Seeking constructive criticism

[Ravenofpoe]

I am seeking constructive critism this is a rough draft it need flesh some areas i know. But i hope someone likes it.


The Sin Eater
1​

When you look into the abyss, it will sometimes look back. What happens though if you take the abyss inside your soul. That was the question that haunted Detective William Fenian. A question that he often asked if it was what he did. He was not sure why he did it. He was not sure why he hadn’t sought a successor yet. The abyss was waiting in the mansion across the street and he was about to take it into his soul once more.

Walking to the guard house he presented his badge and was let through the wrought iron gate. It had to cost a fortune to build. The metal was warped in such a way to show a phoenix guarding the entrance. Fitting for the fashion designer that lived inside. Well lived was a relative term. In the next few hours he would be dead. Walking the path William once again looked at the grounds. It was not his first trip here but he hoped it would be his last.

Well-manicured gardens flanked the walkway. A road that stretched and looped around a rock formation in front of the house let cars drop off passengers before either leaving or parking in the garage. Today the process was disrupted. Five cars all high-end models lined the drive. A sixth car this one out of place a modest convertible.

As he neared the front door William adjusted his file. He was going to be out of place. He had money more than the man inside did even. He dressed though for the station he was in. He was a New York City Police Detective, first class. He dressed in a modest suit. This one black, with well worn loafers that could use a repair. It was on the to do list after the mile-long report he was sure he would have tonight. He knocked on the door the wood was carved oak and treated so as to not let it age. It was plain though. William had always wondered why. Raising to knock again the door opened revealing an older gentleman dressed in his butler uniform red eyes puffy from crying. A man that knew why was here and showed the distain with a sneer. “Yes detective?”

“I am here to see Robert Wolfe.” William ignored the butlers look of disgust. To him he was a vulture trying to get a fresh sample from a body not yet dead. If he only knew the truth.

“Mr. Phoenix is unwell having taken a turn for the worst. You will have to come back later.”

“Mr. Wolfe contacted me this morning. I will see him now and quickly to be out of your hair. I have business at the office I stopped by because he wished to talk.”

“If you will stay in the foyer I will go see if he can see visitors. The priest is here to give last rights.” The man named Smethells if William recalled correctly led him to the foyer.

Once alone again William reflected on why he was here. Robert Wolfe a fashion designer had contacted him at home. Odd but there were ways to get the number. He had asked for his particular skills. William had told him no at first. Then Mr. Wolfe had offered a trade. He gave William the name of a child dead for ten years from a hit and run accident. William check the cold case vault at his office and sure enough Jenny Morals was lost in a sea of files forgotten till a lead could come in. William worked the case contacted her family. The parents divorced a year after it happened. The father had taken his own life one evening last year. He had waited till the anniversary of her death.

William built the file and just needed evidence the Mr. Wolfe was the driver. He had that and by the time he left here he would have a confession. Though there was a nagging feeling for the last month that no matter what he did would not shake. There were rumors that Mr. Wolfe was involved in more than a hit and run. Thus far no evidence had been found to support the whispers.

Left alone William looked at a painting that had caught his eye. Last time he was here it had been water lilies on the wall. Now hung a painting of the R.M.S Titanic leaving port. It was famous and William felt a smile cross his lips. He was looking at the blue sky at the line where smoke met blue and heard. “What are you doing here detective?”

Turning William saw a priest standing at the entrance to a hallway. “Papist. I could ask the same.”

The priest a man in his mid-thirties with haunting grey eyes watched the detective. “Mr. Wolfe is a devout Catholic as are some of his family I was offing solace to them. I have yet to deliver the last rights. Mr. Wolfe wanted to wait but didn’t say why.”

“You are waiting on me.” William sighed and looked back at the painting. Then he swore in Gaelic. “What has he confessed to?”

“I can’t break my oaths. You know that. Now I know why he wanted your number.”

William spun and glared at his friend. “You didn’t?”

Father Patrick Lehigh shook his head. “No, I would not break our friendship in that manner. I told him it was not mine to give. He wanted to talk to you though no one else in the cold case unit. I figured it was on that piece the Times had on you.”

William was seething but pinched it off. When annoyed his accent flared. He was not from the states though he had lived here since 1912. He had come over from Ireland and the accent always trace never came out in full unless he was annoyed or angry. He was currently both. Pinching the bridge of his nose he said, its fine what matters is a little girl’s family will get closure.”

“What did he confess to you for what your about to do?” Father Lehigh looked around to make sure they were still alone adding, “I will confirm with a nod if he said the same to me.”

“Hit and run ten years ago. That’s all I know of. The evidence is there I would like more of course. So a deal was made.”

Father Lehigh nodded. “Is that all? A hit and run? Nothing else?”

William clicked his tongue unease rising. The deal was made for everything not just the case. He was about to take an abyss of sin on and he was not prepared for it. “No I take it he confessed to more?”

