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Chapter Text

The pain pierced my side to the point I couldn’t hear myself think. Much less hear Veronica’s words across the field.

“I am damaged”

Blood clouded my eyes.

“Far too damaged. But you’re not beyond repair.”

I coughed. More blood. It felt like the bullet had just pierced everything inside of me.

“Stick around here. Make things better. Because you beat me fair and square.”

I struggle to step away from Veronica, limping to the other side of the field. I almost couldn’t see. She was shouting something. But I couldn’t hear.

“Please stand back now.”

I saw her step back. My face hardened.

“A little further. Don’t know what this thing will do.”

I stood, my arms cruciform, the bomb’s ticking the only thing I could still hear.

“Hope you miss me! Wish you’d kiss me! Then you’d know I -“

Nothing. It took me before I could feel the explosion. I hoped she’s glad that she won. But really, I didn’t hope, I couldn’t feel, wasn’t anything at all.

Chapter Text

Why wasn’t there any pain? I knew I had just been blown up, so why couldn’t I feel anything. Shouldn’t my head at least be pulsing? But there was none of that. As I came to consciousness, I realized I was lying on the ground, in front of…some sort of mountain. Something felt off. It felt ethereal. At least that was the best word to describe it. I was there, but…I wasn’t?

Behind me I heard a voice. “Well. I wasn’t expecting you’d make it.”

The voice was calming, and intensely off putting at the same time. I turned my eyes up to look over me and saw a man dressed in white robes, with white hair, ice blue eyes and…blast damage must have done a number on me because I could have sworn those were wings.

“Who are you?”, I asked. “What happened? Where is - Veronica?! Where is Veronica is she alright?”

I remembered Veronica! I kept seeing her final moments with me on that football field running through my head. What had she been saying? Would she remember me fondly? How should I read the forlorn look I saw on her face? Part of me hoped she was nearby, that she’d carried me here, away from the pain. Part of me knew she didn’t.

The man was speaking to me.

“Decanus. That’s my name…ahh…my name is Decanus.  I’ll be completely honest, sir, I didn’t think you were going to make it.” The man, no, boy - he seemed to be around the same age as me - laughed slightly at that. His laugh had a wholesome tone to it. “But I guess everyone can get that deathbed repentance and baptism by blood stuff, if they manage lucky.”

Confused, I watched Decanus with intent, getting off the ground, and looked around at my surroundings. The foot of the mountain seemed to trail off into a deep, thick, forest in all directions. How did I get here?

Decanus interrupted my observations. Enthusiastically, he held out his hand to me. “I’m so glad to finally talk to you! You have no clue how hard I worked to get you up here!” His tone was so jovial and sweet. I hadn’t heard someone talk to me that way in…well it had been a long time.

“Decanus…sir…look - whatever your name is…where am I?”

I couldn’t think of any other questions to ask. I felt outside of my own body and inside of my own mind. The wilderness that surrounded me felt more like home then anywhere I’d ever lived, but then again most places felt that way when you move through six towns in four years. I realized Decanus was looking at me like he was shocked I didn’t get it yet.

“Sir, don’t realize?” He said, still wholesomely but somewhat bittersweetly. “You’re dead. Taking that bomb out of the school saved you from the worst option but, uh” - he looked worriedly over towards the mountain - “you did kill some guys…you still have a long way to go. Well, I guess we better get you over to Trahentium in time for the next orientation meeting.”

I shook my head. I was about to say it wasn’t possible I was dead, but then again, I did just explode with TNT strapped to my waist. So, all things considered, it was a likely option.

Down a quaint little trail, - did I just think the word quaint?? Veronica must have been rubbing off on me - built into the side of the mountain was a seemingly military bunker, made of solid steel from the looks of it. Seared into the front of it was, a word inscribed in large, black lettering:

PURGATORIUM

I pointed towards it.

“That’s where I gotta go first?”

Decanus again looked at me like he forgot I didn’t already know this stuff. “Yep! They’ll fill out your paperwork, show you the welcome video, and -“ He looked away for a second. “Well you’ll get the rest of the details inside.”

I nodded slowly, trying to regain my swagger the best that I could. Something about that was difficult when you had already passed the threshold that was your own mortality.

“oh, and, you will be able to check on Veronica - well - watch her at least. You can watch all of them, actually.”

Decanus raised his hand and beckoned me forth down the trail. “Well I might as well, considering the circumstances” I muttered. A breeze blew, and the leaves of the trees made a sweet noise. As I started down the path, Decanus jumped in front of me again.

