Excerpt: Salvation

The hustler entered St. Francis, striding down the center aisle between the wooden pews. The catholic church was small and a bit on the run down side, which actually made it fit perfectly with its surroundings. It was open to the public every day, unlike most other houses of worship in Queens. It was not by any means immune to crime, most of which was thievery on the part of its very neighbors, but the priests here were adamant about their mission. So, they did their best to continue their holy work and serve the people in Christ's name as best they could.

The hustler, a boy of nineteen by the name of Alek, walked unimpeded down the aisle. His heavy boots stomped loudly on the stone floor; the sound echoing throughout the nearly empty church. He was dressed in faded, tight lowriders and a smeared wifebeater. His greasy, yellow hair clung to the back of his neck and shoulders. He looked and smelled of rough trade; but after the night he had, his appearance was not a top priority for him at the moment. It had been ages since the young hustler was last inside a church, and it showed.

"Yo! Who do I gotta fuck to see a priest around here?" Alek yelled as he made his way to the front.

Ryan's head whipped around when he heard the expletive. He crossed himself as he stalked towards the young man walking down the aisle. He wore his blacks, a short sleeve oxford and slacks. He also wore his Roman collar, a sign that he was both in college seminary and that he was doing active ministry and parish work. He hurried up to the ill-dressed blond. His face was red with outrage.

"Please watch your language in the House of the Lord or I'll have to ask you to leave," Ryan said in no uncertain terms. He eyed the young man, noticing little details about his appearance that were just off somehow, but unable to focus on any one thing.

Alek eyed the man dressed in black before him with equal parts distrust and caution. He was still shaken from the night before, but admirably hid it behind a curtain of contempt. He knew the importance of not showing weakness, especially when in a bad situation. The hustler knew his situation was bad. His reasoning for coming to a church of all places was as confused as he felt.

The hustler smirked dismissively at the other man's threat. "You can say whatever you want; don't mean shit to me."

Ordinarily, Alek wouldn't be so surly to someone as good looking as the young man before him, which served as a testament to how off his game he was right now. "Looking for a priest. Yo. Hook me up," he said, raking a strand of hair off his face. The inside of Alek's arm was swollen and red from the long, coagulated cut that ran the length of his forearm.

"You look like you need a medic more than a priest right now," Ryan said as he eyed the boy. "Are you in trouble?" he added and felt the question was stupid the moment the words left his mouth. He gave his head a slight shake and pressed on. "Look, if you can manage to stop cussing I'll get you fixed up. It's okay. I'm a seminarian," he finished, pointing to his clerical collar.

Alek put his arm down and behind him self-consciously. He'd almost forgotten about that cut; the pain, as everything else, had been pushed to the background. He was also not thinking of the track marks on his arms. He had discarded his bloodied shirt in a hurry and had not been in the frame of mind to get another one before he made his way to the church.

Alek narrowed his eyes and tilted his head to the side slightly, more from confusion than anything else. "A semiwhat?" He had never heard that word before and it annoyed him that he didn't understand it. Alek shook his head once, straightening up. "Listen here, I don't need no damn medic. I came here for a priest." This had seemed like a good idea before; Alek wasn't so sure about it now, though. He snorted a frustrated breath and threw his hand forward in a dismissive gesture. "Forget it," he finally said and turned to leave.

This was not going well, not for either man. Ryan reminded himself of his purpose in becoming a priest, of his desire to save the youth of today from such lifestyle choices as those he could plainly see written all over the blond man. "Please," he said, catching up to him. "Allow me to help you. Father DiMarco was called to the hospital, but I may be able to be of assistance. Please, don't go like that. This is a House of Hope too, you know."

Alek turned, smirking, but there was no humor in his eyes. "Don't ya talk pretty - a House of Hope," he said with a mean chuckle.

Despite the mocking, Alek wanted to believe there was hope for him still. It was the only reasonable explanation for his turning up at a church after the life he'd been living for the past two years. If he could not find it here, then he would not be able to find it anywhere.

"Fine," he finally said in a tone indicating he was doing the other man a favor by staying.

"Come on," Ryan said with a gentle smile. His heart was gladdened by the boy's agreement. "We have some clothes in the rectory. There must be a shirt there you can have, and we can talk there." Ryan made sure the compassion in his eyes could not be misread as pity as he walked Alek over to the Rectory. Under all the grease and grime, the blond kid looked like a good-looking young man. He was not, by any means, checking the other man out. Ryan simply always tried to see the potential in people, to look past their outward appearances. It served him well in his quest to become a priest, but had also often left him open for abuse from unscrupulous types.