Church.

by Stylo Fantome

  16

  Church had gone to spy on Elizabeth after leaving Emma, just like she'd guessed.

  He couldn't figure it out. How could he share DNA with this person? Elizabeth Renny was like a dish rag. Barely a personality to speak of, not very smart, timid. Boring. Nothing special.

  He still didn't care about her. Much like Emma, Elizabeth was just a tool. A way to get back at his mother. His mom had created Church, she'd molded him into this monster, and then she'd abandoned him. She deserved to die, but he felt death at his hands was too good for her. No, she deserved worse.

  Once he'd discovered Elizabeth's existence, Church's entire world had virtually stopped. Most of the time, he didn't think about his mother. She'd left, she was gone, she didn't matter. But the discovery that she'd had another child, and she'd chosen that child over him, it had been too much to handle. No one was better than him.

  Enter obsession. He learned everything he could about both of them, and as he did, the plan had begun to take shape in his mind. Lure Elizabeth away from her mother and end her life, then ship pieces of her back home. Poetry.

  And since she wasn't very bright, Elizabeth had indeed been easy to lure away. A couple well placed messages from a fake email account led her to the community college in his home town. Once he got her communicating with him, it became even easier. Her “scholarships” were entirely funded by him – some well placed and timed investments had given him a very comfortable nest egg, so it was nothing to pay for one semester of community college for her.

  It wasn't like she'd be needing the full year paid for.

  And then Emma. Goddamn Emma, entering from stage left. Exciting him and confusing him and fucking ruining everything. Because if he used her like he'd originally planned, he'd lose her. Even if they never got caught by the police, it would drive her insane, knowing she'd only been used as a tool. She was already highly unstable, she wouldn't be able to handle knowing he'd just used her for his own goals. Before, he hadn't cared.

  Now, he couldn't stand the thought. Above all, even at the cost of giving up on his dream of revenge, he could not lose Emma. Not now that he recognized her as his other half.

  After spying on Elizabeth, he took a drive into St. Louis. Wound his way through the suburbs till he ended up in a less than glamorous neighborhood. It felt odd, parking his rental car at the curb and walking up the driveway. He'd been to this house dozens of times, but had never actually stepped foot on the property. No, normally, he was in the empty lot behind it, staring through binoculars.

  No more of that – it was time to confront his own personal monster. Time to put old grudges to bed. Time to get his life back.

  He knocked on the door.

  There was a long pause and he glanced at his watch. It was dinner time, she was always home for dinner. He frowned and knocked again, almost pounding on the wood. It finally got him a response.

  “I'm coming, good lord!”

  That voice. It actually sent a shiver down his spine and he let his eyes fall closed. He hadn't heard it in so long. He tried to remember the last time.

  “I found this under your bed. What is this drawing, Church?”

  “It's a fire, Mother.”

  “What's supposed to be burning in it?”

  “Our house.”

  “Our house? Why on earth would you draw our house on fire?”

  “Because I think flames are pretty, and they destroy everything.”

  “Is that what you want? You want to destroy everything?”

  “No, Mother. Just you.”

  “That's it. Get my belt, Church.”

  By the time the front door opened, he'd collected himself. He schooled his features back into their normal expression of boredom.

  “Can I help ... you ...” his mother's voice started to drift off as she looked up at him.

  “Hello,” he said simply. Her hand raised to her mouth.

  “Oh my god ... Paul,” she gasped. He smirked, then stepped over the threshold, pushing her out of of the way.

  “Please, no one uses that name for me,” he said, walking past her. It felt strange to be in her living room, after all those weeks of staring at it from across the road. “Just say Church.”

  “People still call you that?” she asked, slowly shutting the door.

  “Why wouldn't they? It's all you ever called me,” he reminded her.

  Her furniture was cheap, second-hand. She was in desperate need of new carpeting, as well as fresh paint for the walls. Things he could easily take care of for her, if he were her doting son. He turned to fully face her.