“One more thing! I got you one of these before you left.”

He had a happy, proud look on his face as he handed me a cold, sweet smelling cup. Inside was a slushee. GOSH. It had been so long since I had a slushee. Was it when I had one with Veronica? Or did I get one for myself when I ran to grab some cleanup supplies for Heather Duke? I needed it badly. “Thanks…thanks” was all I could force out of my mouth as I slowly took the slushee from his hand. I sipped the ice, letting it block out the weird out-of-body feeling I felt since I woke up.

I nodded thankfully at Decanus, gripped my slush, and walked towards whatever would be the next thing I do with my life.

Chapter Text

I shuffled my way through the metal hallways of the bunker, sitting through orientation videos and reading various mysticist texts as I waited for my name to be called so I specifically could meet with the Angel who would explain “the specifics and peculiarities of your situation”.

A recorded message kept on playing through the speakers, and everyone in this damned facility must have had it memorized. The robotic voice dragged on and on about “venial sin” and “extra Ecclesia nulla salus” and other things that nobody seemed to really care about as we waited for the escorts to take them out of the waiting area and to the foot of the purgatorial mountain.

It was interesting, how different so many of the people here were. Adulteresses who were given Extreme Uniction. Bishops who died outside of the Church - in fact, there was a quite large group of Palmarians who had been moved into a separate waiting area as angels debated if their sacraments were valid - and even just regular guys. People who didn’t really care about any of this and just lived their lives and stayed out of trouble and never caused problems, but were oblivious to the idea that they’d be held accountable for what they said about the homeless man on the subway or the weird kid in their class.

And then there was me.

Why was I here? Why did I fit in at all? I was a murderer. A reprobate. I hurt the only person who ever loved me. Why was I not in hell? Did I not belong with the damned and damnable masses?

I sipped down the last bits of Decanus’s slushee and sighed. I shouldn’t be here. If I couldn’t help Veronica, if she ever cried again, I would be a failure. My sacrifice for naught.

“Jason Dean. Please make your way to office 324. Again, calling Jason Dean.”

That was me. Weird, hearing my full name for once.

I got out of my seat and walked passed the souls huddled about towards the office.

Opening the door, I could see it was significantly nicer than the cold, industrial atmosphere that echoed through the rest of the facility. It was in an old, baroque style. A kind looking Angel with purple hair and a customer-service grin looked up from behind a desk.

“Oh, hello Jason. Come in.”

I came in and sat down.

“Give it too me straight. Why am I here.”

She tilted her head, muttering “let’s see…oh my…I can see why you’d ask that…3 murders…attempted murder, breaking and entering, another attempted murder…” she said, scrolling through a computer screen, “OH HERE! Baptism of blood. You spilled your own blood to save another life. It’s an auto-redemption mechanism.”

I stared at her blankly. Did my last-minute regret really merit this? Was it all worth it for my final heroism? “Wow…” I said “that’s…that’s good, yeah. I like that.”

“The thing is” she replied, suddenly quite nervously, “in order for a murderer to leave purgatory…the ones who judge that your soul is purified…are the ones who you killed…”

“…”

“Jason?”

“…another fucking Heather”

Chapter Text

“ooooo ooooo!

Jason, whatcha waiting for! Welcome to my Candy Store! Time for you prove you’re not a sinner anymore! And step into His candy store!”

Heather was having too much fun with this.

I stood at the opening of that great chasm where hell opens before the foot of the purgatorial mountain. Three damned shades had been given temporary reprise from their torment that they may judge when my soul had been sufficiently purified and I might enter Paradise. Kurt and Ram, held me back from punching her.

I really, really thought I had finally finished dealing with those guys.

“Shut up, Heather.” I muttered to her.

“You’re not the one in charge of my souls right now are you?” she said mockingly. “I didn’t think so…

Now let’s see. Here are the rules. You will be subjected to various torments upon that mountain. The boys will watch you there. You will also be asked to return to Earth at some-point, to make just what you made unjust. I will watch there.”

I smirked “Gee Heather. Didn’t realize you could speak so eloquently.”

“…there’s a script.” she sighed

Suddenly I felt Kurt and Ram let me go. I started to move, but she cut me off sharply.

“God, Jason. My afterlife is SO boring. If I have to sing the Sound of Silence one more time…listen if you see Heather Duke or Veronica while you’re back on Earth, tell them to stop wearing my scrunchies. I hated it when my clothes smell like puke.”

