Jason hadn't been to church in a while. The last time he really prayed was when he saw that bomb timer going off when he was 15.

But now after l the killing he's done, he feels that guilt in the back of his brain, and he finally caved. He sat in those cushioned seats hanging onto the pastor's every word, when asked to stand, he stood, when asked to close his eyes he did, just like he did all those years ago.

Music started up and a few people walked up with microphones and he wasn't focusing for a moment, but then he heard the most beautiful voice he had ever heard; one so touching and angelic. And when he looked to see who it belonged to, and when he looked to see you it's like his dark heart melted and his eyes opened wider.

When service ended he saw the pastor come down and smile, saying hi to the community, and when you walked down the steps- talking to so many people, he wondered how the people in this church could just talk to each other. But he couldn't be- he left soon after.

But he kept coming back. Every Sunday he'd be in that same seat in the back, trying to be silent besides when some people would say hi. But he didn't understand, who would want to look at his scarred face?

But this time he lingers longer than usual. He moves but is caught by the pastor's welcoming smile. He didn't understand. Why was the pastor talking to him so kindly? He wouldn't be doing this if the man knew what blood is on Jason's hand.

but he shakes his hand- such a holy man shakes a sinners hand. Why? But what's more mind boggling is that you looked at him. Oh, Lord, you looked at him. You shook hands with some other woman and you made eye contact. Holy crap.