  “How did you find me?” she asked. She still seemed shocked by his presence, like she'd thought he was dead, or like maybe he'd never existed in the first place.

  “As you may recall, I'm kind of smart. It wasn't hard to track you down.”

  She frowned, then shook her head and gestured to her couch.

  “You can sit down, if you want. Would you like a drink?”

  “No, I won't be staying long.”

  “Oh. So, uh, why are you here, Church? Now? After all this time?” she asked, nervously fiddling with a strand of pearls she was wearing.

  This was the woman from his nightmares? This was the monster hiding in his closet? In his memories, his mother was a huge woman, always towering over him, her hand always raised, ready to strike. Like an avenging angel, or a demon sent from hell, she'd terrified him.

  Now, though, he was realizing she wasn't very big at all. She bore a striking resemblance to her daughter, average height, slender, long limbed, petite bone structure. He could snap her like a toothpick. Just pick her up and squeeze.

  I've been haunted by her my entire life, and she's barely more than a shadow.

  He'd never really articulated his thoughts so well on the matter before; Church was angry at his mother, so he'd wanted to get back at her. For the years of abuse, and worse, for abandoning him. For treating him like he was nothing.

  It was more than that, though – he'd been scared of her. His whole life, he'd been battling her in his mind. It was almost humbling to admit it, that she'd held so much power over him. He'd taken great pride in being self sufficient, in having control over himself. Really, though, he'd had very little control. His fear and anger had warped and twisted into petty revenge. For years now, he'd been fueling himself on that need for revenge. He'd lied to everyone he'd ever met, he'd left school, he'd been willing to destroy multiple lives – even potentially his own, all in the name of that revenge.

  Pathetic, really, when he thought about it. Especially after looking at the ghost of a woman standing in front of him.

  Fear is the most powerful thing in the world, and I gave so much of it to this woman. To someone so undeserving. No more. Time to practice what I preach.

  “I'm here to talk about your daughter.”

  Sheer terror washed over her face, then she hardened it. Glared up at him. Some of the old fire seemed to come back into her eyes, and he saw a little of what he'd seen as a boy. But only a little.

  “How do you know about her?” she hissed.

  “Public records,” he waved his hand through the air. “I can't believe you let her go to school back home.”

  “Believe me, I tried to talk her out of it, but she's twenty, she can do what she wants. After I made sure you weren't living there anymore, I let her go. Clearly that was a mistake,” she said. “Look, if it's revenge you're after, I understand. I wasn't ... I was a horrible mother to you. I didn't know how to deal with a special needs child. I was too young, too stupid. I thought I ... I thought maybe ...”

  “You thought you could beat it out of me,” he finished her statement for her. She winced.

  “I don't know. Maybe. It wasn't right, and it wasn't working. You scared me. So we ... I left. I'm sorry. But don't take it out on Elizabeth. She didn't ask to be born.”

  “Neither did I, yet here we are.”

  “Are you going to hurt her?” his mother asked
. He smirked again.

  “I haven't quite decided yet.”

  “I swear to god, if you touch one -”

  Her words ended in a squeak as he wrapped his hand around her throat. He gripped hard and pulled up, forcing her onto her toes.

  “You swear to who?” he hissed. “And what exactly would you do to me? What could you do to me? I could kill you right now, and there's nothing you could do to stop it.”

  Panic filled his mother's eyes and she slapped at him, hitting his arms and his chest. He didn't budge, just increased the pressure on her throat.

  It was just as amazing as he'd always imagined. The fear in her eyes as she stared at him. She couldn't speak, but her lips were moving. Please. She was saying it, over and over again. Begging him. All thoughts about his upbringing or her daughter were now gone. Her sole focus was him.

  It would be so easy to end it. I kill her now, Elizabeth gets to live.

  He frowned and loosened his grip. No. It would destroy Emma. He'd built her entire mindset around this one act, around him. If he experienced it without her, it would almost be like cheating on her.

