Deliverance

The church was dimly lit, the early light of the sun crept through the large circular stained-glass window that hung above the main altar. Colors of red, orange and green poured through the glass and flooded the cobblestone floor and pillars. The several small side altars adorned with candelabra made up the bulk of the east wing of the building, while three confessional booths made up the west.

The church doors were open to greet the day and also help to ventilate the building in the hot summer morning. The wind would pick up on occasion and blow through the confines of the building, sending a refreshing cool breeze through the entire church and sometimes causing the candles to flicker and topple over.

Due to the early hour of the morning, 7:30am at best, not many were about. A handful of priests and choir members, whose seemingly angelic voices, filled the building with soft hymns and lullabies. A melody so soft as too barely echo off of the stone walls, but firm enough to send the priest to their duties. They worked vigilantly in silence, tending the building, making it ready for another day of prayer and worship.

While some saw to the several side altars, and the main altar, one priest was assigned to the confessional booths. He was a simple man in appearance, young in years compared to his fellow priests, but his faith was just as deep as any gathered. He possessed soft hazel eyes, which glowed with a light of patience and benevolence rarely found in the world. He possessed the disposition that others could genuinely place their trust in.

Having completed his task, the young priest moved on to the candles that had fallen to the floor pushed by a powerful gust of the morning wind. Because the heat was expected later in the day, the doors would remain open but that only made his task all the more tedious. He never complained though. Tedious was the way of his calling, and he embraced it along with all things that followed.

As he bent over, collecting the scattered candles the wind whipped about him, and blew his already tousled sandy hair further out of place. Something whispered to him, “James…”

The young priest went rigid as the wind slowly died away. Lifting himself from his crouched positions his eyes, no longer serene but filled with much anticipation, surveyed all around him but found nothing out of place. Nothing physically out of place, but there was a dark and foreboding aura in the air. The church itself seemed to become dark in a way, like the sun outside was setting rather than rising. Just as quickly as it had come, it passed and the building before his eyes returned to normal.

Blinking his eyes several times, finding nothing out of place, and the feeling of dread, gone he pushed the incident from his mind, he would dwell on it later in the confines of his room. Now he had to finish his chores. Having pulled himself back together, he finished picking up and replacing the fallen candles, moved back over to the confessional booths. He took his place within the center one.

It was Wednesday, so there would be no morning or afternoon service today, but that never stopped people from coming in to confess their sins. The old seemed especially good at keeping up with routine visits to confess. Some came every day.

As young as James was, he did at times feel as old and weary as a seventy year old. Listening to others’ misfortunes and worries was more tedious and taxing than any physical labor he could otherwise undergo as a priest, but again he never let it show. He would not complain. What troubled him was kept between him and his Lord.

So he sat within the confines of the wooden box with only his thoughts and his bible to comfort him in his solitude. Solitude that seemed too short lived, as he could hear people begin to wander into the church. With a sigh he imagined what they would come to confess today, it always began the same.

“Bless me father for I have sinned…” or “Forgive me father for I have sinned…it has been…” a day, a week, and on those rare occasion as much as a month or two, “…since my last confession.” Their confessions would be no different. They would always be something trivial. There was so much more in the world, they should be worried about, so much more to be feared then a simple sin of lying to one’s father or wife.

Everyday, as he sat in the confines of his wooden prison, he listened and watched. Listened for those words which would make his cause all worthwhile, make him know that his faith was not misplaced, “Forgive me father for I have sinned, it has been 11 years and several lifetimes since my last confession…”

He imagined those words, and the soft feathery voice that would accompany them. He longed for the day they would greet him through the wooden screen and the eyes, one green as emerald the other dark as night, that would stared back into his hazel depths. The day when he would know the truth of what had happened to the young girl he had grown up with and come to love, and how some creature, some monstrosity had come to dawn in her face.

He had chosen to become a priest for two specific reasons. To see his Mariposa, his butterfly, once again and find a way to save her or if nothing more to free her wrongful condemned soul from her hellish prison.

So caught up in his thoughts, James failed to notice the man appear on the opposite end of the wooden screen. The man was dressed in a well-tailored crimson suit with a cream dress shirt. His features were impassive and his hard stared peered through the wooden screen at the priest on the other side.

“Forgive me Father for I will sin.”

