. pretty sure when i first got to this town i was drunk an might've relieved myself on this place so um...oops, sorry. I ain't...well i'm mostly sure i ain't done it but once though." He shifted nervously on his side, his right hand raising to rub his forehead. "Oh uh, it was also me that filled ol' Jims boots with horse shi- I mean, manure." The first one he actually did feel a little bad about, the shit incident was minor though, and based on the shake in his voice he was likely beating around the bush before he got into why he was really here. "look this here is just between us right?"

The confession didn't go according to the book. Gabriel didn't interrupt. The accent was foreign, American, he suspected. Who knew what journeys his life had taken before he came here to the confessional. Sometimes someone hadn't been to confession since childhood. Gabriel was just glad they came and didn't want to discourage them by focusing on rubrics.

He grimaced at the man confessing having urinated against the church. He was hardly the only one, though. Gabriel avoided that alley altogether.

"Everything you say here is strictly confidential. In fact, if I break the seal of confession, I'm excommunicated. You can speak freely."

Sam gave a sigh, he couldn't put it off forever and he knew it. So he cleared his throat, straightened his back a little and spoke. it was almost a different voice that greeted Gabriel now, lower and colder than it had been before. " its been so long since i've been in a church i don't rightly know why the hell I'm here. I feel lost. before these past few months i felt nothin toward any of the things i've done. Foolish as it sounds i met a girl here, an she's starting to become everythin to me... but i got a lot of blood on my hands." he stopped for a moment, seeming to pick where to start before he spoke again, "I've robbed everythin from people to banks with no hesitation. Killed at least 12 that i know of, lawmen and regular folk alike. Shot more that i couldn't tell ya if they lived or are feedin the worms. Never felt bad about none of it until she came along."

Sam's hand went to the handle of his colt, the gun felt like it was growing more and more heavy each day.

"I ain't got a clue if i should tell her or not. I don't wanna keep nothin from her but at the same time i'm afraid knowin would only hurt her."

He looked toward the grate that separated them, "thats been my life lately, how are you?"

Gabriel felt like something was pressing on his chest, making it hard for him to breathe. He almost felt afraid to breathe. His heart was racing and he suddenly felt sweaty. He had heard a number of shocking things in the confessional, but never murder.

He felt dizzy. He didn't know what to say. It was all made worse by the fact that the man spoke about it as if it was nothing. He was only remorseful because of this girl, only because he was afraid to hurt her? Gabriel wanted to challenge him on that. And at the same time he knew he had to pick his words carefully. If there was the beginning of remorse, he didn't want to discourage it. Perhaps he could be led to true remorse. But there was a much greater concern on his mind, a fear. That girl the man referred to was in serious danger. This man was dangerous, pitiless. He didn't seem to have a single thought for people he had killed or their families. His main preoccupation seemed to be what her reaction would be. God help that poor girl if he changed his mind about her. God help her if he told her what he had done and she didn't react right.

He tried to swallow but his throat was dry. He would have to say something eventually.

"Why do you feel bad now?" he said after a long silence. Where the man's voice had become lower, Gabriel's seemed higher now.

He was starting to wonder if the priest had fallen asleep over there when heard the question. Well now, that was a question Sam had not thought to ask himself. He leaned back in the confessional, staring off into space for a few moments before he spoke, "Huh...thats a very good question. Why DO i feel bad now...?" He thought for a bit longer but he couldn't seem to come up with any kind of solid answer for that one.

"I remember the last deputy i killed. Shot him in front of his own daughter. didn't know that til she started yellin for her daddy." Sams voice was starting to shift a little, that cold edge was fading slowly into just a low somber voice, "at the time it meant little, or i thought it did anyhow. Just a rain drop in the flood you know?" Sam folded his arms across his chest, letting go of the handle on his pistol. "I...I can't take it back..."

Sam thought for a moment more, "Why do i feel bad...I guess i never had anyone look at me the way she does. we ain't been together long but damned if that look don't twist me up inside." he was still talking as if she was the only reason he was feeling bad, and in a way that was true, he had never really considered anyone but himself before. there was a small kernel there though. Guilt because now that he was starting to understand what it was like to have someone look at you not only as a person, but with genuine care instead of as a work horse he was starting to see what he had been taking from people. Sam just didn't know how to put that to words himself. "Makes me wonder how much of that i took from others..." His common defense mechanism kicked in at the end, it was still hard for him to have just a true show of feeling after all, "except for Jack, that guy had it comin."

[CW: images of death and hell, gore]

His stomach turned upon hearing the man's story about the last man he had killed. He closed his eyes in the dark. He was in agony at the thought of the poor child who had seen her father killed before her eyes. He wished desperately he could do something to take away her pain, but he couldn't. He recoiled at notion that someone could be unaffected by it. Here was hell, opening itself before him in all its wretchedness, for him to see inside and shudder. It looked nothing like hell he had thought he battled during long lonely thoughts in his bedroom.

Here was a man several steps down into that world that seemed to Gabriel not fiery, but cold, filled with putrid flesh deprived of soul, grotesque carcasses without humanity. Here was a soul about to be lost forever, unless he could make him see and smell and feel the hell he was committing himself to. Gabriel wanted to flee from it as fast as he could. He did not want to hear what the man had to say.

"Tell me about Jack..." he said quietly, eyes still shut.

"Jack? truth be told I didn't know much about the man." Sam leaned his head back, gathering his thoughts for a few moments. none of this would mean anything if he was not completely honest after all, "Jack joined our gang about...4 years in? only lasted about a month. We was robbin a stage coach outside bristol. He shot one of the ladies inside for refusin to give him a kiss. A kiss! You believe that? Then had the stones to laugh about shootin an unarmed woman for such a damn fool reason. didn't kill her, but put a bullet in her all the same. Now we may be killers but even we had limits. no unarmed men, an damn sure no women an children. So we finished up, John did his best to tend the ladies wound and we left. Once we was back at camp I walked up behind Jack an gave his mind some fresh air." Sam sat forward now, unfolding his arms and resting them on his legs instead. "After that, we packed up an made our way. left his body there for the buzzards, figured they could use a meal."