St. Anthony was never a saint to which James prayed to. In fact, prayer to saints was a part of his faith he never was particularly close to and felt a bit silly doing. Even as a kid, when forced to choose a patron saint, he picked whichever one looked more appealing to him rather than by their attributions—He chose St. Sebastian after seeing the painting  by Guido Reni at the ripe age of 12. But despite all his reservations towards saints, James found that they were perhaps the only ones to understand his struggle the past week. See, St. Anthony had earned his status by fighting the supernatural temptations subjected to him by Satan. During his pilgrimage in the desert, he fought the creatures of temptations. The small demons attacked him—biting, punching, and torturing him mercilessly. They not only attacked his physical body but crept into his dreams transforming them into nightmares filled with wicked creatures and pleasures of the flesh. Paintings depicted the saint slumped down and worn as little winged creatures disturb him day and night. Their incessant, unreluctantly presence edged St. Anthony closer and closer towards a breaking point. 

If James's past four nights were anything similar to St. Anthony's he too would hope for canonization. He’d try his best to satiate the lust growing within him since the dinner with Claude. Cold baths did little to quench the fire inside James. Embedded within his subconscious were remnants of his lascivious thoughts, pestering him and attacking him in his sleep. Instead of little devils dancing around his head, it was Claude. The way his chest rose and fell with every breath, how he laughed with a devilish grin and the taste of his mouth. But these were not simple dreams; he could feel it. It was worrisome. It was becoming hard to distinguish when he was dreaming and when he was awake. It all felt so… real. 

On the night of the after dinner, James revisited the night’s events. He dreamt of their slow dancing and their passionate kiss. When the alarm went off, James could swear he tasted the wine on Claude’s lips. The following night, Claude plagued his dreams again but this time, fiction crept in. His dream vividly illustrated Claude panting underneath him and whispering words he couldn’t remember when awake but left a visceral disturbance. The night after that, Claude visited again. This time clawing James and loudly screaming from delight. Faint pink lines ran across James’ back only to disappear after a quick bath. Each dream was steadily escalating. With physical marks decorating his flesh, smells and tastes of sweat lingering the tips of his nose and mouth, he awoke each day more exhausted than the next. 

This all culminated to the week’s crescendo on an early Sunday morning where James arose with hand prints around his neck. Unsure if the marks were his guilty conscious imagining them there or his own handywork, he quickly dressed that morning in a high-collar black shirt and trousers. It had been a good idea too since Miss Sharon arrived nice and early to the house. 

“I sent for these old Sunday robes to be pressed at the cleaners since Michael’s would’ve been too big for you,” Miss Sharon broadcasted without as much as a hello as James opened the door for her. She strolled in with a zipped black bag hung over her arm. “You sure you want to wear that shirt? It’s hotter than Georgia asphalt outside.” James closed the door behind her and slowly nodded along. “Where do you keep your collars? I always liked Michael’s satin ones—a bit flashy but a nice take on the Sunday best if you don't mind me sayin’.” Miss Sharon sat the robes carefully on the couch and sped into the kitchen where she no doubt began to make them coffee. It was best to not get in her way. “This is so excitin’!” she yelled from the kitchen as James had yet to make it inside. James chuckled. She always forgot to mitigate her accent when she was enthusiastic about something. “I know it’s only a couplah services but, it’s a bit of a treat before Otto takes over. Who knows what that man is up to.” 

James leaned against the kitchen’s entryway and took a deep breath before announcing, “Actually, Otto will also be doing today’s service.”

Miss Sharon placed scoops of coffee into a paper filter. “Don’t be absurd, he’s in Italy. Bishop Farrow told me.”

“Well, apparently, Bishop Henry had other plans. He wants both Otto and I to co-run the church this month. According to Otto, I am just assisting in the transition of power as the late Father Michael’s friend and local townie.” 

“You’re kidding me? He said all that?”

“Mmhm,” confirmed James with an annoyed nod, “He returned Wednesday and hasn’t left my side since. Made a copy of the keys and everything. He’ll be storming in here any minute.”  

Miss Sharon slammed the coffee maker shut and flipped the switch. The low rumbling of boiling water acted as the soundtrack to her simmering anger as she turned to James and said, “That absolute weasel! He’s had it out for you for a decade now! He got the church already! He couldn’t wait a month?”

James shrugged his shoulders, “I don’t know what to say… It was always bad between us but he seems to have gotten worse somehow.” 

“You think he’s jealous?”

“Of what? He doesn’t like teaching and has been wanting this house since seminary. He got everything he asked!”

“Maybe he thinks you’re gunning for his position?”

“I’m not sure what would have given him that idea. He’s always wanted to climb the ladder and well, he’s already in charge of his second church at 41.”

Miss Sharon scoffed as she pulled two mugs from the cupboard. 

“Why’d you laugh?”

“I thought he was at least 50…”

“Miss Sharon, you’re making fun of a priest on a Sunday.” 

As Miss Sharon continued to giggle away and serve them coffee, Father Otto stormed in already in his priestly attire. “It is 7:55! You needed to start preparing the Eucharist a WHILE ago! If a word of this gets to His Bishop’s—” Otto stopped mid-sentence at the sight of Miss Sharon. The stern gaze that froze hundreds of school kids before her retirement seemed to also work on adults. “Good morning Father Otto. What a pleasant surprise to hear you are joining us early,” Miss Sharon slithered through a toothy smile. Otto remained perplexed; James guessed he’d forgotten all about Miss Sharon. Unfortunately for him, she came with the church-house package deal. 

