Vitia ex Virtus

Chapter 1 The air was thick with agitated dust and sawdust that clung to the humidity like a fog. Glen was happy to have a work mask so he wouldn’t have to inhale all of the debris, but it made the air he breathed stuffy and uncomfortably hot. He could feel the sweat trickling through his carefully trimmed beard. He brushed away a few strands of his sandy-colored hair that had been sticking to his forehead then resumed his work. The sounds of mechanical saws and pneumatic nail guns echoed in the otherwise empty hall of the chapel. Kennerly & Sons, the construction company for whom Glen worked, had been hired to renovate and update the old church. Glen and his coworker, Lawrence, were fixing up the organ loft. They had taken the old instrument out. Years of rot and the weight of the organ had ruined the floor, so Glen and Lawrence had to completely rip out all the wood and replace it before the new organ could be installed. As such, they were higher up than most of the crew, where the heat of the building rose and waited to cool down. The building’s air conditioning system was also on their to-do list of repairs, and Glen wished they had fixed it before doing the rest of the work in this late summer weather. Max, one of the sons in Kennerly & Sons, sounded the air horn that announced everyone’s lunch break. It was unnecessarily loud and the din bounced off the stone walls for a few seconds after the sounds of the equipment had died down. Glen jumped when it went off, which was dangerous for someone holding a handsaw that could sever a few fingers if he twitched in the wrong way. Max wasn’t the type to care. In his mind, the air horn worked and so he used it. Half the guys on the crew thought he was a bit of a prick who was only there because of nepotism, and the other half just thought he was a moron. Regardless, the break was welcome. Everyone went outside to enjoy the fresh air. At least, it was fresher than it was indoors. Midtown was usually a bit musty, especially when the wind picked up from the west and carried in pollution from Newark, but today there were only small breezes that brought much-needed pockets of cool air down the streets. Broadway was only a couple blocks away, as was the theatre where Glen’s boyfriend, Aiden, worked. It was yet another reason Glen was happy to take this job; he and Aiden were never too far apart. “What’re the rest of you doing for lunch?” Jordan, their electrician, asked. Nearly everyone looked to Lawrence. Even though Max was technically the boss, Lawrence was really in charge. He wasn’t the oldest employee at Kennerly & Sons, but he had the air of someone who had seen everything but had too much common sense to let it go to his head. If there was ever a problem on site, Lawrence always had an answer. Most of the guys just wanted to hang out with him in hopes of absorbing some of his knowledge by proximity. In his low and steady voice, Lawrence said, “We’ve already exhausted every fast food place on this block. There’s a sandwich place on 8th that looked interesting.” Since 8th Street was only a block and a half away and they had 45 minutes for their break, it was a unanimous decision. As soon as the decision was made, Glen sent Aiden a text. Do you know the sandwich place on 8th? Heading there now. My treat. About a minute later, he got a reply. I know just the place! Be there in 10! Aiden was New York City born and bred. He knew the streets like the inside of his sock drawer and could get anywhere in a hurry, on foot or in a taxi. Every now and then he even gave directions to taxi drivers based on the shortcuts he knew. To Glen, who grew up in the suburbs of New Jersey surrounded by people for whom “ten minutes” meant “half an hour,” Aiden was some kind of wizard. True to his word, Aiden met up with the construction crew at the sandwich shop. Everyone knew him. When Glen first started working for Kennerly & Sons, he had to deal with the occasional glare or off-handed derogatory comment, but once the guys found out he was in a happy relationship and could wield a screwgun like a cowboy with a pistol, things mellowed out. Lawrence, of course, couldn’t care less and treated him like everyone else from day one, which led the rest to follow suit. Since Lawrence was at the head of the pack, he was the one to greet Aiden. “Hey there. How goes the latest production?” “Fairly well, I’d say,” Aiden replied. “So far no broken bones, flubbed lines, or costume disasters. We have one more weekend though, so there’s still plenty of time to stress.” Lawrence nodded in his slow but approving way. Glen stepped forward to give his boyfriend a brief kiss. “We don’t have forever, so why don’t we head in?” he suggested. “What’s good here?” As his theatre’s assistant manager, one of Aiden’s jobs was making sure everyone in the cast and crew stayed well-fed. This meant looking up any and every decent restaurant within the district. This sandwich place was popular because it was