p. s. halloran (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
mirabiledictu) wrote2021-08-26 01:18 pm
mirabiledictu) wrote2021-08-26 01:18 pm
Entry tags:
history
(content warnings for: child illness/death, christianity, mental illness, implied suicidal ideation, possession/loss of agency, mentioned animal death)
If Peter Simon Halloran were ever pious, it was surely a time that passed well before he wore the cassock. It was always a strange given in his life that he would turn to the Church (like his father, and his father before him, and so on), so faith seemed like an afterthought, something that would surely follow a life in service to God instead of something that ought to preclude it. Peter knew the liturgy like boys his age knew sports teams or blockbuster movies, but none of it rang true for him. If God existed, it seemed impossible that He would care particularly much about what one child did, let alone billions of them. God was always invoked as distant and angry, a punishing force by parents a little too distant and angry themselves, and that was fine by Peter. God could be whatever he wanted to be.
Terminally unambitious, he ended up where he was always going to end up: history degree, seminary, Jesuit school, the church that he grew up in, with the same people that he grew up with, rehashing the same theological points that always bothered him when he bothered to care at all. God was an invisible zero in his life, which didn’t exactly matter to him. Peter concerned himself more with lofty goals of gaining knowledge than with subservience to a God of anger, and buried himself in learning the precise workings of faith, Hebrew and Greek and Latin, anything to avoid the fact that his life was thoroughly devoid of anything of substance. He was a prodigy, but not especially well liked, and friendships quickly fizzled out once his peers realized that he was exactly as shallow as he appeared to be.
He trained in exorcism only to gain another point of pride in his repertoire of skills, something to be checked off of a list, never expecting to use it. Beyond his wavering agnosticism, the priest that taught him assured him that it would be exceptionally rare, and that he would likely never be called to such a task, which was fine by him. It made his father happy, and it made Peter just a little more secure.
When the time came that his services were called upon alongside his father, Peter felt prepared to do his best and make the mental health referral that was likely necessary, or at least say the right words to the parents of Esther Lewis, a bright child who had taken ill in the vaguest terms possible. They said they had reached the end of their options, that medicine didn’t seem to have the answer, that every road they went down with research led them back time and time again to spiritual deliverance. Peter didn’t care to feed into their fears. There is a particular kind of confidence that comes with deliberate ignorance.
What followed was something that he claims no knowledge of to this day, citing trauma responses and the concussion he received on the evening of March 8th, 2006. Deborah Lewis, Isaac Lewis, and Peter Halloran were eventually cleared of any wrongdoing (following a lengthy and highly publicized series of trials) in the death of Daniel Halloran and disappearance of Esther Lewis. Tabloids made note of the blood soaking the drywall, the frostbite on the elder Father Halloran’s fingers and lips, the livestock disappearances in the area following the incident. Tabloids picked apart every detail of the family’s life, talking to everyone who ever so much as met them at a sporting event, and where they could not find sordid stories in Peter’s holy, boring life, they resorted to rumors of satanism and certain illicit meetings to fill the gaps, ensuring that while none of them faced legal consequences, they could never feasibly return to life as it was in the place that they called home.
For Peter, that meant moving with his mother to Florida, far away from people who knew them and regarded them with suspicion. Feeling threatened by the church and by God, he abandoned his faith completely, putting his skills to use as a teacher and proceeding to have the worst ten years of his life. It took six hospitalizations, two annulled marriages (and two more annulled engagements), three interventions, and eventually the direct and firm recommendation of his mother for him to return home and beg for the only job he ever had been good at.
It was harder to pretend at faith than it had ever been, since the issue lied not with a lack of belief but instead with a belief that God was real and would not protect him, but Peter was something of an excellent actor. The suspicion had died down in the years he had been absent, becoming almost manageable. He was as unhappy as he’d ever been, but he was well taken care of, and on his best days, he could pretend that nothing had ever happened.
If Peter Simon Halloran were ever pious, it was surely a time that passed well before he wore the cassock. It was always a strange given in his life that he would turn to the Church (like his father, and his father before him, and so on), so faith seemed like an afterthought, something that would surely follow a life in service to God instead of something that ought to preclude it. Peter knew the liturgy like boys his age knew sports teams or blockbuster movies, but none of it rang true for him. If God existed, it seemed impossible that He would care particularly much about what one child did, let alone billions of them. God was always invoked as distant and angry, a punishing force by parents a little too distant and angry themselves, and that was fine by Peter. God could be whatever he wanted to be.
Terminally unambitious, he ended up where he was always going to end up: history degree, seminary, Jesuit school, the church that he grew up in, with the same people that he grew up with, rehashing the same theological points that always bothered him when he bothered to care at all. God was an invisible zero in his life, which didn’t exactly matter to him. Peter concerned himself more with lofty goals of gaining knowledge than with subservience to a God of anger, and buried himself in learning the precise workings of faith, Hebrew and Greek and Latin, anything to avoid the fact that his life was thoroughly devoid of anything of substance. He was a prodigy, but not especially well liked, and friendships quickly fizzled out once his peers realized that he was exactly as shallow as he appeared to be.
He trained in exorcism only to gain another point of pride in his repertoire of skills, something to be checked off of a list, never expecting to use it. Beyond his wavering agnosticism, the priest that taught him assured him that it would be exceptionally rare, and that he would likely never be called to such a task, which was fine by him. It made his father happy, and it made Peter just a little more secure.
When the time came that his services were called upon alongside his father, Peter felt prepared to do his best and make the mental health referral that was likely necessary, or at least say the right words to the parents of Esther Lewis, a bright child who had taken ill in the vaguest terms possible. They said they had reached the end of their options, that medicine didn’t seem to have the answer, that every road they went down with research led them back time and time again to spiritual deliverance. Peter didn’t care to feed into their fears. There is a particular kind of confidence that comes with deliberate ignorance.
What followed was something that he claims no knowledge of to this day, citing trauma responses and the concussion he received on the evening of March 8th, 2006. Deborah Lewis, Isaac Lewis, and Peter Halloran were eventually cleared of any wrongdoing (following a lengthy and highly publicized series of trials) in the death of Daniel Halloran and disappearance of Esther Lewis. Tabloids made note of the blood soaking the drywall, the frostbite on the elder Father Halloran’s fingers and lips, the livestock disappearances in the area following the incident. Tabloids picked apart every detail of the family’s life, talking to everyone who ever so much as met them at a sporting event, and where they could not find sordid stories in Peter’s holy, boring life, they resorted to rumors of satanism and certain illicit meetings to fill the gaps, ensuring that while none of them faced legal consequences, they could never feasibly return to life as it was in the place that they called home.
For Peter, that meant moving with his mother to Florida, far away from people who knew them and regarded them with suspicion. Feeling threatened by the church and by God, he abandoned his faith completely, putting his skills to use as a teacher and proceeding to have the worst ten years of his life. It took six hospitalizations, two annulled marriages (and two more annulled engagements), three interventions, and eventually the direct and firm recommendation of his mother for him to return home and beg for the only job he ever had been good at.
It was harder to pretend at faith than it had ever been, since the issue lied not with a lack of belief but instead with a belief that God was real and would not protect him, but Peter was something of an excellent actor. The suspicion had died down in the years he had been absent, becoming almost manageable. He was as unhappy as he’d ever been, but he was well taken care of, and on his best days, he could pretend that nothing had ever happened.