Fear the Wicked

by Lily White

  My lips lifted at one corner before I could force my expression back to neutral. Keeping my voice at a low whisper, I answered, "I believe so, yes. Unfortunately, the way this country has gone, the lack of belief in the Almighty brought about by atheism, other religions and this innate need for progressive thinking, has made it difficult for the Church to fight the battles that need to be fought."

  Eyes lifting to me once again, he settled back in his seat, relaxing more with the topic of conversation. "Doesn't God take care of that evil? Isn't our belief strong enough for him to help us?"

  "Have you read your Bible?" I asked. A question for a question, it was the best method to make a person believe that the ideas you're feeding them are their own.

  "Of course, I have," he answered indignantly.

  "Then you know the answer to that question. It is through our belief that God grants us the tools to combat evil. We have many tools, some of which have been lost to the modern world."

  "What are you saying, Father?"

  Gripping my fingers over each other, I dropped my gaze to my shoes, gave the question time to linger before offering an answer. "I'm saying that, as a whole, we no longer actively combat the evil that plagues this world. We've become complacent, have forgotten the violence implicit in the assault against that which attacks us. If you know history, you know that not all battles have been fought with prayer alone."

  He nodded his head, silently considering my words, struggling to make sense of them. "In a situation like mine, where does the evil exist? Is it in my family? Myself? The bank?"

  I smiled, not one that reached my eyes denoting happiness, but one that was sad, resigning to the truth of our discussion. "The bank, perhaps. Money is the root of all evil, is it not? But then, our society runs on money, making everything evil to a certain extent. I don't think there's much to be done about that."

  "What can be done, then?"

  Edging him closer and closer, I was careful with my words, both their meaning and the speed with which I delivered them. Conversion wasn't a hatchet job, it was more precise than that, the use of a fine scalpel sometimes necessary in order to gain what was needed. "You said the crops have failed repeatedly. Despite your prayers, I assume."

  "Despite everything," he grunted.

  "Perhaps," I offered, "it has nothing to do with you personally, but the town. The evil that infects it. Look what happened to poor Annabelle Prete. What could have happened to the woman you saw last night during my demonstration."

  "How do we stop it, Father? How do we fight against it?"

  His sharp gaze was pinned on me, his hands wringing over his lap. Desperation oozed from his pores, his mind ripe and open, waiting for the answers that would relieve him of the problems in his life. I needed him to find those answers, while I simply walked beside him to the conclusion.

  Lifting my gaze to meet his, my lips pulled into a tight line. "How do you suppose we should handle it?"

  Shaking his head, he cast his eyes toward the altar, the sun shining through the stained glass window bathing his face in reds and golds. "We fight it with any means necessary. We bring God back to this town. But we're only a few people in a world of billions. What power do we really have?"

  On the outside, I was without expression, my posture contemplative and morose. But inside, I was beaming, a brilliant light blistering out through the fissures of my innermost shadows. "We have God's power, do we not?"

  His eyes snapped to mine. "Yes. Yes, we do."

  I canted my head to the side. "His power is greater than anything in this world, is it not?"

  "It is," he answered, the worry written across his features sharpening until resolve set into the creases of his face.

  "However," I acquiesced, "there is one slight issue we cannot control, one small problem that would prevent us from achieving what we need to survive."

  Waiting silently, he didn't move a muscle. So focused and attentive that he appeared frozen in place, he was a tightly spun ball of need just waiting to be unfurled. I had to be careful which string I plucked. "The law, as it stands, would not agree with our methods - the old methods - of dealing with such a threat. Without God in our government, what can be done?"

  I shrugged a shoulder, breaking our stare to cast my gaze toward the front doors. So full of anticipation that it had become a vibration beneath my skin, I forced my breath into a steady rhythm.

  "My brother is the law around here," he said, drawing a smile from my lips. Finally, he'd said exactly what I needed him to suggest.

