Who: Patrick Hopkins What: A minor crisis of faith Where: St. Jude's Catholic Church When: December 10th, Evening Rating: Medium due to mentions of Alan
One week. Patrick had seen a lot of insane things in his time as a police officer, especially since moving to Frye Island where he had barely been hired as a scientist as opposed to just another off-island hire. He was sure he had proven his worth over the years to the point of being an official part of the real levels of island security. And now they were getting people on the island who, in his opinion, were not welcome visitors. Then he was also waiting for Michelle to be down on him over letting the kids come and stay with him so close to his official holiday time. They were probably the one thing that had kept him relatively calm this last week though. Even Brooke had a way of renewing his faith when he was struggling. He'd probably make them go back to their mother's for the next week while he tried to sort though some of the files that had come back on the Dale case.
They had likely one of the best people when it came to scientific minds, and he was sure some of them were wondering why he had such a focus on it in the first place. The kid had the scissor next to him in the pool of blood and the cause of death seemed rather obvious. Somehow "exsanguination due to wrist lacerations" was not quite good enough for a kid who had been happily planning shopping with his sister only weeks ago. Then came the first lead he'd really gotten. ... and trace amounts of fluvoxamine. It was going to mean another visit to the Dale's, but something he could put off until Monday. They didn't need another police officer, plain clothed or not, showing up on their doorstep a week later. Even Emma would wait until tomorrow for hopes that she could make something of the crazy writings that had been everywhere. Tomorrow, tomorrow...
As soon as his office was locked up for the evening though he knew where he needed to be. Even more than home and knowing full and well that there would be mass in the morning, he needed to be at St. Jude's. Everything was quiet with the few people there in need of a Saturday night confession, likely before they went out drinking. He just went halfway up the aisle and slid into one of the pews. The lights were at least dimmed and the stained glass windows seemed to be soaking in every bit of the dregs of sunlight that were barely reaching it. It was a small comfort to just watch while he was composing in his head what he wanted to even say. What exactly did one say to the Supreme Maker of All when you were feeling like an insect trying to talk to a human? His troubles had to seem so minimal and the surrounding church wasn't helping. It was calming, but he was also reminded far too much of being a little boy. It didn't matter if he was here or back home in the grandness of St. Patrick's from which he had been named. God was looking at him right now expecting him to take care of his own issues.
"Is it really going to bring any comfort if I'm right? I could have half the town against me thinking I'm trying to point fingers if this gets out, and what if it just all comes back that he still did it himself? And I can't believe that a truly forgiving and loving God would unfairly judge someone for taking their own life. I just need some sort of answer that I'm even doing the right thing here and that I'm not getting obsessed on the idea of something that might be possible. I never knew that poor boy or what he might have been going through in his last days." The thought that he didn't even do it right just send a shudder through him all over again at the memory. He was smart enough to have figured something else out if it was really what he wanted. Something that wasn't going to cause so many people so much heartache. "Just something... That no single sin is really bad enough and that it's not really our place to judge what might have happened and how right or wrong it is."
He just watched the pulpit with his hands still folded before pulling the rosary from his pocket of his coat where it always was. Nothing seemed to be happening even as he muttered through the words he had known for ages. Even the small cough from and older woman a few rows back only slightly startled him. Minutes passed with still nothing except the feeling of peace. He had to keep faith that things were going to get better, even as they were being observed by people unknown and his life felt like it was flipping all around just trying to keep work away from his personal life which was far from easy when it was someone that his girls had known. Girls who knew he was also supposed to be home by now on a Saturday. Patrick just pressed his lips to the crucifix before sliding the rosary back into his pocket and heading toward the doors. There were other things to do that didn't involve possibly giving him a burning bush. He tugged his scarf a little tighter while walking out the doors and heading out to his car.
He almost swore to himself at the indoor light of the car not going off before he went in. There was something on the window though that just made him pause for an extra moment. He hadn't noticed it in the daylight, but there was a stick figure that he was sure one of the boys was likely responsible for considering the number of other little handprints that were also on there. The light shining inside though made two of them look like wings coming from the little stick man. The effect seemed to be accidental as one was notably lower than the other but it was still there. Other times he would have just had a long talk about putting hands all over windows but instead he was just smiling a little while opening the door to get in.