“Sharon. How wonderful it is to see you join us.”

“Call me Miss Jones,” she replied acidly. James retreated to his coffee and instinctively sat on the small kitchen table out of her way. “And of course I am joining in on this lovely Sunday. I had expected to see my long-time student and family friend finally deliver a service in his hometown but I guess the powers that be did not allow for that.” Father Otto opened his mouth to speak but Miss Sharon had already turned away from him and towards James. “Please try to wear the satin collar. Let me at least see you looking sharp. Finish your coffee, you seem tired. ” She placed her mug in the sink. “I will open up the church and start prepping for congregants. I’ll see you in a few.” With that she spun around and took her time walking away leaving behind a trail of awkward silence. 

Once he heard the door shut behind them, Otto cleared his throat and served himself the last bit of coffee. “Does she have keys to the house as well?” he asked trying to remain cool. James grinned behind his cup and took in the last sip, “No. She gave me the only other copy. The originals are with the church in the city.”

“Good,” he replied quietly. “By the way, she was right. You look exhausted today too.” 

Otto left the kitchen and made his way up the stairs to do God knows what leaving James finally with one last quiet moment before the service. 

…

The combination of the high collar shirt and satin cloth collar made for a disgustingly hot Sunday service. Beads of sweat ran down James's face and neck as he shook the hands of his congregants in his full vestment. Families dressed in their best clothes eagerly shook both James's and Otto’s hand, excited to see their fresh new faces. Several of the congregants could probably pick up a bit of James's scent and held on a bit too long. Father James awkwardly let go and then began mass. It ran as it typically would in any church, he gave the homily  and explained the scripture. He prepared the Eucharist and alongside Father Otto provided it to those in the audience. James explained to those attending that the new permanent Father Otto would take the post in a couple of weeks. Glances of confusion and disappointment flashed back at him. Father Otto grew pink with annoyance. 

 "The Mass has ended," Father James spoke, "go in peace to love and serve the Lord." The crowd replied, "Thanks be to God."

Congregants once more shook their hands as both Otto and James said blessings and goodbyes with only the Smythes and Miss Sharon staying behind to cleanup. The five of them quickly closed down the church in record speed. The Smythes said their goodbyes as they climbed into their car. 

“Would you like me to drive you back Miss Jones?” asked Otto, perhaps trying to earn some favor from Miss Sharon. She turned back to him confused expression in her face—James tried his best not to laugh. She definitely forgot she’d told him to call her that,

“No. My nephew is picking me up,” she countered, annoyed. James suddenly shot a cautious look to Miss Sharon. His eyes widened at the mention-no, the insinuation of Claude. James hasn't spoken to him let alone seen him outside of his twisted fantasies. Why did he have to come at this very moment? Unnanounced?

“I didn’t know you have a nephew!” Otto replied with a faux sweetness in his speech. “Is he also a local?”

“No? Why are you- Oh! There he is!”

At the backend of the lot, where no one else but the clergy parked, stood Claude leaning against a baby blue muscle car. He wore tight Levi’s with an even tighter white shirt and aviators. Both Otto and James stopped in their tracks while Miss Sharon walked on ahead. “I wasn’t expecting you for another half hour!” 

“I know but I wanted to come early, just in case,” Claude replied giving her a quick hug. “Oh, are they joining us for Sunday brunch?” he asked turning now to both Otto and James.

It was weird seeing Claude in the flesh after being a specter of his nightmares. Despite not being able to see behind those sunglasses, James knew his eyes were darted straight towards him. He could feel it. His stare was intense and unrelenting. James knew he too was reacting in some form to but feeling so breathless, he was unsure of how. 

“Jimmy! Join us for brunch!” sang Miss Sharon, putting on her sunglasses, “We can wait in the car for you while you change.” 

“I-I don’t want to intrude on your plans,” stuttered a nervous James, trying his best to keep his composure. 

“Oh but we insist,” implored Claude with subdued coquette demeanor. 

“I-I have to run services in the city,” contested Father Otto. 

“You sure do,” icily replied Miss Sharon/ “Now both of you run along and get changed. We’ll wait for you, Jimmy.” 

The two of them awkwardly turned towards the house and began to walk. 

“Who the hell is that?” whispered Otto, “He looks like one of those guys that hangs around the Y.” Otto unlocked the door and entered the house inquisitively. “I mean, even the car looks like what one of them would have!” The two of them removed their robes and placed them inside garment bags. James placed his underneath the stairs closet while Otto threw his over his arm. “Oh you keepin’ on the collar?” asked Otto as he was about to head out. 

“Oh, I forgot,” James replied quietly. He placed the collar inside the garment bag and undid the top buttons of his black shirt. 

“What happened to your neck?” 

“Ah, uh, just a heat rash. Nothing major.”

“Ah, okay. Anyways, you have to tell me more about that nephew. He seems strange.” 

James remained quiet as they both left the house, Otto towards his car and James towards Claude’s. Anyone could tell that the baby blue muscle car was brand new and flashy as all hell. James slid into the backseat and put on his seatbelt. In the driver’s mirror he could see Claude reflection as well as his own. James’s met his eyes momentarily and turned away.