With that, the devil Chandler vanished into a poof of smoke. I started to move again, but Kurt and Ram shoved me to the ground.

“Hey emo!” Kurt shouted “thanks to you we had to spend like ten hours explaining to that King Minos guy that we didn’t belong to get put with all the homos.” “Yeah we ended up in the circle of lust instead.” Ram chimed in, then turning to Kurt instead. “Dude have you SEEN Helen of Troy? No? well come on, she’s what I call hot stuff.”

They too disappeared, giggling, leaving me alone at the foot of my ascent to Mount Carmel. I guess even eternal torture can’t change some people. What was I to do now? I thought long and hard, before I decided to sit down and read a bit. Might be my last chance to relax before stuff gets bad.

Gosh. You really can’t escape some people.

Chapter Text

Something they didn’t teach you in Sunday School is that purgatory is really boring. Dad never sent me to Sunday School, of course, but you pay enough attention to people’s conversations at school and you pick up on it all anyway. It turns out, paying for my sins would involve a lot of waiting, standing there on a mountain bored out of my mind. Sometimes there would be a mild heat, just enough to make some of the other souls here disconcerted, but I had just recently been blown up, so heat didn’t phase me that much. Most of the time, it was just a painful amount of waiting.

I tried a few things to pass the time. Listening to music wasn’t an option here, which sucked. No sports to try though I never liked them anyway. There was some reading material the angels kept but you were only allowed to read it if it “would aid in the healing process”.

I liked looking at the pictures carved into the side of the Mountain. They were these pictures of holy, virtuous people you were supposed to imitate. Joan of Arc, Saladin, and Caesar Augustus all made their appearances.

They were heroic, chivalrous warriors and I was a stupid emo dirtbag who blew himself up in front of a high school in suburban Ohio. I would never let myself forget that as long as eternity lasted.

I have met some interesting figures in Purgatory. One man said he was sentenced to be here until the end of the world - his name was Solomon. I’d heard of him before, King of Israel, summoned demons to build a temple but realized how futile it all was and turned back to the light - long story, and he loved to talk about it, but I was disinterested.

But apart from the occasional conversation with Solomon or some other ancient philosopher you didn’t get very much from this place. I think that’s the point.

I was sitting on a rock, as one does here, when I suddenly heard a strangely familiar voice from behind me.

“Jason! Has this place been treating you well?”

Decanus. My guardian angel. Nice of him to stop in.

“Ah. Greatings and Salutations. Come on and sit” I responded, mustering what enthusiasm I could in the circumstances.

“I brought you another slushee! Here, let me sit-“ I moved over a bit and the enthusiastic angel sat right down next to me. I graciously took a sip of the slushee.

I missed slushees. I missed everything about them. The taste, the ambiance of the store, getting them with Veronica…

“Hey angel…” i asked “how-how is Veronica doing. Is she okay?”

Decanus looked at me softly and smiled. “I thought you might ask that. She graduated last week. Won Prom Queen by a large margin but missed out on valedictorian to Courtney - though poor Courtney was completely overshadowed by the tribute to you and your, ah, companions…”

He trailed off and laughed a bit. She graduated? Had it already been that long. I swear this mountain was screwing with my brain.

“Well look.” - I laid out my thoughts - “Heather the morningstar told me I’d need to follow her back to earth and right my wrongs if I wanna get off this rock. When does that start?”

Decanus brightened up again. “Just what I came to speak with you about - I will also be accompanying you on this journey, as an official representative of the heavenly court, so don’t worry if Ms. Chandler tries to violate our terms and conditions - we’re gonna send you back as a sort of apparition, or ghost or something, under a new alias - Fr. Jason Way, FSSP. You’re visible to the people who need to see you, but nobody else. You’re gonna play off of this new Catholic group they’re calling the Fraternity of Saint Peter, pretend they’re setting up shop in Sherwood and whatever college campuses your friends are going off too and get an in to talk to them, as the role of a dashing young priest or whatnot.”

Decanus smiled and waved. I nodded, but something wasn’t adding up…

“Wait wait, why all the secrecy and aliases and stuff. I mean I’ll be dealing with Veronica most and, look Veronica loves me.” I laughed to myself. “Veronica and me were chosen from the stars. I could just appear and she’d celebrate and we could go get slushees, you know?

I was looking forward to that…”

Suddenly, for the first time since he appeared, there was no smile on Decanus’s face. The pristine glow around him seemed to fade.

“Jason? Veronica does not love you.”

Chapter Text

Veronica doesn’t love me?

