by Chuck Buda
“I don’t deserve you, Sarah. The Lord blesses me with wonderful people like you and Carson. And James. Yet, I feel I have thrown it all away.”
Sarah turned Preacher to face her. “It was a mistake. You have said yourself, we are all sinners. The Lord knows you didn’t mean it.”
Preacher placed his forehead against Sarah’s. He felt the Dark One stirring. It urged him for nourishment. Preacher ignored the desires.
“I’m sorry. We’re all so busy getting prepared. Tonight is going to take a lot out of us. I must get back to work.” He began to head back into the ministry. Preacher called over his shoulder. “I’ll need your help tonight, Sarah.”
“I’m here. Just tell me what you need me to do.”
Preacher ran back to Sarah. He hugged her close and felt her return the embrace.
“Thank you. I will need all the help I can get.”
Preacher left Sarah to the laundry. He closed his bedroom door. As soon as it clicked shut, the crucifix upon the wall turned upside down. There was no spinning this time. The Dark One’s power dropped Preacher to his knees. Flames danced across his head and neck. They coursed down his back. The smell of burning flesh filled his nostrils and he fought the urge to run screaming out of the room. The torrent of anguish consumed him to the point of immobility.
He lifted his eyes to the cross. The Dark One cackled inside his head.
Time is short. You will feed me soon or you will suffer for eternity.
Preacher tried to scream back in his mind. He told the Dark One he would be appeased shortly. He reminded the Dark One that he was wasting time dealing with the demands and recovering from the punishments. The Dark One must have agreed with him because no sooner had he thought it, then the fire disappeared.
Preacher choked and gasped. He scoured his hands for burn marks. His hands felt along his face and scalp for injuries. He found nothing.
The crucifix swung back and a distant laughter filled his eardrums.
Preacher couldn’t wait to rid himself of the unholy burden. He was tired of serving the evil force, having done its bidding for years. He hoped the mass feeding tonight would satisfy the Dark One so it could leave him be. It will have immense power and his earth-bound body would no longer be needed.
Preacher knew it was wishful thinking. The deal he made would never end. Even after he died, the Dark One would possess his soul in the depths of hell.
Forever.
Chapter 40
The blood was sticky and coagulated. Preacher tried to jam the tip of his tongue into the vial but found little success. He had plenty of vials. He just couldn’t stand to throw one out, even if the blood was no longer fresh. The heat may have gotten to it faster than he had anticipated. Preacher tossed the vial on the floor and kicked it under his bed.
He grabbed another vial, popped the cap and sucked the juice down. He shook the vial over his upturned mouth to ensure he got every last drop. The fresh liquid coursed through his veins after warming his throat on the way down. As he reached for another vial, Preacher hesitated. His fingers hovered above the holy book inside his night stand. He stared at the worn cover for several moments before picking it up. The book always felt far heavier than it appeared. Its heft bore the weight of the world, a world of evil and hatred.
Preacher opened the book to a well-worn page. His fingertip traced the passages. Not the ones written by the true disciples. The passages scrawled in the margins and between the printed words. These dark scriptures foretold the true end of days, of cataclysm brought forth by Satan and his horde of denizens. Reading the special markings elicited feverish images of damnation and suffering. A world turned on its head. It gave him chills and soothed his restless mind simultaneously.
He grasped a new vial of blood, popping the cap with the thumb on the same hand. Lifting the holy book to the ceiling, he chanted the words which the Dark One taught him. Gibberish to mere mortal ears. Fiery sermon to the educated demon-child. As blood from the vial sprinkled into the fold of the pages, the paper absorbed the life juice, removing visible signs of staining.
The Dark One celebrated with Preacher. It praised his dedication and acknowledged his sacrifice and long service. The Dark One took over the evil rights, whispering the commands of ancient horrors in his ear. Preacher bowed several times to the upside down crucifix. It melted and dripped down the wall as if it had been made of bees wax. The sacred wood liquefied and flowed to the floor.