  Schooling my features, I returned my attention to him. "Your brother is the Sheriff, correct?"

  He nodded in response.

  "Why do you bring that up?"

  "Perhaps he could turn a blind eye. Keep our activities off the radar, so to speak."

  It was difficult - damn near impossible - not to clap my hands together and praise God for the direction this conversation had turned. Well, not God so much, but myself. I had been the one to lead Gentry to this point. Divine guidance was isolated to my hand alone.

  "Your brother is a Godly man?"

  "You know that to be the truth, Father Hayle. He attends your parish every Sunday when he isn't working. He's as attached to the family farm as me. If there is a solution, he'd be willing."

  Taking a deep breath, I blew it out, pausing just long enough for the thought to settle in. "He wasn't here last night," I pointed out. "He hasn't seen the truth of what's infecting this town."

  "So, we'll show him. If he sees it with his own eyes, I can guarantee he'll do whatever is necessary to save this town. We've been here for generations. Our blood is tied to this land, our fathers, our grandfathers. I have no doubt at all that he'll understand once he sees the truth of it."

  Tapping my fingers against my thigh, I met his stare for several seconds before inclining my head.

  "I believe I can set up a demonstration. But not here. I tell you what: why don't you come out to a special place I've acquired, a secret place I've been using to help the town? It's hidden away, tucked discreetly behind walls to keep out prying eyes. I believe you should see it before we bring your brother into the mix."

  Bringing Gentry to the compound was a risk - one I was willing to take, if for nothing else but to gain his utmost alliance with my mission. He was the only man to approach me after witnessing the demonstration with Eve and, through him, I knew I could gain the compliance of the town.

  Slowly but surely.

  Baby steps.

  "I'm willing to see whatever you need me to see, Father. I'm done with being blind."

  My smile reached my eyes this time. "Good, Gentry, that's very good. You should come tonight. I'll ensure that the family is ready to meet you."

  EVE

  Left in Elijah's room once again, I sat on the bed. My dreams eluded me every time I attempted to remember them, a feeling inside me that something wasn't right. The days blended into the nights, the hours passing quickly and so slowly at the same time. Elijah was angry with me, but I didn't know why.

  My stomach churned as I thought of food, my eyes blinded to whether the sun was high in the sky or setting over the horizon. I couldn't see past the black cloth tied over my face, couldn't move due to the restraints used to keep me in bed. Elijah hadn't offered me breakfast, hadn't worried for my needs after allowing me to use the bathroom just once before he left to tend to his duties.

  Drifting through what felt like molasses, I shook my head when sleep escaped me, casting me out into some dreamless state where I was floating within clouds of consciousness, lost to everything around me. The room was deathly quiet, the darkness invading me until I was hovering above myself looking inward until I questioned whether I was dead or alive.

  Kicking my foot every so often, I brought myself back to the present, but as time passed, I slipped again into the ether, my mind conjuring images that I wasn't sure were fake or true. My arms yanked at the ropes binding my wrists, the burn of the twine pulling me fr
om the abyss to remind me I was here on this bed awaiting his judgment.

  He'd been angry when we woke this morning, untrusting, uncaring, and for the life of me, I didn't know why. Didn't I give him everything he asked of me? Hadn't I helped him in every way he needed? What had I done to deserve the restrictions he placed on me now that we lived in this new place?

  A shuffle sounded in the distance, the bang of a door, the light rhythm of unhurried footsteps approaching. My heart raced to hear something - anything - in this dark, quiet room and I prayed that he wouldn't turn away before releasing me from these restraints. Another door creaked open, the footsteps a beat against the floor of the bedroom. I turned my head in the direction of the sound, my arms shaking against the ropes holding them in place.

  Something clattered on the table near me, the mattress dipping beneath my body where Elijah sat to my side. He yanked the blindfold from my eyes and I squinted against the shock of sunlight streaming in through the window.