That’s impossible. It doesn’t make sense. She told me she loved me. She acted like it, at least at first. It had been a while since we talked and it wasn’t like I left on the best terms but, still, people don’t just decide to wake up and discard you one day. Maybe they do.

“I’m sorry.” My angel said, bowing his head and gently raising his hand to my should.

“Don’t worry about it…” I muttered, frozen in shock. This didn’t make sense. I couldn’t comprehend it. I didn’t want to comprehend it. “In any case…ah…look you can’t do this to me!” I protested “I mean, our love was god, you can’t just show up and tell me she abandoned me!”

“I have to leave now. There’s a meeting for all guardian angels in my legion. I’ll be back soon to set you up for your first descent to Earth. Cheer up, maybe?” Decanus smiled before he looked up to the top of the mountain and took off, his wings propelling him into the wind-bitten air. He left me, alone, on the ground.

Alone. Without Veronica, without my mother. Without the angels. I sat alone in Purgatory, waiting for the sky to fall.

I never really remembered a time before people would abandon me. It was, almost, the natural state of affairs, as true to human behavior as original sin. You know somebody, they’re a perfect person, you do something for them, they leave you in the gutter. Rinse. Repeat. The fact that it still happens when you die - when the perfect person watched you die so she could live - just felt like insult to injury.

“Hello, slusheewhore.”

I could still recognize Heather Chandler’s voice anywhere.

“Ah Greetings!”

I turned to look her in the face. Same smirk she had when she was alive.

“Jason, the literal nerds who run this place told me to give you a bunch of lame nerd books.” she dropped several large books, most with Latin titles, at my side. “They also told me you get to choose who you deal with first. Heather, Heather, your father, my parents - the lameasses they are - and Veronica all have…issues…because of you. Solve their problems or something? Just don’t ask me for help, I’m not getting paid for this.”

Heather held out a clipboard holding a sheet of paper, with the pictures and names of everyone she had mentioned. Then she smirked, her eyes glowing with demonic energy.

“Who’s first?”

“I-I don’t know…I’m not even sure supposed to do. Just like talk to them and oh their problems will all go away? Stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.” I stuttered, eyeing the paper suspiciously.

Chandler rolled her eyes and muttered something about “not making the rules” before taking the paper back to her side.

“Well make a decision soon. I’d say take Heather Puke first, considering she seemed to get along with you better than the rest of us, loser she was.”

“Yeah, fine, I’ll work out her stuff for her…” I said with vague disinterest, grabbing the clipboard and signing my initials next to green Heather’s picture.

“Wonderful. I’ll tell my supervisor and we’ll be down on Earth again by the end of the week.”

“We’ll?” I said, incredulously, pointing to her, me, and back again.

“Hell sucks, obviously. I managed to talk them into letting me come with you. As a supervisor…technically…but moreso because I’ll do anything to get time off from that place. See you and that angel in five.”

With that, Heather flipped her hair, smirked, and walked away. Leaving me alone. Alone.

I started to flip through the books she had left for me as a tried to enjoy the brisk mountain air. There was a Bible. Two actually, but one was in Latin.

“Third Book of Kings…” I spoke softly to myself as I skimmed through it. Something one of the prophets, someone named Elijah, said suddenly caught my eye:

With zeal have I been zealous for the Lord God of hosts: because the children of Israel have forsaken thy covenant: they have destroyed thy altars, they have slain thy prophets with the sword, and I alone am left, and they seek my life to take it away.

I alone am left.

“Yeah…” I laughed and looked up to the sky. I alone am left. If Elijah could hear me - and I doubted he could, if he was even real - then maybe we could be alone together.

And maybe then I wouldn’t be so alone.

Chapter Text

Decanus enthusiastically wrote some rules up on a whiteboard. The small room, with just him, Heather, and myself made the vastness of the afterlife feel less intense. It felt cozy, despite the industrial coldness that permeated through the whole bunker.

I looked up as he finished writing, to see a list of things I would be barred from doing on my first return trip.

“These all make sense?” the angel said with a happy tone in his voice. “First, no revealing your identity to anyone except your patient - and even then only on a need to know basis we can’t have everyone on Earth know we’re running this operation, it would cause chaos. Second, report back to your angelic superior every three days! That’s me!” He smiled and waved while his wings fluttered a bit, before he looked over at Heather.

“I think you’ll have your own supervisor to check with - I’d ask the Infernal Registration Service for details before you go - so you can ignore that one” he said, notably uncomfortable to be around a damned soul. Heather just nodded in agreement before going back to picking her fingernails.