an easy stop to order large amounts of food to go when everyone was subjected to long days in tech or dress rehearsals. Aiden’s sandwich was done before the construction workers’ because one of the employees saw him waiting outside and started making his usual order. Once all the orders were filled, the group of men squeezed themselves into the available seating and chatted, all the while keeping an eye on the time. Glen and Aiden went to a table by themselves so they could have some couple time. “How are things at the church?” Aiden asked. “Is that one guy still giving you grief?” The priests at the Church of God’s Cross had all been very welcoming, all except one. An old priest had taken to pestering Glen ever since he overheard him refer to Aiden as his boyfriend. The younger clergymen scolded him for being so nosy, but Glen knew the old man was trying to help in his own ignorant way. “I think he finally got the message,” Glen said. “He hasn’t tried to pray over me or invite me to services for a few days.” “Well, that’s progress,” Aiden said, taking a bite out of his sandwich. He chewed in silence for a moment before he swallowed hesitantly and added, “The Merely Players will be here in two weeks.” The hair on the back of Glen’s neck prickled. “Stephan is definitely still with them?” Aiden nodded. Stephan was an actor and Aiden’s sort-of ex. Back before Aiden met Glen, he had a history of getting into affairs with members of traveling troupes like the Merely Players. In fact, when he and Glen started dating, one of the first things Aiden told him was, “I’m sorry in advance if this doesn’t turn out well. I tend to associate s*x with affection, so if I don’t sleep with you for a while, it’s nothing personal, I’m just trying to break the habit.” Stephan had taken advantage of Aiden’s weakness and used him as his personal s*x slave, bordering on being abusive in his dominance. Aiden went along with it for a while because he thought Stephan had real feelings for him, but once Stephan and his troupe moved on, Aiden soon came to his senses and called Stephan to tell him it was over. The Merely Players had come back to Aiden’s theatre once since then, but Aiden had conveniently scheduled his vacation time for those few weeks. “Are you sure you don’t want to go visit my parents while they’re here?” Glen asked. “You know my mom will gladly fix up the guest room for us and she’ll cook like we’re bringing my entire crew with us, so—” “No, Glen, but thank you.” Aiden sighed. “It has been two years and I need to get over this somehow. I have you and I can rub that in his face if he tries anything. Heh, he used to tell me I had too many intimacy issues to have a stable relationship. Well, I’ll show him.” Glen put his hand on Aiden’s arm. “Careful, sweetheart. You’re crushing your lunch.” Aiden looked down and noticed the death-grip with which he was clenching his sandwich. “Oh.” He picked up some of the shredded lettuce that had fallen onto the table and munched it quietly. It broke Glen’s heart to see Aiden this way. Growing up gay in a proud, large Italian family as the second-to-youngest son, the poor boy hadn’t had the best childhood, nor the worst for that matter, but it had left him somewhat starved for affection. Glen was more than happy to oblige, but he did it in respectful ways, like giving Aiden neck massages, or having Aiden’s favorite frozen pizza ready after Aiden had to stay late for productions, or just stroking Aiden’s hair when they cuddled up on the couch to watch TV. Their apartment was small and not well-furnished, but every other day Glen would promise Aiden that someday they would have their own home somewhere nice, and they wouldn’t want for anything. Lawrence alerted everyone Max would be expecting them back at the church and they had to move it. Glen gave Aiden a farewell hug and kiss. “We’ll talk more when we get home,” he said, running his fingers through Aiden’s dark hair reassuringly. “If you need me, you know where to find me.” “I know. I love you, babe.” “I love you, too, sweetheart.” One last kiss and it was time to go. Glen couldn’t help fretting for the rest of the walk back. He had never met Stephan, nor had he ever intended to, but the actor’s reputation preceded him. Throughout the first few months of their relationship, Glen had had to undo all the damage Stephan had done. Sometimes Aiden was afraid to touch him in case it came across the wrong way. Glen was patient, however, and with good reason. He’d known too many other gay men who wound up being led down a dark path by their personal demons. He had been in love with Aiden since the first time they had literally run into each other in Central Park, and couldn’t bear to let Aiden suffer. “Yo, Glen!” Jordan called out. “Are you gonna pick up the pace or what?” Startled from his reverie, Glen realized he had been lagging behind the group. He jogged to catch up, which brought back further memories. About a year and a half earlier, he had