  “Please,” his mother finally got enough air in her lungs to speak. “Please don't do this. I'm sorry, Church. I'm sorry for everything.”

  He snarled and let her go. She fell to her knees, gasping and choking on air.

  “You're not sorry for any of it, you're just sorry I found you,” he called her out. “I came here tonight to tell you that you don't scare me anymore. I won't allow you to have that kind of power over me.”

  “I never ... never wanted ... to scare ...” she stammered. Before she could finish, he ground the heel of his foot into the back of her hand.

  “But don't fucking push me. You convinced me I couldn't be normal without regular beatings, and then you fucking left me. Do you know what that did to me? You're lucky your daughter's not on a fucking pike outside. You meant to scare me, and you did it often. I may be a monster, mother dearest, but if I am, it's because I learned it from you.”

  She shrieked when he finally lifted his heel off her hand. She sobbed and fell back against a wall.

  “I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. Please, don't hurt me. Please, don't hurt my daughter. Please,” she cried. Over and over again, she said that word he usually loved – please. He rolled his eyes and headed for the door.

  “Begging isn't nearly as fun when there isn't a life on the line.”

  AROUND THE SAME TIME Emma was setting off from Jerry's house, nursing a wounded heart, Church was just getting back into town, and his heart was feeling pretty good.

  Even when absent, his mother had been dictating his life for him. She'd told him he was a monster, so he'd believed her. Then he'd been angry at her, so he'd wanted to punish her. Wanted to take a life because of her.

  Power. His constant quest for power, and this whole time, his mother had wielded it over him. He'd let her. Realizing that was almost embarrassing. Well, no more. He'd freed himself.

  Church was feeling so good when he finally pulled up to the house, he almost skipped up the walk to the door. He glanced at his watch and for the first time realized how late it was. Shit, Emma was going to be pissed.

  Still, it was for the best. He was going to call everything off, then he was going to confess everything to her. His plans to use her, using murder to get back at his mother, all of it. She would be upset, for sure. He'd lied to her. A lot. Trust would be an issue for a while. She'd only ever known ugliness in her life, and so far, he'd only contributed to it.

  But he was going to change that. He believed in her love for him, and bizarrely enough, he was beginning to believe he could really love her back. Out loud, in real life, with actual words.

  Once that was out of the way, they could work on figuring out what they wanted to be together. Exactly what kind of monster they'd like to turn into.

  When Church walked into the house, Jerry was asleep in his recliner. He came to with a snort, dropping a magazine to the floor.

  “Hey there, son. What've you been up to?” he asked through a yawn.

  “I went to see my mother.”

  Jerry's eyebrows raised, but that was the only reaction he gave.

  “That must've been an interesting conversation.”

  “Not really. She's not nearly as intimidating in real life as she was in my memories.”

  “I'll let you in on a little secret, Church – no one ever is,” Jerry chuckled.

  Church was almost to his room before he realized his father had called him by his nickname. Jerry never did that, he always called him Paul. Always. It made him pause and glance over his shoulder.

  Maybe there's more to Jerry than I thought ... maybe he is my real father.

  “Emma,” he barked out as he turned the corner into his room. “I have to tell -”

  He stopped talking as he looked over the space. It looked like a cyclone had hit his bedroom. He was somewhat obsessive-compulsive, he kept everything neat and tidy, so it was a bit jarring to see it so messy.

  Drawers had been completely yanked out of his dresser. The mattress had been pulled off the box spring and left to sit at an awkward angle against the floor. There were books and papers everywhere, covering every inch of the floor. Clothing had been yanked out of the closet. His work case had been overturned and emptied.

  Yet it didn't seem like simple, mindless destruction to him. If she'd wanted to destroy his shit, she would've just thrown things around. Slashed the mattress, put holes in the walls. Yet there was nothing like that, it was more like things had simply been flipped over and yanked around.

  She was looking for something. Ah, clever girl. I never give her enough credit.