He replaced the holy scriptures to his night stand, gathering all the vials and bringing them to his wash basin. Preacher emptied each vial into the basin, repeating the prayers of the Dark One as he did so. His mind focused on the vision of the people gathered in the chapel. It was standing room only, garbed in black and somber in silence. Downturned heads communicated in unison with God above, unknowingly creating a vortex of power within the small space. Preacher saw the path to harnessing the power, drawing in the souls of all in attendance as they unwittingly sacrificed their lives to something hidden away and bathed in blackness.
The basin was filled with the blood. Chunks of clumped platelets floated along the top layer. Preacher removed his shirt and raised a dagger which he had stored away for such an occasion. He blessed the dagger, begging for it to make swift work of his veins. Preacher carved pentagrams around his nipples. Blood streaked from his chest to his belly. The cuts were painless and he was grateful.
The symbols etched in his skin began the process. He held the dagger above his wrist. The veins under the skin throbbed, awakened at the chance to breath. He dragged the blade across the fiber of skin, separating it as it glided smoothly. Blood, deep crimson in color, poured forth from Preacher’s wrist into the basin. He giggled as it filled the tub to the top. Satisfied he had drained enough, Preacher placed his outstretched arm over the burning candle on the dresser. The flame sealed the wound, leaving the flesh raw and red to match the hair on his scalp.
He struggled to lift the basin to his chest. It was heavy, mostly with his own warm blood. He grinned and whispered the final dedication to the Dark One. Then he drank from the lip of the basin. Until it was empty.
Preacher rested the basin on the stand and wiped away the tiniest of drips from his mouth. He knew not a drop could be wasted so he had taken it all in carefully. The strength he felt was more powerful than hundreds of horses pulling an entire train of wagons. His arms hardened like iron filled his muscles. Cords stood out on his neck and his forehead as the blessed elixir found every corner of his body. His eyes turned glassy black, reflecting the flickering candlelight.
The Dark One was pleased. Preacher felt the respect within his chest. The Dark One had secretly believed he could not go through with the ritual. Preacher had proved it wrong. He cursed the Dark One now that the tables had tilted in his favor. The Dark One remained silent, afraid to upset the delicate balance of the evening.
Preacher lifted his hand up and willed the flames to take hold. His hand sparked and fire rose from his palm, controlled and strong. This time, there was no pain from the flames. He had all the control, not the Dark One. And it felt good. He made the fire dance and change course between different fingers. The power was fully harnessed in his touch. Preacher knew this night would be a fantastic display of pure darkness. It was all his to play with.
He laughed and bounced fireballs back and forth between his hands. It reminded him of a time in his childhood when he had watched a traveling group of entertainers who visited his town. One woman juggled stones in the air. He wondered if she could have done the same with the flames.
Preacher blew out the fire in his palm. Not a burn visible to the eye. He turned his hand over and over, inspecting the pristine flesh. He noticed his skin looked cleaner and healthier than ever before.
He pulled his shirt on and buttoned it up. The symbols on his chest were dry. There was no fear of blood soaking through his garments, revealing his self-mutilation. It was time to put the finishing touches on the evening. The final piec
es would fall into place. And Preacher would do what he had been born to do.
He salivated at the chance to suck the soul from James. His impatience gnawed at him. He wanted to feel James wither and die.
Preacher grinned with excitement.
Chapter 41
“You were out of line, James.”
James gaped at his mother. He found it amazing she continued to defend Preacher in light of all the factors surrounding Eleanor’s death.
“How can you take his side?”
Sarah sighed, sitting down on the cot in front of James. “I’m not taking sides, sweetie. But you did attack him out of the blue. Did I raise you to run around hitting people whenever you wanted?”
“No.” James pouted. “I know he did it. I just know it.”