been out for a run on a fine early winter morning. The sky had been hazy, a blanket of white clouds bringing the promise of a light snow and keeping the sunlight from being too bright. Glen had been looking up to admire the pearly field above him when he tripped over Aiden, who was tightening his shoelaces. Aiden, a true New Yorker, had immediately cussed and loudly demanded to know what Glen’s problem was. When their eyes met, Aiden’s expression instantly changed, along with his attitude. Aiden apologized profusely, as did Glen for not looking where he was going. They finished their run together, and Glen had given Aiden his number in case Aiden needed a jogging buddy again. “Glen! For f**k’s sake! Do you have lead in your shoes or somethin’? Come on!” “Sorry!” Glen said, picking up his pace again. Jordan shook his head. “Whatever’s got you distracted, better ditch it quick. You know what’ll happen if Max thinks you’re slacking.” He mimed holding up an air horn and mimicked its annoying sound. Max wasn’t fond of daydreamers, especially if they weren’t giving 110% to their work. The last guy Max had caught with his head in the clouds on the job later said he couldn’t hear out of his left ear properly for two days. This reminder sparked the usual grumbling about the boss that everyone did to blow off steam. Mr. Kennerly was convinced each of his sons was a chip off the old block, so obviously they would make terrific foremen. Connor was okay, so long as you didn’t make fun of his weight; Pete was diligent to a fault and often gave lectures on increasing productivity regardless of who was or wasn’t listening; even the youngest, Tom, took the job seriously, although he was usually kissing his father’s ass. Max was the worst and everyone in the company dreaded being assigned with him. He was arrogant, lazy, bossy, and convinced he could get away with anything so long as the work got done. Glen wondered why Old Kennerly hadn’t caught on and smacked some sense into him. As per usual, Max was checking his phone for the time when everyone came back to the church. “With only a minute to spare,” he remarked. “Hope you guys don’t need to go to the bathroom or anything, because we have a schedule to keep.” Glen and Lawrence made their way back up to the organ loft. Before they could reach the stairs, however, someone called out politely for Glen. “Oh,” Glen said upon recognizing the voice. “Father Sabella. What can I do for you?” Father Sabella pushed his thin-framed glasses up the bridge of his nose. The smell of his age overpowered the ambient dusty aroma and filled Glen’s nose with the scent of mothballs and ointment. “I was hoping I could have a word with you before you left today,” he said. “I have something I wish to give you.” It took a considerable amount of willpower for Glen not to roll his eyes. He expected the old priest wanted to give him some ‘Pray Away the Gay’ pamphlets or the number of a rehabilitation camp. “Will it take long? My boyfriend and I drive home together, and if I’m late…” “Don’t worry, it will only take a few minutes. I’d give it to you now, but I don’t want it to become damaged out here.” Glen nodded. “Well, then I’ll be sure to come find you after I’m done.” Father Sabella smiled and shuffled back to his chambers. Glen sighed in exasperation. Lawrence was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs. “You just have to let it roll off your back, kid,” he said. “I know,” Glen sighed. He was in his early thirties, far from being a kid, but compared to Lawrence he felt like an adolescent punk who was getting too old to let these things bother him, but was too young to have learned his lesson yet. Regardless, he took Lawrence’s advice and didn’t give Father Sabella another thought until the end of the work day. When the air horn went off signaling it was time to go home, Glen only remembered Father Sabella because he wondered how much trouble he would get in for throwing a hammer at someone in a church and whether he would need to confess even if the priest was a witness. He was more irritable than he would like, because up until that point he had mostly been worrying about Stephan and the effect his presence would have on Aiden. Father Sabella was in a small room adjoined to the back of the chapel writing notes for an upcoming sermon. Glen knocked on the door as politely as he could. “Ah, come in, my son!” Father Sabella said. “Have a seat.” There was only one other chair in the room, a spindly wood and wicker stool that looked older than Father Sabella himself. Glen eased himself into it, worried it may collapse under his six-foot-one, 180-pound frame. “You said you wanted to give me something?” “Yes, yes, of course.” Father Sabella reached under his desk and pulled out a metal case slightly smaller than a shoebox. The hinges on the lid were creaky and the whole thing was dull with tarnish, but faint lettering was still visible around the rim. Father Sabella noticed Glen squinting to read it and smiled. “It’s a blessing, written in Latin. It means, ‘May the sins committed be undone, purified, and forgiven.’ We found this among the things left behind by my predecessor, Father McAnderson, may God rest his soul. He was a collector of religious paraphernalia and knick-knacks, and he donated his collection to the church after his passing. We’ve been donating them and giving them out as prizes for raffles and such to support the church, as per his suggestion. However, I wanted you to have this one.” “A box?” Glen asked. “No, my son. I wanted to give you what’s in the box.” Father Sabella pulled out a statuette. It stood about six inches tall and depicted an angel, wings and all, pulling a fiery sword from its sheath. Much like the box in which it was stored, the metal from which it was made appeared old and worn, and yet the fire around the sword still shone as though it were regularly polished. “The archangel Michael,” Father Sabella explained. “He, too, bears an inscription.” He tipped the statue so the base could catch more light from the desk lamp. At the angel’s feet were the words Vitia ex Virtus. “Um…is that like deus ex machina?” Glen asked, still very confused as to why Father Sabella wanted to give him anything like this. “It means ‘removing vice from virtue.’ Much like the inscription on its box, it is a prayer to remove the sins from our lives and protect us from them. This is why it is attributed to Michael, the defender of Heaven. Or so I would assume. It was alone in the box when we found it, no explanations as to its origin or how Father McAnderson came by it. He left quite a few journals with the rest of his possessions, and I have been meaning to peruse them recently. I shall see if he mentions acquiring this. Perhaps it could even be valuable!” Glen shifted uncomfortably. The old chair on which he sat groaned in response. He wanted to get out of the stuffy room, away from Father Sabella, his stench, and his strange magnanimity. “If that’s the case, why don’t you keep it? I mean, if it is valuable, shouldn’t you put it on display or sell it to a museum or something?” Father Sabella waved his hand dismissively. “I doubt it’s of much value if Father McAnderson left it to rust in an old box in a closet. Besides, I do want you to have it. Consider it an apology for an old man’s rude behavior. I shouldn’t have given you so much grief for your life choices. My younger associates have shown me the error of my ways. I can tell you’re a good man, and I wanted you to have this to protect your good nature.” He placed the statue on the desk close to Glen. When Glen didn’t pick it up right away, Father Sabella nudged it even closer. “Go on. I won’t take no for an answer.” “Well…all right then…” Glen hesitantly took the statuette. The angel’s eyes were fierce and his robes and wings billowed as though he were racing into battle. Glen couldn’t argue that it was well-crafted, but it wasn’t exactly something he would have happily bought at a flea market. “Um, thank you, Father Sabella.” “Go in peace, my son,” Father Sabella said with a smile. “And may God bless you.” “Um…yeah…you, too.” Glen couldn’t get out of there fast enough. It occurred to him that perhaps he should have gotten the box that the statue came in, but Father Sabella hadn’t insisted he have it, nor did he want to go back in and risk getting stuck in a conversation with the old priest. Aiden would be wondering where he was, since Glen walked to the theatre after work every day, and he didn’t want to keep Aiden waiting. By the time Glen got to the Downstage Theatre, Aiden was already outside on his phone. He looked up when he heard Glen approaching. “There you are!” he said. “I was just sending you a text asking where you were. Did Max make you stay longer?” Glen shook his head. “Not quite.” He shrugged off the shoulder bag he took to work and pulled out the statuette. He told Aiden about Father Sabella giving it to him and how he didn’t want to spit on the polite gesture by refusing it. “I don’t know what we’re going to do with it though. Should we give it to Goodwill or see if we can sell it on eBay or what?” Aiden took the angel in hand and looked it over. “If it were any larger, I’d take it and use it as a prop in the theatre, but I don’t know if people would be able to tell what it is from the audience. Let’s just hold onto it for now. In the meantime, can we at least move this conversation to the car? It’s f*****g hot out here.” Both were glad to escape into the air-conditioned confines of Aiden’s car, especially since they had to walk a block and a half to get to the parking lot. The commute back to their apartment ran into the usual traffic, but after a few of Aiden’s tried-and-true shortcuts and some choice insults and curses thrown at air-headed drivers, they managed to pull into their building’s parking garage without too much trouble. Aside from the occasional, “Watch where you’re goin’, ya d**k!” “You watch it, asshole!” they