Turning back to me, Decanus told us the two final rules hastily - no violence, and no deals with any other supernatural beings. “We never really have problems with those” he laughed, before flipping the whiteboard over to show a map of Sherwood, Ohio.

“Now, Heather Duke has decided to attend Community College back where you came from, so you’ll be posing as newcoming clergy to the local parish. We’ve already been in contact with the Bishop of Toledo to inform him that Father Ripper has been transferred out and a new priest is being assigned to his territory.”

“Got it.” I said. I couldn’t believe I had to start out going right back to the same stupid place I had just came from. Life is irony, I suppose.

“So when do we bust out of here? I’m bored.” Heather’s dry tone reverberated across the room with a slightly demonic growl. Her eyes darted up to my guardian angel and across to me as she anticipated an answer.

“You’ll both be receiving your new personas and receive final instructions shortly! Any questions?”

I had no questions, so I smiled, shook my head, and glanced over to the check the clock. I realized quickly there was no clock, and chuckled under my breath.

“So, lameass, what’s the plan?” Heather said, a slight distaste in her voice. “You can’t just walk in there and say I’m-a-ghost-please-get-therapy. You need a plan.”

I thought for a moment - she did raise some good points. “I guess I’ll just have to meet her where she is” I said as I continued to ponder it.

“That’s the lamest hippie sentence I’ve heard since my memorial rally.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I can’t believe I got stuck galavanting through the afterlife with you.”

“Isn’t this whole thing getting you some time off from the eternal-fire-and-pain thing?”

“Shut up, loser…

…just shut up.”

We stopped talking after that, and a minutes later, another angel came carrying several pieces of clerical garb on a clothes hanger. He handed a priest’s cassock to me and a nun’s habit to Heather. Her skin let off smoke at the touch of the crucifix.

“Oh, thank you!” Decanus shouted to the angel as he left the room. Turning to us, he told us to put on the outfits and get ready for apparition in the living world.

We both re-emerged from changing rooms a few minutes later. I quite liked the shadowy black cassock, it matched by vibe. Heather Chandler of course wasn’t nearly as interested, shouting “you don’t really expect me to wear this, do you?” at Decanus as she walked out.

He ignored her, turned towards us both, and looked us in the eyes.

“Father Jason? Sister Bernadette? Welcome to the rest of your life.”

Chapter Text

I stood in the bleachers of the Westerburg High School football stadium. They still haven’t finished refurnishing everything after my last visit.

The wind bites at my hands and I shove them inside my pockets. Staring out at the field below me, and the school beyond it, I smiled. They didn’t beat me. I was back and this time it was going to go well. Not another bomb-plot, of course. Veronica. She would realize that I was willing to do anything for her and she would accept me for it.

I spit on the cold metal bleachers. How is it that I barely escaped my eternal perdition right at this very spot? I began to pace back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. Death, judgement, heaven, hell. The last four things. Four things that all flashed before the eyes of the only person worth living for as I gave up my life for her.

First I had to deal with Heather Duke though, the philosopher-queen of Sherwood, Ohio. I stared at Westerburg, pondering how I was supposed to heal the soul of a person who you would have never guessed had one.

“Jason let’s go. If we don’t check in with the Parish Council by midday, Count Botis is going to be all pissy with me and you don’t want an Ars Geotia breathing down your wimpy emo neck, believe me.”

I could hear Heather behind me, but I simply took in the view. Suddenly, in a burst of fire and soot, she appeared in front of me, here eyes flashing a demonic yellow reviling in her new abilities as the arbiter of my soul.

“Isn’t it thrilling? Let’s go, loser. I have places to be.”

“Alright alright, coming” I mutter as I follow her down the steps and we walk away from the school.

“I hope you know how much I despise everything about you” Heather said as we got into the cheap, decade old AMC Gremlin we were renting out from the only car salesman in town.

“Well I did send you crashing down dead, so I can understand the feeling.”

We drove in silence down the street to the church parking lot, pulled in, and walked to the Parish Center.

“Oh welcome!” said an older woman, with a nametag that read ‘Agatha Dunnstock’ - “you must be Father Jason and Sister Bernadette. Here, the pastoral council is meeting inside!”

Both Heather and myself nodded with the ambiance proper to the clergy as we entered a conference hall. Agatha, chairwomen, introduced us to the council, including Ferruccio Parri, director of the choir, Jennifer Chick, chief accountant, Joan Girardi, head of liturgical affairs, and…oh-

I turned to Heather and we confirmed who we saw with a brief nod.

