You knew him not as Ghost, but as Father Riley. He walked like a saint, talked like a sinner, that thick accent smoothing over you like caramel, melting sweetly within your brain. And when no one else was around he whispered in your ear, called you his angel. And you were, his angel. So soft, so innocent.

It made him feel traitorous to toy with you like this, warmth radiating from your divine being as he trailed his finger along your tongue when he gave you bread, brushed your fingers when he gave you wine.

He locked eyes with you as you closed those perfect lips. God, he loved you. It would pass. Even so, he felt himself whisper to you as you looked up with huge doe eyes.

"Amen."