Roman

It was late, very late. The cathedral was locked when I arrived. But locked doors had never deterred me.

I had received a lock-picking kit from my father when I had turned fifteen. He told me I had one week to learn how to open any door or I'd be sorry. Exactly one week later my father locked me in the basement without food, water or light and told me the only way I was getting out was by my own skill. Turns out that fear was a very useful learning incentive.

I was here because I had nowhere else to go. I wouldn't seek refuge with my father. No doubt he had heard what I'd done and was scouring the city looking for me. Perhaps part of me was waiting to get caught.

I sat in one of the pews. The large wooden Jesus stared down at me from his eternal place of suffering. Perhaps it was just my imagination, but he gazed at me with such pity, or perhaps the few candles I had lit about the empty church caused the deep shadows around his eyes. Fuck your pity.

I turned my head and found a pillar closest to me carved with an image of Satan, his face monstrous and warping as if it were melting wax. Here was a figure I could relate to.

"Roman? Is that you?"

I didn't have to turn to know that Father Laurence had entered the main section of the cathedral. I must have woken him.

I said nothing. I didn't have the strength even to hold my own head up under all this crushing guilt. Under all the tormented chants of if only…

Father Laurence slipped into the pew beside me, dressed in striped pajamas and slippers. He placed a warm hand on my shoulder. "Talk to me, my son."

I confessed everything. I had no strength to hold it all in. My guards were down, my will wrecked upon the rocks of fate. I told him about Julianna, about the duel, then about what had happened to bring me here. Even as I spoke, some of the heaviness lifted, but still the guilt remained.

I'd shot a man out of fury. I'd killed him out of pure revenge. This was worse than any death I'd dealt before, because no one had forced me to pull the trigger that severed a man's connection to this Earth. Not just any man. Julianna's friend.

And Mercutio… My heart twisted in agony every time I thought of him. He had been innocent in all of this. He died to save my wretched life. Why couldn't he have just let me take that stupid bullet? Of the two of us, I deserved it a thousand times more than he did. If he'd just let me take that bullet as punishment, I wouldn't have had to kill a man to avenge him.

"Oh, Roman," Father Laurence breathed. "I am so sorry."

"Pity Mercutio. Pity Espinoza. But do not pity me. I don't deserve it." I stared at the sculpted pillar of the ultimate sinner. "I am no better than Satan himself," I said, quietly.

The Father was silent for a long time. Then he hummed to himself and leaned back in the pew, folding his hands over in his lap. "Do you know what Satan's only mistake was?" he said.

"Going against God, being an evil bastard, that about sum it up?"

"It was not his rebellion or his wickedness that was his mistake."

"Really? They seem like pretty big mistakes."

If my sarcasm affected the Father he didn't show it. His demeanor remained calm and steady. "His only mistake was to believe that God would not forgive him."

Father's words settled on my skin like a fresh layer of snow. It began to melt and seep in slowly, like the end of winter.

I shook my head, not ready to hope that I could be forgiven. "By now I should be a wanted man. I'll leave before I force you into an uncomfortable situation." It was the Father's moral duty to call the police, even if the law protected my confession to him. I couldn't hate him for turning me in. Just like I couldn't hate Julianna for eventually speaking the truth about what I did.

Father Laurence patted my hand resting on the back of the pew in front of me. "You will always have a safe place here, Roman. Come, you must be tired."

I stared at Father Laurence as he stood and slipped out of the pew. He couldn't possibly mean to help me. He looked back at me and motioned for me to follow him.

"You'd be harboring a criminal," I said, still stunned at his benevolent intentions.

"Roman Tyrell, all men are sinners. All men are thus equal in the eyes of the Lord."

I still couldn't stand.

He walked back to me. "Come," he repeated softly as he pulled me to my feet. "Things have a habit of looking more hopeful after a good night's sleep."

* * *

Father Laurence setme up in a spare room up in the tower of the church. It was simply furnished with a small bed and rug, a tiny toilet in an adjacent room. I lay upon this bed with a thin pillow under my head. The pre-dawn light was still minutes away from lighting up the stained glass windows, so all was dark except for a single candle I'd kept lit by my side. I was already drowning in darkness; I could not stand to be consumed by the night. I was very much alone except for the ghosts of all the men I'd sent to their deaths. I was not a superstitious man, but something about the vaulted ceiling that rose above me—or perhaps it was the ghost of tears and cold finality that clung to the gray stone walls—made me feel as if I were lying at the base of my own tomb.

A knock sounded on the door.

I sat up, thankful for the reprise from my sour self-pity. "Come in, Father."

The door creaked open. A figure, much too short to be Father Laurence, stepped into the small room and closed the door.

"Jules…" I stood, my heart jamming against the back of my throat and wrapping around my spine. If I weren't already standing with the backs of my calves against the bed, I would have stumbled back farther, knocked off my feet at the sight of her.

She was an angel in a dark hooded sweater and jeans, the lit candle she was holding brushing a warm radiance about her face, making her whiskey eyes glow like amber. "I came to speak to Father Laurence. He told me you were here."

The good Father did give me up after all. "Have you come to arrest me? I'll go peacefully."

Her mouth sprang open. "I didn't tell them it was you."

What?"Why? I am guilty."

She lifted her chin, her honey hair falling over her shoulders to frame her face. "If you are guilty, then so am I."

"You? Guilty?" I couldn't believe her words. Her only guilt was caring too much for me.

"If I'd only told Espinoza about you, about us, he wouldn't have fired."

"It's not your fault."

"I am as much to blame as you."

I shook my head, disbelief making me lightheaded. "If you're not here to arrest me, then…why are you here?" She was risking her reputation by being here.

"Could you…?" She stepped farther into the room, then hesitated.

"Could I what?"

"Could you find it in your heart to forgive me?"

Forgive her? My head spun so hard I was nearly forced to my knees. "Forgive you…" I could barely get the words out, they were so absurd, "for what?"

"The way I sent you away… What I said to you…" She chewed on her beautiful bottom lip, sending a curl of warmth through me.

"Leave now," she hissed. "Leave Verona. Go where you'll never be found. Because the next time I see you, I will bring you in."

She was here asking for…of all things…my forgiveness, when I should be begging for hers.

"I'd just shot your partner, your friend." I took a step towards her, partly testing her reaction to my proximity, partly because it physically hurt to be in a room with her and not get closer. "Your reaction was angelic considering the circumstances."

"He'd just killed your best friend." She matched my step. "Your reaction was…understandable considering the circumstances."

She didn't hate me. Through my darkness, a ray of light appeared. I could scarcely dare to hope. "Do you think…" Dare I ask? "Do you think…you could ever forgive me?" I kept closing the space between us, desperate to hear the answer and yet terrified of it too.

"That is what love does. Forgives the unforgivable."

My head spun at her words. Could she still love me? After all I had done? "You still l…" I trailed off. I felt so undeserving even to speak the word.

"Still love you? Yes." She lifted her chin, her features stained with sorrow. And yet there, on her face, was everything I'd ever wanted but never deserved. Forgiveness, openness, love. I took it because I could not believe my luck. I took it because I could not do anything else.

I claimed her mouth. I stole her breath into my lungs and let it bring me back to life. I crushed her against me like I could drag her into my body. Her tiny fingers curled into my shirt and she pressed up against the heart that only beat for her. This was my saving grace; that I was good enough to love her.

I promised to God, from that moment on, I would do everything in my power to be the man she deserved. To be the man she saw in me. To be the man who deserved her love. Even if it took a whole lifetime.