  "I've brought you tea," he said, his normally booming voice soft and careful. It reminded me of who he'd been when I first arrived here. The tenderness he'd shown me over the course of the week I'd spent secluded inside his room. Despite the games he'd played, the lies he told, the back and forth, those days had been an awakening of sorts, moments crafted by the side of him I'd never known before.

  His hands were working to untangle the ropes binding my wrists. Ignoring the burn of air colliding against flesh rubbed raw, I breathed in the scent of him. "Will you be kind again, Elijah? Sweet, like you used to be?"

  The tick of his jaw drew my gaze, the sharp line of his cheekbones pushing out until shadows fell across his smooth skin. "I've never been sweet." Blue eyes finding mine, heat rolled behind them. "You should drink your tea and stop telling stories. It bothers me that you believe them."

  He hadn't lifted a finger toward me and still I felt slapped. "What stories?" I asked, the covers rustling beneath me as I pushed into a sitting position.

  Pulling the teacup from its saucer, he handed it to me. I wrapped my fingers around the warm ceramic, enjoying the warmth of it against my palms. Heat always helped the blood flow again, and my fingers were numb from having remained bound to the bed.

  "The one you told me last night was interesting." His head canted to the side just slightly. "Or do you not remember what you said?"

  I'd spent the majority of the day trying to remember something from last night. Like a hummingbird hovering over the open mouth of a flower, the recognition that an important moment had happened - a truth had been revealed - stayed just out of reach.

  He tipped the rim of the cup to my lips, his eyes commanding me to drink before I could answer. Each time we stopped talking, the silence would settle between us as an unsettling white noise. I became lost in it, dragged back to the same abyss of being blindfolded and bound. It's lonely living a life like mine since marrying Elijah, but even more so when your senses are stripped away. That's what the white noise does to you. It fills yours ears with a constant vibration, seducing your mind into compliance. You drift from the world that exists around you and find yourself stuck in place. I needed something to pull me back, so I slurped from the cup just for the sound.

  "Drink deeper," he demanded, voice gritty and curt.

  I did, the sound of my throat working the liquid down replacing the slurping and white noise. Shoving my tongue against my lips to stop the flow of tea, I took a quick breath through my nose. His gaze darted up, eyes narrowing. "Drink."

  I can't breathe, I thought, unable to speak without dribbling tea down my chin. My head spun from the lack of oxygen, but still I drank, only because he wanted it.

  The last drop fell past my lips and Elijah pulled the cup away to place it on the saucer. Light clatter overcame the white noise that kept creeping back no matter what.

  A sense of weightlessness overcame me. Not heavy and imposing but just a hint of the ether I fought against all day. Why now when I was no longer bound and blind?

  "What do you remember, Eve? Of last night?"

  He was always asking me questions. Always. Even without answering mine, he tosses another my way, somehow digging deeper inside me without concern that I'd become hollow because he'd stolen all there was to know. He couldn't get to that one hidden place I'd managed to protect, the one so guarded not even I could penetrate its walls.

  "Nothing."

  "Nothing?" He repeated as a question. Always questions.

  Something was hidden in that place, but I was never strong enough to reach it.

  My throat swelled suddenly, my tongue overfilling my mouth. The room spun and tossed, my stomach quivering with the need to heave. Parting my lips, I struggled to make it stop, drawing in wisps of air in the hopes they'd clear the clouds of confusion. "Nothing," I managed to answer, unsure if the word made sense to his ears.

  "I don't feel so good." I may have spoken the words aloud, but I wasn't entirely sure. Three of Elijah stared back, four then two. Shaking my head, I blinked several times to find one of him smirking at me.

  "You're sick again, my love. Sick like you were in the cabin after we married. It took me days to relieve you of your demons."

  Even my memory of those days was blurry. Unable to sleep when I should, so damn tired when I walked beneath sunlight, I only came alive when he worked to free me of my sins. I didn't remember ever sleeping, and eating was impossible with how badly my stomach always hurt. I should have known when I saw the teacup, should have realized the demons had returned. I could only hold down the tea he’d given me in the week we'd spent in the cabin.