“And this is Heather Duke!” spoke Agatha enthusiastically “ever since she took over as young-adult representative on this council, the amount of teen volunteers we’ve had here has doubled!”

Duke sat, smiling politely, basking in the praise. She was clad in almost all red, complete with a rosary necklace made of bloodshot gems.

“Greetings all of you…” I spoke, stepping into my new persona “I am delighted to be here at Our Lady of La Salette.”

Heather chimed in, with a cold “my name is Sister Bernadette. I will also be ministering here. I think you will find I do a good job.”

The council members all nodded, except for Duke, whose eyes met mine, and then Heather’s, before she shook her head in disbelief.

“If you would excuse us” I spoke “we must find our quarters”, and I hurriedly left the room, Heather trailing beside, as we searched for the rectory - a house where clergy live.

“Oh…” Heather said, laughing as soon as we were out of earshot “So Heather Puke, who didn’t even go to church six months ago, is now the poster child for the perfect Catholic woman. No, she’s not.” Heather sounded almost angry “she doesn’t get to be that. And she doesn’t get to be me.”

Heather continued ranting to me as we walked into the rectory. Her eyes flashed with demonic glare as she turned to face me.

“I hate her.” Heather paused, and ruminated for a second. Then she looked up at me again.

“Almost as much as I hate you.”

Chapter Text

Heather Duke stood at the desk with a bitter glare and even more bitter tone, clutching a small golden reliquary in her hand as she faced down the man seated on the other side.

“Heather, I know the suicides were difficult for your whole town, and you especially. It isn’t easy for me, either, to know I failed three members of my flock. But no matter how much you miss her, you need to accept that Heather Chandler is dead. We all wish we could change that.”

Bishop Hoffman smiled fondly as he spoke, trying to console someone he thought to be filled with delusional grief. He continued on, searching for words before Heather cut him off.

“No, Bishop. That nun you sent us, I would recognize her anywhere. That was Heather Chandler, come back from the dead to steal what I rightfully inherited from her. You should call in an exorcist, or whatever it is you’re supposed to do when there’s a vampire infestation.”

The good Bishop was starting to tell that Heather was both angry and completely serious. He reached out to touch her hand in comfort, slowly removing it from the reliquary and looking her in the eye.

“Heather, you have done a wonderful job in your community - both helping people through the tragedies last year and revitalizing parish life in Sherwood, so I do mean it when I say more door is always open for whatever you need. If you truly - truly - are completely sure you have seen the dead, I could contact the Holy Office and notify them to dispatch someone to investigate an apparition. Beyond that, your personal beliefs are out of my control, and even with the investigation you’ll have to wait, seeing how backlogged they are on the Kibeho case.”

The red-clad girl’s eyes narrowed as she snatched a small statue of the Blessed Virgin off the table and squeezed it in her palm. “Bishop Hoffman” she said through gritted teeth “I did not drive all the way from Sherwood and climb three flights of stairs up to the top of this cathedral to find your office just for you to put me on some Vatican waitlist and push me out the door.”

“I know.” Heather continued “that whatever she is, she is not an apparition from God. I saw it in her eyes - that ‘nun’ is in the service of Lucifer. Your Excellency, you have to believe me.”

Bishop Hoffman sighed, stood up from his desk, and walked to the window. It was odd how the Nuncio had sent an envoy personally telling him to transfer a low-level cleric. While he knew Heather Duke was almost certainly grieving herself into confusion, it couldn’t hurt trying to figure out what the whole thing was about. He looked down at the streets of Toledo below.

The Bishop was a good man with a love for the poor and a kindness that radiated out from him to everyone he met - but now, he pondered - did demons, and saints too, really walk among us? It was one thing to believe - as he did - in a God that was ‘out there’ and could be known through reason and theology, sacraments and formal rituals and scripture. It was a whole different thing to see supernatural beings just doing their thing around the rest of us, a common and active presence outside of formally established scripture and religion.

How ironic, he laughed to himself, that someone not two months out of high school was more convinced of this reality than one of the highest prelates in Ohio. He turned back to Heather and smiled assuringly, feeling in his heart what he must say.

“I won’t dismiss your concerns, my friend. I’ll make calls to all the nearby convents and ask them if they know of a Sister Bernadette of the Holy Ghost. And while I do doubt there’s anything more afoot, please take some holy water and one of my relics - here, Saint Matthew’s bone will do - just in case Heather Chandler really is back to haunt you.”

