“Yes.” Stone wiped more of his tears away.
“But, I can see how some of your intentions may have been righteous. Unity is forcing abortions upon all who conceive. Make no mistake, there is a war to be waged in these days, these days that Christians are hunted and the innocent are slain.” The words the priest spoke shocked Stone yet again; he had not expected to hear such things coming from within the confessional. “Terrorism is by no means a just method for warfare, but defending your people and tearing down a tyrannical government is. Unity and those who, as we speak, conspire on ways to destroy us, must be stopped. You must study the words of Saint Augustine and Saint Aquinas as part of your journey. Pray to them that they may intercede on your behalf before God. There are those out there who have the same fire as you, who need leadership and guidance in these dark hours of the Church. Pray, son, pray and listen to the Lord. Do not shed innocent blood and do not wage war blindly. And if you can’t find a just way to wage this war, then the fight isn’t for you. Some of us make better martyrs than warriors, when it comes to our salvation, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”
“Yes, Father.” Stone’s voice sounded weak.
“Are there any other sins that are pressing?" The question baffled Stone, and in an instant, his other sins came forward to the front of his mind, things that seemed to have lost their importance while he lived with such great guilt.
“Masturbation, use of pornography, lustful thoughts towards a woman I love, um,” Stone couldn’t remember all the things he had done, “disobedience, doubting the mercy of God, speaking ill to clergy, fighting those that love me, vandalism, and casting judgment and hate on others.”
"These are also things you must learn to turn from. Guilt for grave sins often makes us lose sight of all that is wrong in our lives. For your penance, I want you to study Saint Aquinas and Saint Augustine. You must also begin the Chaplet to Saint Michael the Archangel tonight, to defeat your demons, to protect you, and to give you a Pure Heart.”
“Yes, Father.”
"Remember, if things were any different, you'd be turning yourself in tonight. I want you to never forget the severity of your crime. If this war is won, if Unity is overthrown, I want you to turn yourself in afterward. I just can't bring down all who know you because of what you've done, but I also can't tell you not to face judgment in this life either.”
Stone nodded his head, “I understand, Father. Don’t think I’d ever truly find peace within myself. I promise, once Unity is overthrown, I will turn myself in. I give you my word.”
“Now recite the Act of Contrition.”
“O my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended Thee,” Stone’s words once again broke forth with tears and sadness, “and I detest all my sins, because I dread the loss of heaven and the pains of hell, but most of all because they offend Thee, my God, Who art all-good and deserving of all of my love.” Stone paused, wanting to speak the words as sincerely as possible, feeling each syllable in his soul, “I firmly resolve, with the help of Thy grace, to confess my sins, to do penance, and to amend my life. Amen.”
The priest waited for him to finish and soon after responded with absolution in Latin, ending with, “Et ego te absolvo a peccatis tuis in nominee Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen.”
Stone replied, “Amen,” and he was absolved of all that he had done. All stain of sin and blood he had spilled was washed clean of his soul. Everything he had ever done since his last confession was removed from him. A great peace came upon him, the pressure and remorse lifted and eased off of him. In a way, it felt as if a great weight had been immediately released from him. Stone would feel the pain still, he knew, likely for the rest of his life, but the priest’s words filled him with momentary bliss.
“Go in peace,” the priest said, his voice deeply resonating in the shed.
“Thank you, Father.” Stone’s voice was flat, solemn.
“Give thanks to God, it’s all due to Him.”
…
Stone stood from the chair and exited the tiny room. He faced into the wind that immediately bit at him as he opened the door. He felt as light as a feather, as if he floated rather than stepped towards the backdoor of the house. An impatient line of people greeted him as he entered the kitchen and the first in line immediately sprinted towards the shed behind him.
“Stone! I’m so happy to see you!” one of them greeted him. His neighbors and fellow parishioners hadn’t seen him since the night he and Michael fought and were thrilled that he was visiting.
He hugged and shook hands with all of them. They had questions about his family and if they had made their trip safely, to which Stone had no news. He awkwardly responded to them, without any idea if or when they had reached their destination. Stone broke away from them eventually and took his place in another room of the house to pray. After which he decided he would wait and attend the Mass, and while he waited he looked through the sketchbook that Cole had left behind.
It was filled with works of art created using various mediums and techniques, from gold leaf to sketches in pen, and even darker ones that had been done in charcoal. One of the drawings he saw looked familiar, perhaps it was the concept image Cole sketched for the painting he gave him at Ruffner -- the one depicting the Angel of Death and the inflamed woman with red hair. He hadn’t looked at the painting since that night, leaving it rolled beside his things in Jeremy's apartment. For once, he understood the painting; and, at that moment, he realized it depicted the results of his actions.
