“Does that make you nervous?”
I pressed my lips together. “Yes and no. I mean, it would have in the past. But honestly, I don’t know how I’d react if he finally got his way.”
“We don’t react, Caspar. We respond. And the proper response is always what?”
“Just do the next right thing next,” I said, finishing Rusty’s thought. He smiled at me.
I grabbed my designated mug. I had my own, mostly because I didn’t like using Styrofoam. I filled it with coffee. AA coffee isn’t the best coffee in the world. Head across town to a place called Kaldi’s if you want good coffee. But bad coffee made for a good meeting. As long as it didn’t have any grounds floating in it, I was good.
A man named Dennis took a seat at the head of the table. We all joined in the Serenity Prayer, read through the “how it works” section of the Big Book, had a short reading from the Daily Reflections, and took our turns sharing.
I’ve always struggled with listening. I usually catch myself thinking about what I’m going to say next when I should be listening to other people speak, and today wasn’t all that different. I didn’t know what I would say. What could I say?
I didn’t have control. I could admit that. I could accept that, and saying it out loud might make it true. Then I’d do what Rusty said. I’d do the only thing I could do. I’d do the next right thing next.
Chapter Eight
I checked my phone. Chiefs were winning by three scores in the middle of the third quarter. I’d catch the highlights later.
I felt better. The craving, as predicted, had gone away.
If I hurried, I could hope to catch the fourth quarter.
I grabbed my Big Book off the passenger seat and made my way up to my apartment.
Standing outside of my door, looking as smug as ever, was Bishop Flacius.
“Matthias,” I said, nodding. “What brings you here? Stop by to watch the fourth quarter with me?”
His face remained stoic. “I’m here, Caspar, to talk to you about what happened at your church today.”
I shrugged. “What about it?”
I wasn’t dumb. I knew what he wanted to talk about. I mean, had it been any other week, he might have critiqued the angle at which I held my arms during the Lord’s Prayer, or a minor point in the sermon, or any other number of minor things that I didn’t do precisely by the book. But this week, he wanted to talk about what everyone—everyone other than the bishop and me—believed was a miracle.
“We are not, strictly speaking, cessationists, Caspar.”
I nodded. Cessationists, I’d learned in seminary, were those who believed that all miracles had died out with the end of the age of the original apostles. Technically, we believed that God could do whatever he wanted, which meant that if He saw fit, he could inspire miracles again if the situation warranted it. “But you question whether what I did was a genuine miracle?”
The bishop nodded.
I gestured inside. “Would you like to come inside so we can talk about it?”
“I’m fine out here, Caspar.”
“I’d rather not talk about it out here.”
“I’m not here to discuss the matter with you.”
I shrugged. “Then why are you here?”
“We aren’t cessationists, but we also aren’t charismatics. We believe that genuine miracles are exceedingly rare. And given your history, we find it quite unlikely that God would choose you to perform them.”
I shook my head. “Because of my divorce?”
The bishop nodded and glanced toward the Big Book I was holding. “And because of your other habits.”
I scratched my head. “You know, this habit, this program saved my life.”
“And because they allow you to worship other gods, it may have damned your soul, Caspar.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m not going to debate this with you. Not now. So just spit it out. Why are you here?”
“The council convened an emergency meeting this afternoon.”
I nodded. “I saw the cars.”
“And we’ve decided to suspend you from your post indefinitely.”
“Indefinitely?” I asked.
“Until we can conduct a thorough investigation of the incident that occurred today.”
I shook my head. “If it helps, I don’t think it was a miracle either.”
“If it wasn’t of God, Caspar, it was of the devil!”
I bit my lip. “That wasn’t what I meant.”
“You as much as admitted that you performed that healing by the power of Satan!”
I sighed. “So, I’m suspended. With pay, at least?”
“Without pay. Holy Cross will have to pay the salary of the vacancy preacher.”
I clutched my Big Book tightly. “And I take it that conducting this investigation is not a priority?”
“It’s certainly a priority!” the bishop said. “We must see to it that the souls of Holy Cross are not led astray. When wolves encroach on the pasture…”
“And you’re convinced I’m a wolf?”
“Until the investigation has been completed.”
“Whatever, Matthias. I don’t have time for this shit.”
The bishop’s jaw dropped halfway to the floor. I don’t think he could believe I s-bombed him. But he was suspending me, and I didn’t believe for a second he’d find a reason to clear me of whatever devilish stuff he was convinced I must be up to.
“I’ll pray for you, Caspar.”
I rolled my eyes. “You do that, Bishop. I’ll do the same for you.”
I unlocked my door, stepped inside my apartment, and slammed the door in his face.
After a brief pause, I heard the bishop walk down the hall.
I tossed my Big Book on the couch, grabbed the remote, and turned on the television.
Agnus leaped into my lap.
I scratched him behind the ears as he purred.
“Well, buddy, sounds like we’re going to have to find a new way to earn money.”
Agnus looked at me, cocked his head, and meowed.
I laughed. “You know, sometimes it seems like you understand me.”