He said this with a caring countenance, pushing a small reliquary across towards Heather.

“And Heather? If it is her, please tell Heather I’m so sorry I failed her, and failed you all.”

The holy, and normally joyful man sighed and looked down despondently before ringing the bell to invite the next visitor into his office. Heather Duke smiled politely and silently left the room. As she walked down the Cathedral’s spiraling stone steps, passing two monks whispering in hushed tone and a nun silently holding her rosary, before walking through the main sanctuary to the exit, she muttered to herself - or to God - or maybe to Heather Chandler.

“Sed contra, good prelate. Your sorry is besides the point. I’ll make her sorry she ever came back.”

In truth, Heather Duke didn’t care that much about demons either way. If the devil wanted to send some creepy ghost girl to spy on Sherwood, Ohio, he’d be pretty stupid for it - there was nothing much worth spying on in that deadbeat town. She cared very strongly however, about the laws of power. And right now? Right now someone needed to be reminded that in dying, you forfeit your right to the throne.

Chapter Text

I was getting ready to celebrate my first mass in Sherwood’s small chapel. It was funny, the last time I was here, I was here for Kurt Kelly’s funeral, a funeral I caused. Now I’m here as a sort of penance for him – and for the others – for all of that. The exact details, of course, I was still working out. How was I supposed to ‘get through’ to Heather Duke? What reassurance did she need in that could only be provided by divine intervention? It’s not like my angel – friendly though he was – gave me a how-to list. I sighed and breathed in, preparing to make my first public appearance since returning – not as the rejected antisocial freak they had known before, but now as one with the authority to forgive their sins and force penance. As the priest. No, as more than the priest. I was like unto an angel. They needed me. The reprobate people of Sherwood could ignore the dumb teenager screaming in a boiler room, but they couldn’t ignore someone sent from God. They could no longer ignore me. And if they could no longer ignore me, it would mean that Decanus is wrong, and Veronica would not ignore me either.

Heather Chandler, still wearing the pious habit of the Carmelite sisterhood, nodded at me from the back of the narthex. She couldn’t enter the sanctuary – the damned burn in the presence of God – but she was happy to watch from the waiting room and judge my fate. I smiled back before turning to the altar boys holding candles and a crucifix. I raised my hand, signaling to the organist inside the sanctuary that it was time to play the opening hymn which would herald the triumphant entrance of Sherwood’s inquisitor. I was about to lower my hand and move forward down the pews the moment I heard the music, but instead, I heard a voice.

“Father!”

It was Heather Duke. The object of my being here, and my only real confidant – Veronica never did understand me, she could only comfort me – in matters of philosophy and power.

“Father, I apologize immensely for the interruption, but I need to speak with you immediately.”

I signaled to the organist to hold off with the music and turned to face Heather.

“What is it?”

“The nun who arrived here with you...” Heather said, glancing at Heather in the back of the room “She is...of the Enemy. Her eyes flashed red, and she fled the room when I presented holy relics as a gift. If you don’t believe me, you-”

“I know.”

I stared at Duke, her prideful assertions shut down by the realization she was not the first to have such hidden knowledge.

“Father, she is-”

“I know who she is. What if, Heather, what if I don’t just know who she is? What if I know who you are, too?”

She trembled a bit, her breath shaken. I smiled, nodding as I turned back towards the doors leading into the sanctuary.

“Now before mass starts, here’s a gift...” I muttered as I tossed her a small scapular – a red scapular, for the sake of it – and I gave the organist the go-ahead to strike up the entrance hymn. “From Heather to Heather...”

Chords of sacred song began to echo through the Church as the altar boys marched forward, and their dutiful priest - their servant - their judgement - walked in behind them. I looked over the faithful, as well as the posers – who would be indistinguishable from the truly devout if I really was a new priest and not a returning ghast. It mattered little, my hands clasped in the appearance of prayer as I walked down the center aisle. I was Jason Dean, fallen, wicked, almost damned, and abandoned by the only person to ever love me – perhaps rightly so – but in this moment it didn’t matter. I stepped onto the altar as the servers knelt and dispersed the incense. Through smoke and candlelight, I gazed at the people of the town I couldn’t burn.

“I confess” I began, and the people joined devoutly - “I confess to Almighty God, to blessed Mary ever Virgin, to blessed Michael the Archangel, to blessed John the Baptist, to the holy Apostles Peter and Paul, to all the Saints...”

I saw Veronica’s parents in the crowd. I saw a lot of parents in the crowd, actually. They didn’t know what I had almost done to them, that I had almost killed their children. But I knew. Even if I made it to heaven at the end of this all, I’d still know.

