Saints and Their Sins

There was only one thing Sister Vera disagreed with within the catholic church. Priests were the only ones worthy of hearing the sins of the people, petitioning God for their souls. In her mind, absolution may be the rite of priests, but retribution was her holy mission.

Sister Vera sat quietly in the chapel’s vent, straining to hear the voices below her. All the other Sisters were in bed, peacefully slumbering until morning prayers began in a few hours. The only sounds were the voices of the two men in the confession box below her hiding place.

“The package has been delivered to 505 Harper Lane. Payment has been collected.”

She watched as the man slipped Friar Crowe a thick envelope. The priest counted the money and grunted in satisfaction.

It had been a shock to find that the friar assigned to her convent was involved in the very business that Sister Vera had been sold into, escaped, and found her faith soon after. Every day she faced him and the urge to carve the heart from his chest grew, she knew that would not be wise. The Friar, without knowing, had led her to many of the men involved in the sex trade hiding in the shadows of London. Though it pained her with each passing day, his time had not yet come.

“Two more of my men have gone missing.” The confessor whispered. “Are you sure you have not shared any information with someone who could be targeting my men?”

A smile broke over her face as memories of the men’s final moments flashed in her mind.

The Friar laughed, a grating sound amidst the quiet of the chapel. “What good would it do for me to expose any of this? Business is good,” He waved the envelope around. “I have no motive to compromise this opportunity.”

A gag rose in her throat at the cavalier nature of his tone. She quelled it with thoughts of how sweet his death would be one day. Soon.

Slowly, the men stood and went their separate ways without another word. Sister Vera waited until the footsteps were long gone before she shimmied herself back through the vent and into her room.

A blast of thunder boomed as she dropped to her bedroom floor. She looked out the window as a torrent of rain began to fall.

That will complicate things, she thought to herself as she donned her pants and sword she kept tucked within her straw mattress. After fastening her cloak around her and concealing her sword beneath her layers, she put on her face mask and slipped through her window to the lawn below, sneaking off the church property in the night towards Harper Lane.

Sister Vera walked discreetly through the rainy cobblestone streets of London. Her cloak was pulled down low over her face, though her mask underneath provided an extra layer of disguise. Her blade was concealed beneath her long dark cloak, the wool was almost soaked through with the steady rain, her only accompaniment for the night. This was how she liked it. Empty streets helped her focus. The occasional candle-lit windows cast low shadows on puddles forming between the cobblestone cracks. Sister Vera avoided them, just like the lights. Shadows were her friend on nights like these.

After winding through the familiar streets, she looked up and checked the sign ahead. Harper Lane.

Perfect.

After taking a quick left, she ducked behind the row of houses that stood neatly in a row. The one she was headed to was yellow. A color far too bright and cheery for the squalor living inside. Thankfully, no candles lit the inside, indicating those inside were sleeping. Sister Vera tried the front door, but it was locked, as expected. She made her way to a basement window and was able to prop it open enough to squeeze through.

Her feet hit a hard surface halfway down to the floor, giving her the time to close the window before climbing down. A flash of lightning lit the room briefly and she thanked the saints for it. It did seem odd, thanking the saints on a mission like this. She liked to think that they were with her, cheering her on, even as much as she was enacting justice in God’s place. She crossed herself out of habit, realizing what she was about to do may be the only heaven she experienced, but ultimately, she believed it to be worth it.

The flash of light showed a path leading to a staircase between boxes and different crates of goods. On the wall to her left she caught a glimpse of a few newspaper clippings. Vera slowly made her way over to them as another flash of lightning illuminated the articles. Clippings of photographs of young women and children featured in the local paper were sprawled across a desk. Thunder cracked through the night, confirming God was expressing anger alongside her. With a gloved hand, she ripped them up and sprinkled them onto the floor, allowing the familiar rage to burn through her soul as she approached the stairs.

With one hand on her longsword, she walked delicately up each step, careful not to cause any extra noise. Carefully she tried the door, unsurprised to find it also locked. Gingerly she removed one of her hair pins and easily picked it open, the door squeaking slightly as she emerged into the home’s main floor. She froze in the hallway, waiting for any movement, but, thank the Mother Mary, she heard nothing.