“I…”

“Do not hide behind your oath. You know what I am about to face.” He said it louder than he should have and backed away as if the distance would clear the air.

“I do…though I don’t understand it and never will. I can be excommunicated for even acknowledging there was a confession.”

“Fine I will burn his legacy and any who helped him if I have to.”

“No arguments from me. He deserves it.” It was then a young woman emerged from a door that led to a dinning room.

She was sad but it was a different sadness resonating in her eyes. It was the sadness of a child losing a parent that they had lost long ago. He saw it on dementia patients families when he helped at the hospital last year. She spoke softly, “Father is everything alright? I heard raised voices from the kitchen.”


“Yes child. Why are there the rest are gathered in the family room?”

“I was baking it calms me. My father asked me for a fresh loaf of honey wheat.”

“Me and Detective Fenian were just discussing last rights.”

“You’re the one the breads for.” She said it looking at William with green eyes that he was sure burned with fierceness but long ago lost that trait. What happened to her must have been very great and traumatic.

“I like fresh bread I do not understand why you are making it for me though.” Ignorance is bliss but he knew and he hoped foolishly that she didn’t.

“Because you are a Sin Eater. My father gloated that he had tricked you into a deal. We talked last night and he gave me my inheritance early. He paid my business and student loans off. Freeing me from that debt though enslaving me to him forever now.”

“A what…” William was not accustomed to people using the title so flippantly.

“Sin Eater. Some say they don’t exist and I do not think you do. I think the cancer has eaten his mind now he concocted a story to make himself feel better. Why else would the good Father be here to give last right. Once those are given he free from his sins.”

Father Lehigh offered his arm. “Come child I will sit with you in private. You are correct that practice died long ago and the church forbids it.” He led her to the dinning hall and once gone alone again William mulled over the new development.

Instead of breaking the deal he could just leave the case remain cold. Though that would cause a mother more pain when he had already told her that he was close he thought to solving her daughter’s death. William mulled the choice over discarding it. The butler approached “Mr. Phoenix will see you now.”

He was led upstairs to a master suit. Inside the machines keeping a frail dying man alive, beeped in rhythm. A sad harmony. In the king size bed laid Robert Wolfe. A fashion designer that preferred to go by Phoenix. He was pale the chemo had made him weak. He was dying of pancreatic cancer and he had lost a lot of weight. His health further deteriorated by smoking and heavy drug use in his younger days. He was still his chest rising slowly and shuddering as he exhaled.

William sat his notebook down and watched the dying man. From his jacket he pulled a small bag. It was old a cloth item that he had to change out soon. This one had served him well since the sixties. Inside was a charm and a set of prayer beads. He walked to the foot of the bed and leaned on the footboard closing his eyes. Time seemed to slow as he closed his eyes bracing the door to the memory library and preparing for the pain that was certain to come. A curse was what he had. He was setting a man free of punishment he was sure and not for the first time it was one that didn’t deserve it.

Robert Wolfe stirred in the bed and opened his grey eyes. Above him was his angel of redemption the one he tricked. William was staring at him now ready. “You came.” The voice came out in a horse whisper.

“Yes, a deal is a deal. Even one made in bad faith.”

“What…do…you mean?”

“Don’t talk. Listen for once.” William clicked his tongue and continued, “Fecker. You are taking a key that you deserve. I am only giving this key out because I told a mother that I was close to solving her daughter’s death. You told the priest a much longer confession than a car hitting a ten-year-old child.

“You have done something terrible to your own family. I can see that there is a secret known but hidden. Else I would be fighting to do this in private.”

“What do you care you serve me…you’re the monster that will never set foot in heaven.”

“Right I will just have to suffer with your sins till I burn them. There is nothing that you have I want. Once I finish with you the world will be better off.”

“Get on with it. Time is runni…running out.” He was failing and Even William could see it. Robert could hardly sit up and panted as the angel of redemption moved to the head of the bed.

William took the prayer beads looping them in his fingers. He was not going to waste the bread being made for him and taint it with the sin. He learned that along time ago. “Where is the letter? The confession to the hit and run.”

“Top drawer center dresser.”

“Fine.” William pulled a pack of crackers from his pocket and placed one on the mans forehead. “Alright, Bheir mi fois agus fois a-nis dhutsa, a dhuine uasail. Na tig sìos na slighean no anns na cluaintean againn. Agus airson do shìth phàigh mi m ’anam fhìn.” The gaelic words rolled off his tongue and he inhaled sharply as he watched the cracker turn black with the sin. IT looked like it was baked ash when the man gave a final lurch in the bed and the heart monitor began to beep faster before flat lining.

