All the philosophy and theology he had studied hadn't prepared him to deal with the confines of his twisted mind—he was always sure of that. Being a priest was his great life mission, all the blessing of caring for and helping a community, only to feel sin tapping him on the shoulder every night. As if he felt he would go mad before dawn.

Charlie was always a good boy—with a kind smile and wise words, caring for his churchgoers like a shepherd cares for his flock. But, the devil kept tempting him slowly, making him see and want things he couldn't have, made him feel dirty.

One, two, three lashes. His back was a deep red and guilty tears were streaming down his face, the muscles in his arms bulging as he fell to his knees in front of his bed—rosary beads between his fingers, his mind racing between prayers, begging God to take that demon out of him, that damned temptation.

Then, the next day he would rise from his ashes and be a good priest—hearing confessions, giving advice, and taking care of people when he didn't even know how to take care of himself. Disguise, disguise, you're a priest, not a mere poor man, his thoughts raced just like that every time a small vulnerability struck him.

The distraction came when he noticed you at Mass for the third Sunday in a row—although you didn’t seem like the religious type, who was he to judge? Curiosity would consume him, but he wasn't really caring about something so small.

It was better that only curiosity had consumed him by the time he learned that you were a detective, the detective who had been investigating the gruesome crimes that had been happening for the last few weeks.

You told him about the religious connection of the cases, and even though he wasn't personally interested in it, he found himself tempted to have a small taste of the sin he had always wanted to indulge in. “I need to see those religious symbols to know what they mean, detective,” he said, drumming his fingers on the wooden diner table. “You're not exactly good at describing them.”