Hillie sat on the hard bench slightly angled towards her nephew, an arm around the back of the bench, and looked at his stricken and confused face. He smelled different she noticed when he placed his head in this oh so familiar way against her collarbone, an action made awkward by the fact that he was a good half foot taller than her. He smelled of man, and soil, of sweat, and the natural smell all men possessed, a matter of body chemistry.  But there was a darker smell, the hint of a fecund smell she hadn't noticed before, sweet, yet raw, dark and forbidden, and yet, when she inhaled, she felt drawn to search it out again. She felt his hot breath permeate the fabric of her blouse and warm her bosom. The sensation made her squirm inwardly but she didn't move, she told herself she didn't want to disturb him as he sought solace. Solace from her, from her presence, her embrace, the closeness from her body.<br/><br/>As if it hadn't been enough that Hillie had never a great relationship with her sister, she held it against her when her colicky newborn only stopped crying in Hillie's arms. The babe, a tiny, wrinkled worm of a boy, was only soothed when she held him against her breast, patting his tiny bottom, until he fell asleep. Even years later, when he had been ill with a common childhood illness or the flu he begged for Aunt Hillie to come and make him feel better. When he had grown and gone through puberty it was her he came to, horrified at his nightly emissions, begging her to help him turn from this evil. "Sweet boy," she said "you are growing up, and this is part of it. It isn't evil or bad, nor is touching yourself and finding release, not matter what they tell you." It is your body growing from that of a child to a man, and just as the rest of you is growing and changing, so is your manhood. Someday you will find pleasure with someone you love, and you will give her pleasure, and some day you may father a child. Don't fret." He had sunk into her lap then and cried, big fat tears of relief, reassured that he wasn't evil.<br/><br/>But now something else was bothering him, and she sensed it was darker yet than childhood fears of seed spilled on a bedsheet, and his words renewed the chill she had felt upon entering the chapel. "Absolution is something I cannot offer, Pelle, only Father Daniel can do that." His head was tilted back and she looked at his troubled eyes, ...bad things?<br/><br/>"Pelle, I know you have had your share of troubles lately, but what do you mean by you're seeing other things, thinking other things?  What things do you mean? What bad things does this something make you want to do?" She would need to talk to him about taking responsibility for his thoughts, but the visions  worried her. Schizophrenia was not something that ran in the family but he was at an age where he was at an increased risk merely for the fact that he was a boy. She lightly ran her hand through his hair and kissed his forehead when a draft slammed the chapel doors closed. 'What an odd thing,' she thought ' where would a draft have even come from?'