Forgive Me: Marked By The Priest

**DISCLAIMER**

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, organizations, or locales is purely coincidental.

The views and opinions expressed in this book belong solely to the author and do not reflect those of any individual, group, or institution.

This book is intended for mature readers only. It may contain explicit language, adult themes, and sensitive subject matter. Reader discretion is strongly advised.

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"The confessional was never meant for secrets this dark."

Ezreal’s POV

I once believed the show of love was to sacrifice yourself for the ones you cherished, to hold their hand and be their shield.

But as I stood in the courtroom dock, my heart drumming in my ears, I looked at one person.

Baron.

He ascended the witness box, his expression unreadable, but even from here I could see the storm raging in his eyes.

“Mr. Baron Lander, do you swear that everything you say before the court today is nothing but the truth?” An officer proclaimed as he handed Baron a bible.

Baron hesitated a bit before placing his hand on the sacred book, answering with a stiff nod, “I swear that I will speak the truth and nothing but the truth.”

I couldn’t help but remember how that same hand held mine in the fields, fingers trembling as we pressed our lips together for the first time.

It was under the moonlit sky, the night's secret where we could truly be ourselves. We were an odd pair, I, the son of a prostitute and a bastard with nothing to his name, while he was the son of the high priest of the town’s church, trained to take his father’s position.

Two sixteen-year-olds who found themselves in each other. Despite his reputation, Baron always got bullied, and he never had the nerve to stand up for himself, always preaching about forgiveness and whatnot.

I couldn’t be any different, labeled as the notorious delinquent, I took an interest in the boy who turned the other cheek when he was slapped.

I protected him, not once but twice, so much so that he always expected me to come save him. His weakness annoyed me, but I admired how his smile never seemed to fade despite it all, how he saw past the rumours and took me as I was.

What started as a youthful friendship turned into something more. My gaze lingered on his lips for too long, and his touch left goosebumps in their trail.

We never confessed these confusing feelings till that faithful night, the very night that had been tainted with someone’s blood.

For the first time, Baron stood up for himself, but it was at the worst possible moment.

We were caught.

It was one of his bullies, Ryan Wossell, the son of the mayor. He took a picture of us kissing, threatening to expose us to the church, and we had no choice but to fight to stop him.

The fight turned vicious as Ryan had me in a chokehold, ready to take my life. Did I mention that he was my half-brother? Yes, I was the very stain in his family, unable to be erased yet hidden. Ryan had always hated me, and the feeling was mutual, but that night, his hate boiled over.

Baron was at a loss for what to do, frightened and frozen. I yelled at him to run, but it came out as a pitiful cough.

Then finally, he moved, grabbed a pitchfork lying on the grass, and stabbed Ryan in his side.

That was how we got here.

I offered to take the blame, knowing it would destroy Baron if the truth were ever revealed.

Better me than him, I thought. The town already hated me from the moment I was born.

Baron didn’t want me to take the fall for him, he begged us to run away, to leave everything behind, but Baron was naive, and I knew we wouldn’t get far enough before the police caught up to us.

It wasn’t easy to convince him, so we agreed that he would testify in court and tell them I had done it out of self-defense. So I chose to put my trust in him—in us.

I snapped back to reality as the prosecutor stepped forward, going on to address Baron.

“Mr. Lander, can you recount what happened on the night of June 17th?”

A beat of silence passed. Everyone waited, the courtroom eager to hear from the horse’s mouth. Ryan’s mother’s wails never ceased, and my father, the mayor himself, sat with a straight face beside her, soothing her shoulders with gentle pats. My mother? She had been gone ever since she left me at my father’s doorstep. Baron’s father was also in attendance, sitting among the dignitaries to assess the trial.

He never liked me either, and Baron held him in high regard for some reason, like he existed just to please his father.

Baron’s throat bobbed and he swallowed hard, his shoulders going stiff. For a split second, his gaze found mine, and I thought of the boy who took my hand despite the scars carved on it. The boy who smiled at me as though I was more than the son of a whore.

Hope simmered and blossomed in my chest, but when his lips parted, his voice cut through the silence like a sharp blade.

“It was Ezreal.”

My heart stuttered.

“I was taking a walk in the fields that night, and that was when I noticed him and Ryan arguing. I tried to calm them down, but it got out of hand, and then….he…he… grabbed the pitchfork and killed Ryan.”

No one else looked surprised, all except me. The judge nodded, his expression grim as he scribbled something down. The gallery murmured, and I could feel their eyes burning into me, judging me—the delinquent, the bastard son, the murderer.

I didn’t hear anything else after that. Baron’s words echoed in my skull, ringing like a dumbbell. The room seemed to tilt, the world spinning out of control.

I wanted to shout, to remind him of our promise, but my tongue was heavy, my body frozen in place.

Then…

“I would now give my final verdict,” the judge announced, his tone cold and detached. “Ezreal Vossell, after careful consideration of the testimony and evidence presented before this court, you are hereby found guilty of murder in the first degree.”