Sister Vera stopped to take in her surroundings. Another flash of lightning illuminated the walkway. Excitement coursed through her as she got her bearings and listened for her target. She lived for moments like this. The calm before the storm. The anticipation of a fight.

The rain made it hard to decipher, but she could hear faint snoring from a room down the hall. With her sword now drawn, she made her way toward what she believed to be a bedroom. Her cloak was heavy with the rainfall and was steadily seeping through her layers. A chill would start to set in soon if she didn’t hurry.

When she approached the first door, she leaned in to listen for any sounds. When she couldn’t determine movement in the room, she slowly creaked open the door to peek inside. No lightning illuminated the space, but a covered lantern from the street offered a dim glow, showing nothing but boxes. A room in the front with a window would most likely not be where they would keep their “shipment” but it was imperative to rule out how many people she may be up against tonight. She made her way toward the right wall to survey the room from another angle.

A boom of thunder shook the home. Sister Vera sucked in a breath as she placed her hand on the wall. A gasp that wasn’t hers caught her attention. It came behind the wall she leaned against. A flash of lightning illuminated the room once again, showing her the wall was a door concealed by boxes. It was painted the same color as the wall and made to look plain with only a crease showing where it was. Sister Vera attempted to grab one of the boxes to unblock the door, but they were heavy and sealed shut. She huffed in frustration.

Carefully she put her mouth close to the crease in the wall and whispered, “Hello? Is someone back there?”

Her only answer was the sound of rain pounding against the window.

“I’m here to help you,” She said. “I’ll be back soon. Don’t worry.”

A small whimper was her only confirmation as she turned to head back down the hall to find their captors.

Another flash lit the room, revealing a man standing in the doorway with an axe held above him, ready to attack. In an instant, he charged her, giving her little time to strike. She lifted her sword enough to block his blow while landing a kick below his belt. He grunted, doubling over in pain. Sister Vera brought her elbow down on his neck, forcing him to the ground with a thud. Her eyes fell to the shadow of the axe that lay just in front of him. Quickly she kicked it and stabbed the sword through his neck.

Footsteps immediately sounded just outside the hall. She counted at least three more men coming her way. Quickly, she threw her water-laden cloak onto the ground and grabbed the axe in her right hand, the sword still equipped in her left. As the first man entered the room, she sunk the axe into the side of his head and he fell to the ground, dead on the spot. The next man tossed a dagger at her that she narrowly missed as it impaled itself into the wall behind her. She looked up to see another one glistening in his hand just before he threw it, his aim significantly more improved than the last time. The dagger sunk into her side. She cried out in pain as she thrust her blade towards him. In the painful haze, her strike missed him slightly, giving the other man entering the room enough time to push her sword away with his own.

Without missing a beat, the dagger man yanked the axe from his companion’s head and charged her. As she moved into a defensive position, the dagger still in her side, the man with a sword grabbed her around her neck, pinning her against his large body, leaving her helpless against the axe coming straight towards her. With a yell, she pulled the knife from her side and jabbed it into the chest of the man who gripped her. As his handle on her loosened, she pulled out the blade and ducked as the axe came barreling towards her, plunging into the man behind her instead.

With a thud, he fell to the ground, and only she and the dagger man left. Her right hand instinctively pushed against her side to put pressure on her wound, the lightheadedness from the blood loss starting to cloud her already useless vision.

She held out the dagger as the man approached. A taunting laugh left him as he got closer, keenly aware of the perilous situation she found herself in. Her breaths were heavy in the mask as she blinked rapidly, trying to focus on the incoming threat.

“You fought well, little bird. But now it’s time to fly away.”

In a lethally quick move, he grabbed her hand holding the knife as his other flew to her neck, effectively pushing her against the wall, choking her. Her free hand left her side and grasped the hilt of the knife she held, working to take back control of the blade. But despite her efforts, the man edged the blade closer and closer to her chest, both of them struggling against one another. Oxygen left her lungs and her head began to pound, death knocking against her heart that beat wildly in defiance of the knife lowering towards it. Warm blood trickled down her side, soaking her shirt and the wall behind her.