“And what proof do you have, James? Huh? He was sick in bed when they found her body. He was here in the church all day when she disappeared. There’s no concrete evidence Preacher had anything to do with Eleanor. So why do you keep pushing it?” Sarah stood and began pacing between the beds.
“Didn’t you hear him? He threatened to add my blood to his collection. Why would he say such a thing if the blood he kept belonged to holy men? I’m not a holy man.” James followed Sarah around the room.
“Those were words in the heat of the moment. He wouldn’t add your blood to his...morbid collection.”
“Heat of the moment? How about him hinting at me meeting up with Eleanor in the afterlife? Another threat of killing me and you won’t admit it.” James threw his hat across the room.
Carson rubbed the edges of his deck of cards. James knew his little friend was scared and uncomfortable with their fighting. James took a deep breath to calm himself. Sarah stood opposite him with her arms folded across her chest. Her expression remained unapologetic.
“Preacher is a decent man. He was wrong to strike you. He was wrong to throw Carson and me down. But he WAS just defending himself against your vicious attack.”
James bit the inside of his cheek. His anger was consuming his ability to control his emotions. Several visions of him shaking his mother by the shoulders danced before his eyes. He was exasperated about getting through to her. Preacher was dangerous. He knew the man was behind all their problems since their arrival. He didn’t have proof. How do you prove your gut instincts? How can you convince people when you know something to be true within your heart? James struggled with answering his own questions. He felt something was coming. A storm of sorts. He just couldn’t put it into words that people would understand and heed his warning.
“Remember when Carson was scared of Preacher? He said Preacher was on fire. Yet, we all saw him without burns. Not a scratch. How do you explain that?”
Sarah clucked her tongue. “Don’t be silly. You didn’t believe Carson any more than I did. It was simply the imagination of...a child.” Sarah paused as if she almost stated Carson’s condition out loud.
Carson shot up to his feet. He approached Sarah with conviction. “He was on fire and I sawed it. I didn’t make it up.”
James patted Carson’s shoulder. “See, mom? Why would he make up a story like that?”
Sarah looked between Carson and James. “I’m sorry, Carson. I didn’t mean to dismiss your feelings. I just find it hard to believe such a thing could happen. Preacher came to me a few minutes ago and he apologized.”
James glared at his mother in disbelief. “One apology and everything is better?”
“It was more than one apology. He’s sorry for hitting you. And he’s sorry for throwing me and Carson. He said his emotions got the best of him, just like you. At least he apologized for it.”
“I am NOT apologizing to Preacher. He had it coming and I’d do it again.”
Sarah busied herself with straightening up. “Then you’ll find yourself in jail. Marshal Holder isn’t going to allow you boys to keep tearing everything up. I’d think before acting if I were you.”
“What kind of hold does Preacher have on you? How come you only see the bright side of things about him?” James saw his mother blush. She avoided eye contact with him and made sure to keep herself occupied with folding clothes.
“Wait a minute. Is there something going on between you and Preacher?” James grabbed his mother’s arms and pulled her to him. He looked her in the eyes and he felt his heart break. Her gaze revealed her guilt. James was devastated. He could oppose his mother’s views and argue with her all day long. But the thought of his mother with Preacher made him want to vomit.
“How...could you? I...can’t believe it.”
“James. It wasn’t anything we planned. It just...happened.” Sarah’s eyes filled with tears.
James let go of his mother. He ran a hand through his hair and paced across the room. He needed time to think. To absorb this horrific news. He blamed himself for not putting an end to things earlier. James had seen the looks his mother gave Preacher. And he witnessed Preacher’s favoritism toward his mother. But he never thought something would truly come of it. Preacher was a holy man. Wasn’t he supposed to abstain from intimacy? How could he preach to the townsfolk to do the right thing and live by the Holy Bible when he was as much a sinner as them.
“I never meant to hurt you, James. I’m lonely. I needed to feel loved. He cares for us, James. He took us in when we had nowhere to go. Can’t you see that?” She cried, her lips trembled as she spoke.
