St. George's Cathedral
The white marbles of the cathedral sang out with the echoes of Father Donahue's melodic voice as he finished the closing prayer for his absent parishioner.
"...in nomine Patri, et Fili, et Spiritus Sancti, amen."
The small-oh so small-gathering of family and friends mumbled there replies. The Father surveyed the crowd and wondered how'm many of them knew the truth that he held. Matthew Cox wasn't dead. How could he be, when the man had come in to take confession the previous night? In fact, it was at Matt's insistence that the service wasn't a funeral mass as his parents had requested, but a memorial mass instead. Father Donahue was reluctant to lie like this, but Matt had given him the utmost trust in sharing his reasoning. The man was a vigilante. Beyond human, and stuck in the shadows of one world and the next, Matt had reasoned that allowing his parents the grieving process was easier than trying to keep his secret from spilling over into public knowledge.
Still, the small sobs coming from his mother were pitiful and heart wrenching. Necessary, the Father reminded himself as he kept looking over the crowd. Several hard expressions made him think that Matt's secret wasn't as secret as he'd wanted.