Work Text:
The church was an auster place to be.
Even as a child, Chase had always found it cold. Distant, weary and tired like it was about to buckle under the weight of all those years.
Yet, despite that feeling, amongst the quiet stones and worn statues, there was also a warmth to it. Radiating from the center, like a small, tiny sun that basked the entire thing in its gentle light.
It had always been there for him, though sometimes more than others. It had been there when his dad left. It had been there when her mom drank herself into a frenzied rage, and then into a half dead comatose. It had even been there when she’d finally left, talking to him, a reassuring embrace that he was convinced would never leave. A constant, an unmoving promise that he would always have something to return to.
The air was quiet around him while he sat on the rough wood of the bench. He didn’t know how long he’d been here for. The candle right to his left had melted completely what he deemed to be a few hours ago. There were no windows but he was sure if there were they would show him the Sun had set a long time ago. No one had come in, or come out of the building since he’d entered after work. It was uncomfortable, his back was sore and his eyelids were becoming heavy. It felt right.
He thought for a second, about how freaked out Cameron must be at this very moment. Probably pacing around the kitchen, calling his number repeatedly. He could see how her eyes would crease with worry, the way she would clutch the phone while she dialled again and again. Surprisingly, that didn’t cause that much of a reaction in him. Maybe it was the exhaustion. Maybe it was the dozens of drinks he’d downed before coming here. Maybe he was just already too riddled with guilt and the added weight didn’t change anything.
A murder. He’d committed a murder. And a part of him still deemed it righteous.
It was a feeling unlike any other. The filth that now clung to him. Weighed down his heart, dirtied his hand. His body was in constant fight or flight mode, waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the inevitable punishment to come. Because there just had to be some sort of punishment for that. Something, anything that would make up for a fragment of what he did.
He half expected to die of a heart attack right then and there. It happened all the time, to a lot of people. Good people. It would only be fair that for once it happened to someone bad.
The warmth was gone now. It didn’t embrace him anymore. The church was lonely, cold and grim, and deep down he knew if it could talk, it would shout shame at him.