drove mostly in silence. Glen didn’t want to talk about Stephan any more than Aiden did, but they both knew it was an inevitable conversation, one they had been avoiding since Aiden had found out about the scheduling a few months prior. Once they were back in the apartment, the argument broke out; where were they going to put the damn statuette? “Let’s just shove it in a drawer somewhere.” “Gleeen,” Aiden said sternly, “we can’t just stash it away. Why not put it on the dresser?” “In our bedroom? f**k no. I don’t want to fool around while an old angel thing is watching. What about in the bathroom?” “What? So the ‘old angel thing’ can watch us piss? And what if we want to fool around in the shower?” There weren’t that many places to put it, but they still managed to draw out the decision for nearly half an hour. It was a good distraction. Eventually Glen conceded to have it on the table by the door where they usually dropped their keys or mail. “It’s a good conversation piece,” Aiden said. “When people come in, they’ll be like, ‘Hey, what’s the deal with that angel?’” “And I’ll tell them an old priest gave it to me as an apology for being such a homophobe. End of story.” “Aw, come on, don’t be such a sourpuss.” Aiden wrapped his arms around Glen from behind. “Who knows? Maybe it will bring us luck or something. We definitely need it.” Glen felt the tension in Aiden’s arms. His heart grew heavy. “Speaking of which, did you…did you want to talk about it?” Aiden sighed. “I should, but I don’t want to. I told you everything I was comfortable with when we started dating; he was an asshole, I was his booty call, I thought it could be something more, but he didn’t even want to tell anyone about us. All he wanted was a quick, meaningless f**k whenever his d**k got a little hard. I was i***t enough to feel flattered that he picked me and wound up getting my stupid heart broken.” “Hey,” Glen said soothingly. He turned around in Aiden’s arms so he could tenderly embrace his boyfriend. “You’re not an i***t and your heart’s not stupid. Like you said, he was an asshole. It’s the most cliché statement in the world, but you really are better off without him.” “I know, I know.” Aiden rested his head on Glen’s shoulder and kissed his neck. “And you are so, so much better than he is. You’re my angel. I love you.” “I love you, too, sweetheart.” They dropped the subject for the rest of the day. Instead they ate leftover pizza from the fridge, watched some primetime TV, and cuddled a little before bed. As Aiden drifted off to sleep in Glen’s arms, Glen thought about their life together. Naturally, it wasn’t perfect. They lived in a tiny apartment in Astoria, and while the view was nice and the neighborhood wasn’t awful, Glen always wanted to get a little house of their own in the suburbs, maybe upstate or in a quieter part of New Jersey. At the very least he wanted to be able to take Aiden on fabulous and exotic vacations once a year or so. Sadly, neither of their salaries could support them beyond their lower-middle-class existence. Glen closed his eyes and tried to dream of a better life. Instead, he dreamt of the angel. It grew from six inches to six feet, eyes and sword ablaze. It knew every wrong Glen had ever committed or ever would, and it raised its sword to strike him in punishment. Aiden was there, too, but Glen pushed him out of the way. He put his hands over his head to protect himself. Before the burning steel could slice him in half, Glen was shaken awake. “Baby? Baby are you okay?” Aiden anxiously stroked Glen’s hair. “You were tossing and turning in your sleep.” Glen panted. Despite the air-conditioning in their apartment, he was still sweating. “Weird dream,” he muttered. “The angel thing tried to kill me.” “What? Why would it do that? I thought it was supposed to be a defending angel.” “I dunno, I must have done something to piss it off. I can’t remember. I-I think I saved you from it though.” Aiden snuggled up closer to Glen. “Oh?” “Yeah, it was coming after you so I pushed you out of the way, then it tried to fillet me.” “Hmmm…” Aiden pensively ran his fingers through Glen’s chest hair. “I think your brain mixed yesterday’s biggest problems together.” “How so?” “Well, you wanted to protect me from Stephan, and you had to put up with the old priest guy and then we spent all that time fussing over the statue, so maybe you’re just combining the conflicts. Instead of Stephan coming after me, it was the angel.” Glen laid his head on Aiden’s chest. “Yeah, that must be it.” He groped for his phone on the nightstand. “Crap, is it already five? I have to be up in an hour anyway.” Aiden pulled the thin sheet over both of them and wrapped his arms around Glen. “An hour is plenty of time for sleep. Even if you just doze off for a while, it’s better than lying awake and worrying.” “You’re right,” Glen said with a yawn. He nuzzled his cheek against Aiden’s shoulder and did his best to relax. The rest of his sleep went uninterrupted.