  "Again?"

  He'd worked so hard. I remembered that much. Sweat would drip from his skin and his lips would pull into an unforgiving line. His eyes would go wide, anger and fierce resolve beaming behind the silver-blue. He chased the diseased spirit from my body, only proclaiming me saved when all I knew was him. Then I'd run off. That must have been when the demon found me again.

  Smoothing his palm over my forehead, he smiled. Sure that it was beautiful as always, I couldn't tell with how blurry his image had become. "I don't know when Satan corrupted you again, but I'll rid you of him. Starting tonight, we'll begin again. And this time, I'll have the backing of the family to watch me. Now that they know we're married."

  JACOB

  I was invisible where I stood. Surrounded by the city, people milling around me, they made wide circles to remain out of my sphere. My boots were planted to the newly powerwashed sidewalk, my eyes glaring up at the intricate carvings on wood doors that were polished to a gleaming shine. Six broad steps rose up before me, a silver handrail running up their middle promising safety and a helping hand to the unsteady who climbed. I didn't need that damn rail, didn't care whether the doors were polished or rough, because, inside, the parish would still be ugly.

  Not ugly in sight, but ugly in spirit. No. I knew the treasures that awaited the weary inside. I knew the serenity of the stained glass, the flicker of candles. The artwork that stole the breath from the lungs of the faithful. Every damn image would be more depressing than the next as we were blamed for the pain of our Savior.

  Even though I was standing there as people moved around, in front, in back, to my sides, I was really falling down a long, black tunnel leading me closer and closer to the truth of my life.

  The serpent had always been so sneaky.

  It spoke to me within shadow, slithering back just enough to let me think I could be saved. And here again, it waited patiently for me to go inside, walk between the pews, find a seat and stare at the symbols of a God who had never listened. I knew while I sat there and regretted each action, each thought, each hidden desire that was another lash of the whip across Christ's body, evil would sit beside me and laugh.

  Only this time, I had a different mission. I wasn't running to God for salvation, I was running to him for revenge. The serpent was welcome to tag along, welcome to coil himself languorously around me.

  I moved forwar
d, and like a school of fish parting for a shark, the people around me changed their paths to avoid being anywhere near me. The mindless sheep going about their day knowing better than to approach a man doomed to the fires of Hell.

  Taking the steps two at a time, my hand wrapped around the large handle of the door, my forearm clenching and releasing as I turned it. The well-oiled hinges gave no indication I was walking inside, the serenity and silence finding me instantly. A faint scent of incense lingered in the air, the flicker of candles just barely noticeable in the distance. I walked forward until I was standing at another doorway, my eyes wide and staring at the large open space before me.

  One man sat in a pew to my left, his head bowed and shoulders hunched. I watched him for several seconds, followed his movement as he swung a hand down to lower the kneeling bench, lowering his body as he held his posture in silent prayer. Pitying him for his ignorance, for the desolation he would feel when he realized the being to which he prayed didn't care, I stepped farther inside to see if any other person existed in the room.

  Just one. The priest. Father Timothy Simmons from what the plaque said near the front doors. The name wasn't familiar to me.

  Cutting a hard right, I weaved between the pews until I was close to where he stood. Watching him light certain candles and blow out others, I knew he was lighting new prayers and extinguishing old ones. The practice wasn't maintained in every modern day parish, but some still held to the older ways.

  Clearing my throat, I drew his attention in my direction. His eyes widened almost instantly. "Are you Jacob or Jericho?" he asked. I may not have known him, but he certainly recognized me.

  "Jacob. How did you-?"

  "You bear a striking resemblance to your father," he answered before I could even finish the question. "Have you left your own parish to come visit mine?"

  "I'm not a priest anymore."

  His brows pulled together. "Let's sit and talk. I happen to know you're a long way from home."