My fists clenched at my sides, and cold sweat trickled down the back of my neck.

“Given the severity of this crime,” he continued, “This court sentences you as an adult to life imprisonment with the possibility of parole only after thirty years.”

That was it. My fate was sealed, just like the handcuffs on my wrists.

Baron wouldn’t meet my gaze now. He sat still with his head bowed, hiding his expression like a broken vow. He didn’t speak. Didn’t stand. Didn’t fight.

His father sat beside him, wearing a neutral mask, but I could clearly see the satisfied glint in his gaze.

That was when I realized…he had chosen them. He chose his father, his reputation, and his holy blood over me.

Over us.

As I was dragged out of the courtroom in chains that would bind me for life, something broke inside me.

Not just my heart, but my very soul.

Because sacrifice, I learnt in the most painful way, wasn’t love. It was a weakness. And weakness was something I would never let myself feel again.

****

Fifteen Years Later:

The thick iron gates of the prison creaked open with a groan that rattled my bones.

For the past fifteen years, those gates had caged me in. But now, as I stepped past them, the chilly morning air prickled my skin like glass.

I was welcomed by the purr of a Rolls-Royce Phantom. Its sleek frame stuck out like a sore thumb, contrasting against the dull gray of the prison walls.

Two guards in tailored suits flanked the car door, straightening up at the instant they saw me.

“Boss.” One of them said, his head bowed in respect as he opened the back door.

I acknowledged him with a simple tap on his shoulder and stepped in, heaving out a sigh as I sank into the velvet seats, a luxury I never thought I would experience.

Fifteen years ago, I was dragged through these gates, spat on by men who thought I’d rot here. But I didn’t let them have their way with me. Fights were a custom, but I wouldn’t stop until blood spilled, seeing it as a way to vent the anger that only built with each passing day.

My tenacity caught the attention of Rodrigo Sanchez, an old mafia lord of a notorious syndicate—a man feared even by guards. He took me under his wing, saw the scars life carved into me, and sharpened them into weapons.

When he died behind bars, I didn’t expect him to will his empire to my name, and this was the very reason I was free. His legacy now lay on my shoulders. Such power and influence were now mine to wield.

“Congratulations Mr. Vossell,” Vincent greeted me, his expression neutral. He had introduced himself as my assistant a week before my release, a man with sharp eyes and sharper instincts, chosen by Rodrigo himself.

“What would you like to do first?” he asked, his tone respectful.

I tilted my head back, propping my elbow on the armrest of the seat as I watched the prison shrink in the rear-view mirror.

“I want to confess my sins,” I said simply, a smirk playing on my lips.

Vincent’s brows furrowed, surprised, but he didn’t question me. He responded with a simple nod, tapping instructions to the driver.

A few hours later, the car skimmed through familiar streets, though not everything remained the same.

The little town had transformed into an urban city, with skyscrapers replacing where old shops once stood.

But alas, one place survived the test of change and time.

The church.

Its spires stabbed the bright sky, right in the very heart of the town that condemned me.

It was almost isolated, sacred, and untouched, like it was rejecting everything else. I stepped out, my steps heavy against the brick path. Vincent stood by the car door, watching me enter with a pointed stare.

I was greeted by the scent of incense the moment I walked in, a sickly wave of nostalgia washing over me. Sunlight spilled through the stained-glass saints’ windows, my footsteps echoing across the marble floor as I made my way toward the confessionals.

I took my seat, crossing one leg over the other. The confessional was a small wooden chamber, with a dark screen separating me from the priest. It was designed to blur faces, but I could recognize him despite it all.

But he couldn’t see me, and I was grateful for it.

On the other side, I heard faint shuffling noises, followed by a deep breath, steady and patient.

Then he spoke, “In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. May the Lord be in your heart and help you to confess your sins with true sorrow.”

I almost laughed out loud, amused by the pure irony in his words.

I lowered my head, speaking into the darkness with a wild grin. “I fear I carry more sins than a thousand prayers could wash away.”

He cleared his throat, his tone still calm and measured, almost rehearsed. “No amount of sin is beyond the lord’s grace my son, go on.”

This time I laughed, sharp and hollow. Bitterness clawed up my throat, my gaze darkening as the memory that haunted me resurfaced.

“Alright,” I caught my breath, leaning back in my seat. “Fifteen years ago, I committed a sin of love and trust, putting my fate in a leaking basket. I was sixteen, condemned and broken, charged with a murder I didn’t commit, betrayed by the very person I wanted to protect. He grabbed a pitchfork. He drove it into the boy’s side. He spilled blood with his own hands. And yet, I carried the burden, fated to pay for someone else’s sin.”

I paused for a beat, letting the weight of recognition suffocate him.

“Does it ring a bell?”

A sharp breath cut through the screen, and through the blurry screen, I saw his shoulders stiffen.

“Ez…” The voice cracked, breaking through the mask of the priest. For the first time in years, I heard it tremble. Heard HIM.

“Ezreal?”