  Church sunk down into a crouch and picked up his copy of The Fountainhead. He was almost halfway through with reading it. When he shook it, though, there was no sign of his makeshift bookmark. He sighed and dropped the book.

  “Oh, Emma. One step ahead of me.”

  Which could also mean ...

  Church hurried back into the living room, yanking his car keys out of his pants as he moved.

  “Where did she go?” he snapped. Jerry had fallen back asleep.

  “Huh? What?” he grumbled, slowly coming awake.

  “Emma. Where is she, did she talk to you?” he demanded.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Jerry yawned. “She, uh, I think she had to go to a party.”

  “Okay, good, thank you,” Church grumbled, and he yanked open the door. He barely made it one step before Jerry started speaking again.

  “And she asked me about your mother.”

  The drive to the party took forever, even though he broke every speed limit.

  She couldn't have done it without me. She wouldn't have. Maybe she was going to tell Lizzie about me. Please let that be all she did.

  He wished he'd asked Jerry when she'd left. She'd most likely walked, and it would've taken her about an hour to get from the house to the party. She'd probably gone through his stuff because she'd gotten tired of waiting, which meant she'd left the house late. Would he see her walking along the road? He turned on his high beams.

  He didn't see her anywhere. She'd either been picked up by someone, or had gotten enough of a head start on him. He pulled up in front of the party house, parking haphazardly on the lawn. Then he hurried out of his car and into the building.

  “Chuuuuuurch,” some guy near the door bellowed. “Glad you could make it, man!”

  He frowned and shoved past him. Emma was a drinker. She'd probably be an alcoholic if she weren't so broke. So he went straight for the booze station in the kitchen. There was no Emma, but Stacey was in there, mixing up shots.

  “Hey, you are here! I was surprised when you didn't come in with Emma at first,” she said.

  In his own weird way, Church had always liked Stacey. She always talked to him like he was normal. Like it was no big deal that he didn't respond.

  So he hoped she would continue acting that way.

  “Where
is she?” he asked.

  Everyone in the kitchen completely froze. Stacey's jaw was hanging open, and he belatedly realized she'd probably never heard his voice before – growing up, they hadn't shared any classes where she might have overheard him talking to a teacher, and that would've been her only opportunity.

  “Holy shit, he speaks!” someone gasped. He glared around the room.

  “Stacey,” he growled, and she shut her mouth. “Where is Emma?”

  “Uh, she, uh ...” she stuttered for a moment. “She just got here a minute or two ago, she went to check on of Lizzie, in one of the bedrooms. Is, uh, everything okay?”

  He didn't bother responding, just immediately cut through the living room and made his way towards a long hall.

  The first door he tried led to a bathroom full of people smoking joints. The second door was a bedroom, which contained a couple having some very vigorous sex.

  When he got to the third and final door, he thought it was more of the same. A woman riding some guy, her hands on his chest. He almost shut the door. But something stopped him, and he took a step closer. It wasn't a guy on the bed, it was another girl. And the girl on top didn't have her hands on his chest – she was holding them against a pillow. A pillow that was over the other girl's face.

  “Christ,” he grumbled, and he slammed the bedroom door shut behind him. “Emma, stop.”

  She didn't seem to hear him, though. She was struggling with her task, fighting to keep the pillow over Lizzie while she bucked and moved, fighting for oxygen. He hurried up to their side.

  “Did you hear me? I said stop, this is over, we're not doing anything,” he stated. She didn't even look at him.

  “I can do this,” she whispered. “I can be anything you want. I can do anything you want.”

  She sounded ... strange. Like her voice was coming from far away. Like her mind was somewhere else entirely. He grabbed her arm and yanked her upright.

  “Then do what I say right now and fucking stop it!” he yelled. She shrieked and pulled at his grip.

  “No! It doesn't matter anyway, right?” she shouted right back at him. “You're leaving me anyway! So this is my parting gift to you!”