Was this the end, then? After she died, would God be there to meet her or would she be sent straight to the gates of hell?

When she had become a nun almost two years prior, she joined the convent in hopes of being close to the God who had comforted her through her pain and suffering of being men’s plaything against her will. After she was rescued, God became the source of her hope and joy, and being in a convent provided safety, stillness, and community. Things she craved. But the reason she stayed was different. While her faith was still a priority, a new mission had arisen, allowing her to help other girls like her, even through the devastation of finding out that it was being perpetuated by one of her own. She was proud to be a humble servant of God by day and while still a humble servant by night, it took on a sharper edge she had come to love, helping rid her city of the filth in its shadows.

Lighting flashed, reflecting off the blade that was inching towards her chest through their opposing, shaking grasps and exposing the crazed eyes of her adversary.

“A woman?” He rasped, glimpsing her eyes in the quick ray of light. “Surely a damsel couldn’t have done this!”

Despite her current circumstances, she smiled below her mask. Men who underestimated her never lived to tell the tale. This man would be no different.

Swiftly she shoved her knee into his groin. When he didn’t react, she did it again, and again, until the man screamed in frustration. He let go of her neck to grasp the knife with both hands, giving her the chance to roll away from the blade. She released the knife as it protruded into the wall behind her. She kicked him to the side and sucked in a large breath, filling her lungs with the hot stuffy air that filled the room. As he lay on the ground holding his crotch, she plucked the dagger from the wall and walked over to him shakily. The sound of his cries filled the room, and she relished them for a moment before piercing the knife into his neck, transforming his groans into a garbled choking sound. She watched as his body went limp. Satisfied, she fell against the wall, clutching her side and pulling down her mask to breathe.

“Not just a Damsel,” She spat at the man on the floor. “A saint.”

A thumping sound came from the closet. Clumsily she grabbed her cloak, tearing a piece to bandage her wound, and putting pressure on it before attacking the boxes that stood between her and the small captives concealed behind the door.

The next morning, after finishing morning prayers, Friar Crowe called a meeting with the Nuns.

It was a common enough occurrence that Sister Vera didn’t fret, though her injuries were taking a toll on her. Thankfully silence was valued among the Sisters, which proved to be in her favor from being choked the previous night. Her voice was still not back to normal. Her side was properly bandaged using her stache of monthly clothes, but with the nun’s rations, she was still hungry and lacking the energy to recoup properly. However, she knew she needed to keep up the activities so as not to draw attention to herself in the small convent.

The nuns were corralled into a small room and waited for Friar Crowe to join them. Finally, he emerged, his large stomach protruding through his brown habit, a look of forced holiness in his features.

“Thank you sisters for joining us today. I want to let you know, one of your own has become ill in the night. Sister Catherine has been taken to a doctor in Paris due to some grave medical concerns. We must all be in prayers for her full recovery, though the doctors do not expect it.”

Gasps filled the room at this information. Instictively Sister Vera looked around, not ready to believe he was telling the truth. Sister Catherine was one of their newest recruits. She had only been here a few weeks but in that time, Sister Vera and Sister Catherine had become fast friends. When they were gardening the previous day, she had seemed fully fit and healthy.

“What’s wrong with her?” Sister Linda asked to her right. Friar Crowe’s brow furrowed in mock concern.

“It’s unknown. Some sort of stomach malady,” He then dismissed us. Sister Vera stood still, processing the information as the Sisters around her filed out of the room, leaving her alone.

With her mind spinning, she didn’t notice the sounds of the Friar coming up behind her as she turned to leave.

He grabbed her arm and pulled her towards his face as he whispered to her,” Be careful to not come down with the same illness, little bird.”

At his words, she froze, unable to respond as he walked away. The harrowing realization washed over her. Not only did he potentially know of her nightly activities, but he was now targeting the convent. Sister Catherine was in grave danger.

It was on this day, Sister Vera decided she would have to kill a priest.