Agnus huffed and nuzzled his forehead into my hand. From what I understood, cats had special glands in their heads that marked you as their property when they headbutted you that way. Better than the way dogs marked their property, at least.
I redirected my attention to the television. We were now up by four scores. Go, Chiefs.
Because our quarterback was on a half-billion-dollar contract, I casually wondered if he might care to offer a little helping hand to a recently blackballed minister.
Yeah, right.
I might like to pretend that I’m part of the team, but I knew better than that.
To think it still hadn’t been twenty-four hours since I’d been stabbed…
I was healed, for Christ’s sake. I had saved Doris’ life, somehow. And here I was, feeling bad for myself for losing my job when all the while, I’d been questioning if I was doing God’s will there anyway.
I could have died. Doris probably would have or would have at least been permanently disabled if all this craziness hadn’t happened. I couldn’t get angry at God. Not because I’d lost my job. God didn’t fire me. My dickhead bishop did.
And if God had called me to the ministry to begin with, if he was somehow involved in all that had happened, I had to believe he’d see me through this. I had enough money in savings for one month’s worth of rent and bills.
I took a deep breath. Do the next right thing.
Chapter Nine
Does a person need both a PlayStation and an Xbox? I mean, really? I could play Madden on either one. Other than that, World of Warcraft was a computer thing. If I sold one system and all its games, the way I figured it, that would probably come close to another rent payment.
And books, I had too many fucking books, mostly accumulated at the seminary. I had theology books coming out of my ass. I hardly rea
d any of them anymore. I could probably sell those used on Amazon. Still, there was no way to know how quickly they’d go. There isn’t a huge market for dense, poorly written books on theology. However, many ministers treated their libraries like some kind of status symbol—the larger the library, the better. Sizing up one’s library was to ministers what buying large trucks or sports cars was to most men. Nothing more than a way of compensating for having a small penis. Library envy among the clergy was real. Dumb, but real.
I had most of my books in my study at the church. I’d have to find a time to go clean out my office. But I did have a few at home that I could sell for now.
I found a handy app that made listing them a breeze. If I sold a few of the rarer ones, I could cover my Internet and phone bills. If I lost those, job hunting would be a challenge, to say the least.
No one posts jobs in newspapers anymore.
I didn’t even know how to look for a job, truth be told.
I’d gone to college and from there to seminary. I’d had grants and such to pay for my living expenses then and a fund my parents had saved for me when I was a kid. Then I started at Holy Cross. Here I was, in my mid-thirties, and I hadn’t ever so much as applied for a job.
A résumé. They say you need a résumé.
What could I do? Maybe, with ministry experience, I could work for a non-profit. I could do some good. That was an idea.
I didn’t want to flip burgers.
I was a decent writer. Maybe the local newspaper? Or I could freelance; that was an idea. Then I could be my own boss. I didn’t want a boss. I have authority issues. Obviously.
I needed more to sell.
Agnus meowed as he stepped out of his litter box.
As he did, the sensor triggered its self-cleaning mode.
I shook my head. “Well, Agnus. I think we might need to sell your box.”
He looked at me and cocked his head.
“I think a normal litter box will probably do you just fine, don’t you think?”
Agnus hissed.
I chuckled.
“Sorry buddy, this thing might get us fifty bucks.”
“Sell your shitter, then! Get your paws off my luxury box, bitch!"
I scrunched my brow. What?
“You heard me, Caspar! If I have to walk through my shit to take a piss, then so do you!”
I laughed out loud and sat on the couch. I looked at Agnus, dumbfounded. I looked away again. I took a drink of water from the glass I’d left on the end table.
“I need to get some sleep. I’m hearing things.”
“Don’t pretend you don’t hear me, Caspar! When I speak, you’d better listen.”
I couldn’t believe I was about to do this. I was losing my fucking mind. “Agnus? Did you just talk?”
“Did I talk? Of course I did.”
“How long have you been talking?”
Agnus narrowed his eyes. “I’ve always talked. You finally understand what I’m saying.”
I cocked my head.
“So the old man can learn new tricks, after all.”
“Old man?” I widened my eyes. “I’m only thirty-five.”
“If you were a cat, you’d be like two hundred and forty-five.”
“So you can talk, and you can do math?”
“I know my times tables, dumbass.”
“How the hell did you ever…” I stopped myself mid-sentence. How my cat had learned multiplication was a mystery, for sure. But how he was talking at all was a far more fundamental mystery that needed solving. “It must’ve had something to do with when I was stabbed, the same reason I was able to heal Doris and that mouse at the church.”
“There’s a mouse there? Why you holdin’ out on me, bruh?”
“We aren’t going to the church.”
“I need something better than that Science Diet shit you keep feeding me. C’mon!”
I threw my arms in the air. “Dude, I just gave you a can of tuna. Besides, Science Diet is supposed to be good for you.”
“Broccoli is good for you. I don’t see you eating a steady diet of nothing but broccoli every fucking day.”
“Dude, language. How’d you ever learn that?”
Agnus looked at me with his mouth agape. “You seriously have to ask that question?”