He picked the cracker up a normal meal turned black but not this black. He hadn’t eaten a meal like this in two hundred years. He ate the cracker quickly coughing and falling to his knees. His hand squeezed his prayer beads as time stopped for him. In the instant that time stopped he saw suffering he saw the rumors paled to what the mad had donr. The accident was by far the lesser or any transgression. He heard the screams of children an familure face among his victims…no among my victims he thought. He was the eater it was his sin now. A tear fell and he clutched at the side of the bed. In the distance a door opened and he felt a hand lifting him up.

He stepped to the bed frame and muttered the prayer in English this time. “I give easement and rest now to thee, dear man. Come not down the lanes or in our meadows. And for thy peace I pawn my own soul….I ….give…”

“William…are you alright?” Father Lehigh smiled weakly. “Did he confess any more to ease your burden?”

“No …god no…I am going to make this mans fortune bleed dry…” He was tired and was slowly regaining his footing. “Fecker. He can sit on the cloud I hope he falls and suffers.”

“Careful my child…you are sinning by just thinking it.”

“Father fuck off with it. You know I don’t believe given we have existed far longer than your church.” He went to the dresser and found the letter un sealed he read it and sealed it quickly. He would drop it in the file. Right now, he was starving for something that tasted fresh not of ash. “sorry it was a bad feeding. I feel like I deserve to be hung for my crimes.”

“I know…all is forgiven.” Father Lehigh did not understand though he was very forgiving when it came to William and this strange act he performed.

William still gathering himself frowned as his phone began to ring he was looking in the mirror. His once blue eyes were now twin pits of inky blackness.

 

[NaughtySinner]

When you look into the abyss, it will sometimes look back. What happens though if you take the abyss inside your soul.

When you look into the abyss, sometimes, it looks back. But what happens if you take the abyss into your soul?

Put a character's internal monologue in italics until the reader knows who's talking. (In this case, William.) Once the reader knows who the internal monologue belongs to, you can drop the italics entirely. (You do this in the rest of the excerpt and it works great.)

The metal was warped in such a way to show a phoenix guarding the entrance.

It had to cost a fortune to build.

A metal phoenix guarded the entrance.
It must've cost a fortune to build.

Let the reader make their own assumptions about these grand details. Mention there's a gate, mention it resembles a phoenix, mention it looks grand; but don't tell the reader explicitly how it's been made or who designed it. Give them 2+2, and let them make 4.

Raising to knock again the door opened revealing an older gentleman dressed in his butler uniform red eyes puffy from crying.

Here's where you're jumping into the omniscient from the third person-limited perspective again. How do we, or the character, know the butler's been crying? He may just have watery eyes. He may just be old.

'His red eyes were puffy around the edges.' Tells the readers what might have happened. It allows them to have fun guessing. It even hints as to why the detective might be there. But explicitly telling the reader he's been crying is a bit too much. It's giving us the whole puzzle piece rather than the puzzle piece by piece.

A man that knew why was here and showed the distain with a sneer.

The butler sneered. — Tells all. No need to explicitly name the emotion. It's overkill.

Once alone again William reflected on why he was here. Robert Wolfe a fashion designer had contacted him at home. Odd but there were ways to get the number. He had asked for his particular skills. William had told him no at first. Then Mr. Wolfe had offered a trade. He gave William the name of a child dead for ten years from a hit and run accident. William check the cold case vault at his office and sure enough Jenny Morals was lost in a sea of files forgotten till a lead could come in. William worked the case contacted her family. The parents divorced a year after it happened. The father had taken his own life one evening last year. He had waited till the anniversary of her death.

Ah, I don't like this. I'm not a fan of when the narrative pauses to dump information/exposition on the reader. You should try to convey this information organically through the environment. It'll make for a much better read.

Every time you use, 'had,' or, 'was,' check yourself. Both of these are the weakest verbs you can fall back on. They're telling instead of showing. Try to use stronger verbs instead to convey your ideas.

Overall, I think you have a good grip on character and nice pacing/flow, but there are a lot of grammatical errors and your story could do with some polish. The dialogue also needs a looking at. It doesn't flow and feels a bit disjointed, like the characters aren't talking to each other but rather at each other; and this story could seriously benefit from better use of the senses (smell, taste, sound, touch), and imagery (colour?).

I think if you kick some of your bad habits (telling not showing) and wider pacing issues (falling back into internal monologue to shove exposition on the reader), you could be a wild story-teller, man. Big vote of confidence from me because I can see you do know what you're doing but you've picked up a couple bad habits along the way. Rip out the techniques that slow down your story and polish the ones that are working for you and you're gold.

By the way, there is a book that I think you could greatly benefit from reading. It's called, 'The Big Sleep' by Raymond Chandler. The plot of your story is essentially the same, (without the supernatural elements), and if you can emulate the author even in the slightest, your prose will improve by a land mile. Tighten up your sentences. Good stuff man. I love detective fiction.