Stone felt the pain again, as he stared into the agony-stricken face of the woman being dragged to Hell, unforgiven for her crimes against her unborn. The baby was going somewhere peaceful, but the woman was carried away before ever having the chance to repent of what she had done. That was the worst effect, he thought, of his evil choices and actions. It wasn’t simply the murder of the sinners, but the fact that it prevented them from getting a chance to repent. Stone ended their journeys to God before they were completed. The Zealots’ mission served death to the wrong ones -- to the sinners -- victims of the cruel ways of this world. He wiped his tears away again and turned the page to the next piece of art.
It was a portrait of him -- Stone. In it, his face looked hard and expressed a rugged quality. The branding was harshly drawn onto his forearm -- the line strokes almost tore through the page, it seemed. The portrait had two sides: one was his past, the side with the branding; the other was of his present and future, holding a crucifix in his hand with his head illuminated by a semi halo that glowed behind him in gold leaf. This part of the sketch had much cleaner lines than the other side -- empty of shadowy charcoal smears and smudges. The piece filled him with hope and Stone wanted its image never to leave his mind. It portrayed the part of himself that he wanted to kill and the person he desired to become.
Below the portrait, Cole included a Latin inscription, “Et dabo vobis cor novum et spiritum novum ponam in medio vestri et AUFERAM cor lapideum de carne vestra et dabo vobis cor carneum.”
Which when Stone read the inscription, he turned on a translation overlay within his Visum, to see it in English. Cole had always loved and studied Latin, but Stone never found the time or interest to learn it fluently. It read: “And I will give you a new heart, and put a new spirit within you: and I will take away the STONY heart out of your flesh, and will give you a heart of flesh.” The verse from Ezekiel rattled him, shook him to his very bones, causing every nerve to fire as he saw his name.
“I’m so sorry…God,” Stone knelt and wrapped his face with his sweaty hands, “please, Lord, please heal me. Help me find the path that delights You. Give me an honorable purpose, work within me so that I may protect Your people.” Stone searched himself for words, feeling the tides of them crash against his heart, like a sea of heat. His soul burned with passion, every part of his being blurred in a dizzied act of the prayer. At the moment, he wasn't simply the flesh and bone he felt, but for the first time in a long time, he fe
lt his spirit curl and strike within him, quaking before the glory of God. "Work within me so that I may have the wisdom to do Your will, send Your angels to protect me. Help me Lord, use me as a tool for the rescue of Your people. Give me the strength to do what many cannot; give me the strength to do what I’ve failed to do. Amen.” Stone crossed himself and continued kneeling, enjoying the intensity of his moment with God. It was the most incredible sensation he had ever felt -- greater than anything he had ever experienced. It was a glimpse of Heaven and his surroundings melted away from his consciousness.
He never wanted to leave. He wanted the moment to last forever. He felt he could remain in that spot on his bedroom floor for eternity. Stone knew, however, that he couldn’t so he stood to join the people on the floor below him for Mass. It saddened him to leave the moment behind.
But, the Mass was just as glorious to him. It seemed every word was spoken directly to him. Every verse and every moment imprinted upon his mind and heart as he opened himself entirely to it. When the Eucharist, the flesh and blood of Christ, had been consecrated, Stone bowed. He felt, although absolved, he still wasn’t worthy of the sight, but the priest’s eyes beckoned him forward to partake of the Sacrament and Stone did, kneeling.
The Blood of Christ burned within him like supernatural fuel. His already heightened passion inflamed with the consumption of the Precious Body and Blood and Stone felt truly changed. Everything that occurred in that Mass became a fresh experience as if he had never experienced it before. A wave of great peace and patience covered him and he was delivered from the scars and wounds that plagued his life.
He left the house after Mass concluded, choosing not to stay for dinner. The others implored him to remain a little longer, but he refused, giving the honest excuse that he had important things awaiting him, which needed immediate attention. He took the train back to Birmingham and returned to Jeremy’s apartment. It would be his last time to cross the Zealot’s threshold.
…
Once he arrived, he fumbled around in the dark looking for the keyhole. The porch light had burned out earlier that night and it was extremely dark, so he had to feel it out. He wasn't sure what he was going to say or do upon entering. He wasn't positive about how to leave or where to go when he did. His heart ached at the idea of leaving Debra behind. But he knew there was no chance the woman would leave with him.
"Stone," a deep voice called after he entered, "where've you been?" Jeremy loomed in his bedroom doorway.
“I went to Mass.” Stone felt numb to the fear that would have engulfed him under different circumstances.
"Well, you missed the initiation.” He was clearly enraged and his face soured as he eyed Stone from head to toe. “There’s a new Zealot named Reggie. But, you should have known that without me saying so. You were told to be present tonight.”
“I hadn’t been to Mass in months. I needed to go, now that we’re all targets -- or will be soon.”
“You have a duty here.” Jeremy crossed his arms, his muscles exaggerated in size as his arms pressed against each other. “A duty to God here. He’d prefer you be present and find time for Mass on your own clock.”
“Zealots serve themselves,” Stone replied, his tone flat and even. He turned his back and caught sight of Debra asleep in the living room.