I bit my cheek. If I’d ever had kids, of course, I’d know to watch my mouth. But living alone with a cat in an apartment? I drop something, trip over my crap that I left on the floor. I’ve dropped f-bombs aplenty. “I suppose you have a point.”
“Variety is the spice of life, man. I need something more.”
I nodded. “I can’t afford Science Diet anymore, anyway. I’ll get you Purina next.”
“Oh, hell, no!”
“It’s fine, Agnus.”
“It gives me the runs! And if you’re getting rid of my luxury box…”
I suppose he had a point. The last time I’d experimented with cheaper cat food, he didn’t handle it well. “Fine, I’ll get you some wet food.”
“Better, but no. I want a steak.”
“I’m not making you a steak.”
“Salmon!”
“No.”
“Swedish Fish?”
I cocked my head. “Those aren’t real fish. You get that, right?”
Agnus narrowed his eyes. “They make them look like fish. Like little red anchovies!”
“True,” I admitted. I mean, did they think making candy look like anchovies made them somehow more appetizing? But Swedish Fish are hardly the strangest. I mean, people don’t eat worms and certainly not bears, but if you want gummy candy, chances are that it will come in one of those two forms. “Marketing is weird sometimes. But if you’re going to eat anchovies on the regular, I need to find a way to make some money.”
“Ho yourself out. You’ll make bank.”
I shook my head. “I’m not doing that, Agnus.”
“Come on. I can be your pimp.”
“Not happening.”
“I don’t care what you do. I just want my anchovies.”
“Maybe you can put on a show. People would pay to see a talking cat.”
Agnus shook his head. “I told you already. The magic here isn’t that I can talk. It’s that you can understand me.”
I bit my lip. It was more than a little surreal that I was sitting here having a conversation, if you could call it that, with my cat. However, it was just one of many odd things that had happened to me over the last day and a half.
I mean, I’m no hero. I should have known better than to try to come to the rescue of a damsel in distress in a St. Louis alley. Nine out of ten people would have walked away. Maybe half of them would bother to call the police. But that was how it had started. A knife to the gut, a whole lot of weirdness, and now I was an unemployed former minister who was having a conversation with his cat. Not just talking to my cat—a lot of people did that—but having a verbal exchange.
I still thought the wanna-be elf girl had some diagnosable mental health condition. But I couldn’t deny that I was the one healing people, having glowing eyes, and communicating with animals. Layla might have been a little nuts, but she was the only person who might have an explanation for what was happening. She’d said I was the chosen one.
I chuckled as I recalled my former bishop’s declaration. God doesn’t choose people like you, he’d said. At least she thought I had a purpose.
I wondered if she was still at the motel. She might not have any better answers now than she had before. She’d probably feed me more bullshit about orcs and elves. But at this point, other than the bishop telling me that I was in league with the devil, she was the only one who had an explanation. And if push came to shove, I’d take orcs and elves over Satan any day of the week. I had to admit, the only thing weirder than the stuff Layla had said was all the stuff I’d done since leaving that motel room.
Chapter Ten
“I’m taking you with me, Agnus.”
“Like hell yo
u are!”
“Look, I have to go find this girl who might know what’s wrong with me.”
“Just grab a tube of Preparation H. It works wonders.”
“That’s not the problem I meant.” I scratched my head. “And how did you know I had that going on?”
“Great hearing with ears like these. I’ve heard the grunting.”
I winced. “How do you even know about that sort of thing? You have a cat’s butt.”
Agnus looked at me blankly. “First, cat butts are perfectly fine. Refined. Efficient. We pinch it off, bury our business, and we’re good to go. And second, I’ve seen the commercials.”
I grabbed my keys and slipped my arms into my jacket. “You know what I’m talking about. What’s really wrong with me…”
“Low self-esteem?”
I rolled my eyes. “No, not that.”
“You haven’t gotten laid in years?”
“Dude,” I said. “Until recently, I was a minister. I can’t just sleep with anyone. And I’ve been trying to get over my marriage.”
“For the last five years? Please. I don’t have balls anymore, thanks to you. At least I have a valid excuse.”
“That’s not it!” I said, zipping up my jacket and scooping Agnus up in my arms. “I’m talking about us talking to each other right now. That I healed Doris, and whatever else might be happening.”
Agnus wiggled and hissed. “I’m not going with you!”
I tightened my grip. “I’m bringing you with me because if she sees us talk, maybe she’ll have some kind of explanation.”
“Just tell her! No need to subject me to a car ride!”
I shook my head. “There’s always a chance she’ll think I’m crazy.”
“How many times do I have to tell you? I’ve always talked. The crazy part is that you can hear me now.”
I nodded. “We haven’t exactly tested that theory yet, have we?”
I tossed Agnus into the passenger seat and buckled myself up.
Meeeeeeeerrrrowwwww!
MEEEEEERRROOOW!
“Agnus, just stop. We’re doing this.”
“The car means one thing!” Agnus protested between meows. “The vet! I can't get into the car without my PTSD giving me serious fits!”
Who Let the Dogma Out (The Elven Prophecy Book 1) Page 5
