Page 59 of House of Sin
A murmur rippled through the congregation, heads nodding in agreement, eyes widening with realization. I could feel the energy shifting, the collective fear and anger rising. “Do you know what happens within those cursed walls?” I continued, my voice booming. “Innocence is stolen, souls are shackled, and the very fabric of our community is torn apart! The women who toil there are instruments of destruction, leading our men astray and tempting our youth into the abyss of immorality!”
Gasps echoed in the church. Father Cyrus stood up to protest, his face flushed with indignation. “Now, that is enough!” He demanded, but I pressed on, the fire in my belly urging me forward.
“It is our duty, our sacred responsibility, to protect this town from such vile influence!” My voice rang out, becoming a roar. “We must not sit idly by while our neighbors fall prey to the darkness. We must take a stand!” As I spoke, I could see the anger building in the eyes of the congregants, the righteous indignation igniting like a match to kindling. I felt a surge of power; my words were like arrows, piercing through the hearts of the faithful. They were hungry for guidance, for someone to lead them against the encroaching darkness. They needed me, not Father Cyrus.
“Father Cyrus is a good man, a godly man,” I preached, “but it’s going to take more than a godly man to lead us away from temptation. You need someone who has looked the devil square in the eye and denounced him in the name of the Lord! I am that man!”
The look of horror on Father Cyrus’s face was of no concern to the fine people of this town, in fact,not one of them glanced in his direction. All eyes were on me, and the dangerously addictive feeling of power surged through me.
But what was most conspicuous to me was the absence of Bernadette and her whores. There was no sign of them in the pews.
“Let us not forget the consequences of our inaction!” I thundered, my voice booming against the stone walls. “For every soul lost to the brothel, there is a ripple effect, a degradation of our values! We must band together, as one body, to cleanse our town of this filth. We must turn our backs on those who would harbor such wickedness!”
The congregation erupted in agreement, their voices rising in a chorus of anger and fear. “Amen!” They cried. “Yes, Father!”
My heart raced as the intoxicating power of the moment filled me. “Let us take a stand!” I shouted, with my arms raised high. “Let us confront the owners of that den of sin! Let us show them that Butte will no longer tolerate their presence! We must drive them out, lest we be consumed by the very darkness we seek to eradicate!”
With each word, I felt the tide of hatred rise, the fervor of the crowd feeding my own anger. They were no longer just townsfolk; they were soldiersready to wage war against the sins that threatened their way of life. I had ignited a fire within them, and I knew that now that it burned, it would be nearly impossible to extinguish.
As the sermon came to a close, I looked out over the sea of faces, now transformed by the power of my rhetoric. Father Cyrus had slipped away during the last minutes of the tirade, no doubt retreating to lick his wounds, but it hardly mattered. The people had made their choice.
“Join me, my friends! Let us march against this evil together! Let us reclaim our town from the hands of those who would destroy it!”
The church erupted in applause, and shouts of agreement filled the air. They were ready to act, to confront the very heart of the evil I had painted before them, and through it all I stood back, watching as the chaos unfolded, the taste of power lingeringon my tongue.
I watched the people of Butte and knew that the days of the brothel corrupting their town were numbered. The battle I had set in motion would reshape this town, eradicate its sins, and in the process, reshape my power within it.
This was only the beginning. The real test, however, would come when those who would defend the brothel began to fight back. But for now, I savored thevictory.
43
A PRIEST WALKS INTO A BROTHEL…
FATHER CYRUS
Istood in the vestibule of the church, my hands clasped tightly in front of me, my thoughts a swirl of confusion, anger, and fear. I’d spent most of the sermon fighting the urge to step forward and stop Father Frederick, to call him outfor the venom he was spewing. But I hadn’t, at least, not like I should have, and now my guilt weighed heavily on me.
The sermon had been one of the most dangerous I’d ever heard. Father Frederick, with his fire-and-brimstone rhetoric, had transformed the pulpit into a weapon. He’d painted a grotesque portrait of the brothel, Bernadette’s establishment, and its inhabitants. He’d accused them of being agents of the devil himself, poisoning the town from within. The people, their hearts and minds primed by Father Frederick’s own emotion, had swallowed the lies whole. They were angry, they were scared, and now, with the preacher’s words still buzzing in their heads, they wanted blood.
I looked around, my eyes scanning across faces that now seemed unfamiliar, hardened by fear, fueled by the poison of Father Frederick’s sermon. These were not the people I had mentored, counseled, and prayed with. They had taken Father Frederick’s sermon as gospel, and I knew that nothing I said would change their minds.They will come for her, I realized. They will come for all of them.
My heart hammered in my chest as I made my decision. I turned sharply on my heel and exited through the back door of St. Ann’s, a singular purpose guiding my every step. The town felt different now. People moved in groups, eyes darting nervously, as if waiting for something to happen, as if the storm Father Frederick had promised was already on its way.
I quickened my pace.
The brothel wasn’t far, only a few blocks down from the church, but every step felt like an eternity. The buildings in Butte were old, weathered by time and neglect, but The Oily Cat stood out among them all. It was a place of sin, they said, but to me it was a place of survival. A place where women, broken and cast aside by the world, had built a life. A place where they fought back, day after day, against a world eager to forget them.
The door creaked as I pushed it open, the warm scent of whiskey, perfume, and tobacco flooding my senses. I inhaled deeply, forcing myself to stay focused. As I moved further inside, my eyes scanned the room, my heart breakingover the sadness of the situation. The bar sat quiet and empty in the dim light, and there, at the far end of the room, I finally located Bernadette.
She was seated with Violet and Maeve, posture straight, eyes glowing with a mesmerizing intensity that made it impossible to look away. She was speaking quietly to the other women, her voice low. She exuded a quiet strength, and in that moment, I could see it: the woman who had endured so much, and yet, remained unbroken.
I approached, aware of the eyes turning toward me. Bernadette looked up, eyes locking with mine, and for the briefest moment I saw something rare in her expression: uncertainty. She knew something was wrong, and my unexpected presence in this place would have been telling even if she hadn’t sensed it.
“Father?” Her voice was full of concern. “What’s happened?”
I gripped the back of a chair, grounding myself. “Bernadette,” I began, my voice urgent, “I’ve just come from St. Ann’s. The sermon . . . it was worse than I feared. Father Frederick, he’s incited something. The people . . .” I swallowed hard, thewords sticking in my throat. “They believe him, and they’re angry and frightened. And now . . . they’ve turned against you.”
Her face didn’t change, but a cold resolve settled in her eyes. “What exactly did he say?”