“Excuse me?” His eyes widened, a fire raged in his piercing pupils as they expanded across his irises like flames consuming grassy fields.
“It’s true.”
“Our service to God is greater than any of the others with their silly gatherings and empty intentions. They hide in their homes and hold their Masses, but where are they when the innocents are sacrificed?”
“They’re at Mass, praying for them. If we served God as we should, then we’d also go to Mass on every occasion possible. When’s the last time you went? When’s the last time you did anything other than devise methods to kill women?” Stone’s retort caught Jeremy off guard -- the man who believed his intimidation was too much for the young man.
“Praying? Pft. And you watch the way you talk to me.”
“What?” Stone searched for his things, making sure that he wouldn’t leave anything behind.
“When has prayer ever done any good?”
“That’s how I know Zealots serve themselves. We’ve failed to uphold the very traditions that we’ve claimed to protect.” Stone’s face grimaced and he shook his head, looking up at him. “You’re ruled by your past trauma and the resulting rage. Your hate for what others did to you and your family consumes you. You don’t serve God. You serve your own intentions to seek revenge.”
“Who the hell do you think you’re talking to?” Jeremy followed him aggressively as he packed. His shouting awakened Debra. Nelson had also begun listening, in secret, from the device he dwelt within.
“What’s going on? Stone? Jeremy?” She opened her eyes wide, trying to discern what was taking place.
“Stone’s looking for an ass-kicking. He’s been enlightened all of a sudden and if he doesn’t watch it, I swear--”
“Calm down,” she yelled, rising from the couch. “What is it, Stone?”
“I’m done pretending we’re doing a good thing here.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m fighting y’all’s war and you guys aren’t even fighting the right people. You’re not even fighting the right way.” He stood between the two of them, unafraid of Jeremy’s menacing glare and Debra’s heartbroken face. “I know why too. I know why y’all fight the way you do. It wasn’t clear to me before, but now I know. It all makes sense.”
“What do you think you know?” Jeremy mocked, crossing his arms again.
“The terrorism…the attacks on STORK clinics…you guys are waging the same war with the same methods others used to wage it on you. Your actions are no different from the monsters that burned down that church when you were kids. They did it in secret…they killed everyone within, just like we did at the clinic. You’re not interested in saving anybody. You just want the world to burn like the church burned.
“How could you possibly compare the two?” Debra butted in, shocked that he dared defend the abortionists.
“We could’ve destroyed the clinics while no one was inside. Could have knocked the guards out and dragged them to safety before detonation.” Stone’s words flooded forth, unconstrained, “or used our resources to overthrow Unity…the source of all our problems. Instead, you thought it reasonable to kill women. Some of which in all likelihood didn’t want to be there anyway and felt forced by pressure of the law or their husbands. You thought it reasonable to kill women who carried innocence within them, just as the men who burned down the church.”
Debra began to cry, tears poured from her eyes and Jeremy’s fists clenched as he caught sight of her reaction. He was seconds away from unrepressed brutality. Stone waited for the retort -- whatever argument came next -- and he also prepared to defend himself, if attacked.
“Look at what you’ve done to her!” Jeremy screamed, his face turned red and he spat with each word.
“Debra, you don’t have to continue this. Neither of you have to continue fighting like this. We can figure something out -- a fight to be proud of.” Stone’s heart spilled out his passion. He hoped they would change, just as he did.
“I’ve got nowhere to go.”
"Come with me. We'll find someplace safe. We'll go south or something."
“I can’t, Stone. This is my life.” Debra lowered her eyes. Part of her wished to leave, but she was a fugitive. If she left the apartment, they would find and arrest her before the night ended.
“So, you’re just going to spend the rest of your life down here?”
“You’re the one that needs to change, not us,” Jeremy bellowed, jabbing his index finger against Stone’s chest.
“Don’t you put another finger on me!”
“Oh yeah?” Jeremy stepped into the boy’s face, his chest pressing against his. “What’s up? What yo
u gonna do, boy?”
“Stop it!” Debra begged, trying to push them away from each other. Her arms were far too weak to put distance between the two riled, testosterone-filled men. The heat was building in the room as if a fire grew between them, while they stared into each other's faces. Jeremy was larger than Stone, yet the young man showed no sign that he felt intimidated. The grace granted to him through reconciliation and the Eucharist filled him with confidence. If he died, he'd be headed too paradise, and he felt no dread.
Jeremy bumped against him, pushing him back. He repeated this a couple of times before Stone lost all control and dove into his mentor, knocking him against the dining room furniture. The table fell back onto its side scattering chairs across the floor. Somewhere, behind the curtain of Stone’s instinctual rage and the fight for his life, he wondered how he had gotten himself into this position yet again. Again, he found himself fighting, tossing, and scrambling on the floor as he swung his fists and received punches along all parts of his body. They exchanged blows on the floor and Stone realized that this fight could be it for him. Jeremy wasn’t his caretaker or his family. He had to protect the safety and secrets of his clan; he wouldn’t let Stone leave alive.
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