“...that I have sinned exceedingly.”

Chapter Text

“Bless me Father for I have sinned.”

I had been sat in the confessional, leaning against the side and listening to the faults and failings of this miserable town for well over an hour now, and finally I heard a voice I recognized. Heather Duke had come back to talk again after our encounter in the vestibule before Mass last Sunday. How nice of her. I slurped my slushie as she spoke in a trembling voice.

“I lied. Last Sunday after Mass, I got up in front of the parish and lied to them during the announcements. I lied to them about who you are. I told the people that we were welcoming a new religious sister to our community. But she wasn’t new. Her funeral was, what, 10 months ago? I lied to them, Father, because to get up in front of the crowd and announce that I have seen the dead walk would be to admit I have seen a miracle.”

I thought for a moment, adjusting the collar I still wasn’t used to wearing as I shifted in the tiny space between the two walls. Finally, I spoke.

“And what would the problem be? The problem with seeing a miracle?”

“Because I didn’t get the miracle.”

I could hear Heather stuttering through the screen as she answered.

“I had to work. Heather Chandler became the most popular person in Westerburg by simply existing. I had to work and plot and scheme my way into her graces, and into leadership. I had to work for top scores, Veronica got them without studying an hour a day. I had to work for community college and Heather McNamara’s dad just bought Princeton a new parking lot. Now? Now? Now Heather Chandler and you get to literally CHEAT DEATH.”

Her voice was intense and fraught with pain. I nodded, and grasped hold of the crucifix hanging from my neck.

Heather?” I asked, leaning close to the confessional screen, “Do you think I want to be here?” I looked at the crucifix hanging on my wall and felt a lump form in my throat.

“I don’t want to be here. I want to move on. To be in Heaven, not here. I wanted to see the face of God. I didn’t deserve that though. I got the miracle because I didn’t deserve anything else. You don’t want one.”

“Yes I do” Heather continued, almost scoffing at me, “I want to be special. To be handed something. I want a miracle. I want my miracle.”

“You want a miracle? Very well.”

I walk out of the confessional, opening the door to Heather’s side too, as the frightened penitent stared. I reached out my hand and she took it, and I dragged her out of the box. Silently, I paced down to end of the church, beckoning her to follow swiftly behind me as I walked out the door into the cold, black air of the night. That feeling of the wind hitting me was sweeter than heroin – a sweetness no doubt amplified by the angels to remind me of that heavenly abode which I was now orienting to - but I had no time to stop and appreciate it. Instead, looking behind to see a fearful Heather Duke walk with cold and nervous breath, I stopped. I turned around.

“Heather?” I called out.

And with the magnificence of a thousand underworld princedoms, out of a fiery whirlwind, Heather Chandler appeared. Not taking up the appearance of a nun for this showing, she unfurled the wings of a demonic envoy, cackling as Heather Duke knelt down before Jason and Heather.

“I have seen my miracle...” a terrified Duke looked up at the apparition with tears in her eyes as Chandler settled down in a more human appearance, sickly yellow glow still emanating from her eyes.

“How very. Normally they don’t give the average damned soul this flashy stuff but since I’m trenchcoat’s judge right now, I got a permit. Jason, what do you want?”

I smirked, frightened myself, of course, but also perhaps unhealthily pleased to see Duke humbled before the sight of such an intense preternatural phenomena.

“That will be all, Heather. Heather, please say your act of contrition.”

Kneeling with terror, the shadow of the old stone church behind her breaking up the moonlight glow, Heather looked up with pleading eyes – first at me, then Chandler, and then up further. Up towards the same place I looked, and that Chandler could not.

“Oh my God, I am sorry for all my sins. Not because I fear the loss of heaven or the pains of hell, but because they have offended you. Please help me to go. Sin no more.”

She broke down in tears and collapsed onto the floor. For the first time, she realized that maybe she shouldn't want a miracle, and shouldn't want the easy way to power. Maybe that wasn't the right way to think about life at all. Maybe people were only given those things if they were horrible enough to need them. If they were horrible enough that they couldn't be good without one. And maybe, just maybe - thought Heather Duke as she sobbed on the pavement as the interlocutors from beyond the grave looked down at her - she hadn't gotten a miracle because somewhere within her was the power to choose good without one. And this gave her hope she needed to try.

She looked back up at me and Chandler, then at the sky, before finishing her prayer.

“And avoid whatever leads me to sin.”