James held his hands up to stop his mother from explaining any more. He wanted to smash something. Preferably, Preacher’s face. With the memorial service coming shortly, he had to get himself put together again. For Eleanor. As much as he wanted to charge out of the church and never come back, he needed to show respect to Eleanor. He imagined her watching over the memorial. And it was important for him to be in attendance.
“When the ceremony is over, I’m leaving Dodge. And I ain’t coming back. You can do what you want. But you’re not coming with me.” James pointed at his mother. Tears trickled down his cheeks at the thought of walking away from his mother. But he couldn’t stand to look at her anymore.
“Don’t leaved me again, James.” Carson held James’ hand. His face pleaded with James to go along.
“I won’t leave you, buddy.” James sniffled. “You’re coming with me.” He glared at his mother, who shook and cried with her hands over her mouth.
“We’ll go on an adventure.”
Chapter 42
Sarah felt lost. Drained. Her will to live evaporated when James grabbed Carson and stormed out of the ministry.
Her will left before that moment.
When James said the words. The words had cut her deep and left a wound she feared would never mend. Her own flesh and blood wanted to leave her behind. Walk away and forget about her. It felt as if she had been gutted and left to die.
Sarah put some finishing touches on the bows she had tied around the candle stands. The chapel didn’t require more decoration but she couldn’t remain idle with the conversation replaying in her head. It was better to maintain activity to keep her mind away from the words which haunted her.
Part of her hoped the memorial service would last forever. She knew once it ended, James would walk out of her life, taking Carson with him. The thought of living without them was unthinkable. Sarah prepared herself for life without James when he ran off after Crouching Bear and the haunted gunslinger. Yet, somehow the preparation wasn’t enough to counteract the reality of the moment. And had James died on those previous occasions, Sarah figured she could have gotten over the sorrow. Eventually. Having James leave her behind, purposefully, she would never be able to reconcile that pain. It would scar her forever.
She dabbed at the corners of her eyes. The tears welling up blurred her vision. Sarah released the tears, clearing her vision. Only long enough until the fresh tears arose.
Sarah caught her breath in her throat when the door opened. She spun to see James, knowing it could be one of the last times. Instead, Preacher entered the chapel. He sh
ut the door and came to her with his head bowed.
“You have done such a wonderful job with the place. I really appreciate your help.” He smiled at Sarah. His expression faltered when he noticed her crying. “We will get through this difficult time.”
Sarah brushed his hands off her shoulders. “It’s not about Eleanor. It’s James. He knows.”
Preacher became serious. “What does he know?” His words came out measured and suspicious.
“About us.” Sarah wiped her face again. She sniffled and folder her arms to hug herself in consolation. “He knows we were together.”
Sarah thought Preacher looked relieved for a moment. Then he got closer to her. “He was bound to find out sooner or later. We would have made it official soon anyway.”
“Made what official? You would have left the church and married me?”
Preacher smiled. “Not exactly. But we would have been open with our feelings towards one another.”
“It was wrong. We shouldn’t have done what we did. Now I’m losing my son. Sons.” Sarah quickly corrected herself. She turned her back on Preacher hoping he hadn’t caught her slip-up. She chided herself for being a terrible person. The lies, the betrayal, sleeping with a holy man. She was surprised she wasn’t sent straight to hell where she stood.
“Sarah, expressing feelings is never wrong. It is in truth that we commune with the Lord. He knows we sin, but he expects us to be truthful.”
“Have you told me the truth all along, Preacher? Am I wrong for trusting you when my own family wants to run away from you?” She searched Preacher’s eyes for a hint of deception. She had to know if Preacher was who he said he was before she lost everything she held dear.
“I wouldn’t lie to you, Sarah. Have I not explained everything to you? My past? The blood? Did I not confess my regrets with how I treated you all earlier?” He caressed her face. The touch sent shivers down her spine. She enjoyed his touch.
