Penitence through Pain

A fine needlepoint of stars blanketed the heavens just outside Nicolo’s cathedral style windows. And across lay the glittering night-lights of Sacramento, shimmering with a beauty all their own. Too much beauty for a modest priest of Longinus with any sort of humility.

With a sigh, he sunk hard to his knees on the sumptuous Da Vinci, handscraped, distressed, hardwood floor. In the “Dark Espresso” he had requested and waited the extra shipping time for. Slowly, with much care, he undid each button on the crisp, white, Dolce & Gabbana linen shirt and carefully folded it, almost ritualistically, and put it to the side so it would not become soiled.

It was time. He forced air into his lungs to replicate a comforting deep breath, and reached for his knife which lay gleaming at his side in the artificial light. And then Nicolo recited the ancient words;

“Merciful God, who watches over me.
Cleanse my soul as I cleanse my flesh.
Bless me, Your servant, and wash away my sins.
Cleanse my spirit and give me strength to carry out Your divine will.
Guide me through the Night and deliver me.
You are my Strength and through Your love I am protected and cherished.
In the name of Longinus.
Amen.”

Nicolo closed his eyes, slowly made the sign of the Cross and brought the blade to his lips in the Kiss of Peace. Then, in a swift, clean move, the blade bit into his wrist, freeing his vitae from the sacred vessel of his body.

The dark, viscous liquid seemed to beckon him. His mind urged him to resist but the Devil took his toll and Nicolo dipped his finger into the blood and brought it to his tongue. Immediately he was exalted in the ecstasy of his sin – the familiar burn searing his tongue and throat as he swallowed. He’d pay for this too with his flesh.

Smearing his hand into the open wound, he began to repeat the sorcerer’s words he’d learned so long ago. But for a moment he lost his concentration, distracted by the spectacular view before him. Disgusting. He should be in the Church right now, kneeling on the cold marble of the alter, close to God. He should be sleeping on a small, hard pallet come morning, not in this luxurious flat. How dare he demonstrate such a lack of humility? "Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall.” Proverbs, 16:18

He closed his eyes again and re-centered, chanting the all too familiar ritual. Before long, a blood scourge appeared with three whips on it. Another deep breath and his penitence began.

Reaching over and across himself, Nicolo chanted the words, “Cleanse my soul as I cleanse my flesh. Cleanse my soul as I cleanse my flesh.” And he threw the first blow across his shirtless back. All three lashes landed squarely in the center, splitting his skin down the middle of his back to his spine. The pain was excruciating, almost unbearable, and he had to fight hard not to scream out and to remain in position. He ground his teeth, chanted the words and readied himself again. This time he threw the blow harder, with more energy. The lashes whipped around and each bit separately into his back, severing through multiple layers of skin and muscle to find their destinations in his shoulder blades and ribs below. He winced, stifling a cry and desperately trying to hold back his rage at the pain. The third lashing found exposed bone and the whips began to break and crack ribs and spine where they found entry points. Now the pain was so great, Nicolo began to lose his edge of consciousness, slipping into the beginnings of a penitence trance.

On the next blow he took, instead of remarkable pain, it brought him visions. Visions of the past, when he brought a mortal into his world, and was quickly forced to take him out. Forced to teach him a lesson. Forced to consume his soul so God would not know of his childe’s sins. Or Nicolo’s failure.

But God knew. Nicolo could hide nothing.

Another blow. He could feel consciousness threatening to abandon him entirely. He’d sleep on his wounds this day, letting them coagulate onto the 2000tc Italian Spun Egyptian cotton sheets. Then he’d pull himself off in the twilight, reopening each and every wound in new penitence to Longinus. Only then would he allow himself to heal.