James blinked slightly, having been startled out of his trance like state and focused his attention on the man before him. It took all but a few seconds for his brain to process the words that had been spoken. Turning his eyes to stare at the man through the screen, he found himself staring a darker version of…himself. There was an uncanny resemblance between himself and the other man.

Clearing his throat, “Will sin my son?”

A small almost sick smile creased the other mans lips and he gave a short nod, “Yes Father, I will soon sin, for it is time.”

“Time?”

Again his nodded, “Time for your deliverance…” Before James could react or utter a word of protest, he found the wind knock out of his lungs and only managed at best a slight choking noise before his voice chord was crushed by the ivory hand around his neck. The wooden screen now sported a rather large hole, but had strangely made no noise when it was broken.

With one hand choking his throat, James’ own hands automatically went to try and pry the hand from his neck. It was a purely reflexive action, but James knew better. He knew it was futile and slowly allowed his hands to rest on his lap once again as he stared at the man before him. His eyes were serene and at the same time both happy and sad.

Slowly while the man’s hand tightened its grip, James pulled a simple silver band from his left hand and held it up to the screen. The man looked at the ring then back at the priest for a moment before nodding, and reaching with his other hand took the ring.

There was a resounding snap that echoed through the church, causing everyone present to stop in what they were doing. Those closest to the confession booth, knew the sound had originated from there and slowly pulled open the priest’s entrance to the booth. James’ lifeless body fell with a heavy thud to the stoned floor, his head snapped to the side in an awkward position. The expression on his face showed no signs of pain just patience.

There were gasps and screams from the choir members and those who had happened in from the streets. Only a few remembered seeing the second man enter the booth not to long before, and were quick in pulling the second door open. They were greeted by emptiness. The man was gone. In his place he had left 2 pair of rosary beads. One made of what seemed to be flawless ivory and the second of cedar wood, stained ebony.

The man from the booth stood in front of the church steps. He stared down at the ring in his now gloved hand, then back at the church doors.

“Rest well...Father.”

He pocketed the ring and stepped into the back of the Lincoln Navigator that awaited him at the church gates. He looked once more at the church, letting the memories of the deed done fade with the passing wind that ruffled through the trees.

Slipping on a pair of sunglass he turned to the driver, his voice firm, “Go.”

With a single nod, in response the driver pulled the car from the curb and into the sea of traffic.

Building after building sped past the tinted windows. The sun rays bounced off of the reflective surface of the car. The occupants inside sat silent as the grave. The man in the back upright and rigid seemed almost unreal, much like a statue made of marble or ivory. His gaze was transfixed on the small ring in the palm of his hand.

There was nothing special about the ring. To the naked eye, it was nothing more than a simple smooth silver band. Markus however knew better, what went unseen by the normal eye, he could easily detect with his keener senses. He could see the creamy colored aura that was woven into the very molecules of the ring, and he couldn’t help but be impressed by the priest’s spiritual power. It was normal for a priest to transfer part of his faith or rather his spiritual power into objects of worship such as rosary beads or crucifixes. It was usually weak, which was the sole reason he could even step foot into the church. O ye of little faith... as the saying went. It was perfect phrase for regarding those who had been gathered at the church.

But such a thing was not the case with this ring, or James. The ring was enough to tell Markus that James was one of true faith. He had felt it in the confession booth, the burning sensation of his own skin even through the leather gloves. He was surprised that James had not put up some kind of a fight. Had he done so the outcome would have been different, Markus was sure. No, James simply allowed what transpired to happen; he allowed himself to be killed by the very condemned creature he swore his life to destroy. Nothing but a simple and undeniable request was given, though it was not a verbal wish. Markus could see within his eyes what the priest wished, and for the life of him, he couldn’t refuse him.

He almost felt saddened by the deed, had almost lingered too long in silent awe and grief at his sin, but there was no changing the past no matter how immediate it was. No, one had to the strong and quick on his feet to survive the deadly game that had become this life. He couldn’t afford to dwell on such things now; the day and age would not permit it as war was not the place for those too weak to play the game. Those who were ended up exactly like the priest…or worse.

The car ride seemed eternal in the silence that filled it. Markus’s eyes twitched between the ring in his hand and the scenery outside his window. He hated car rides, especially the long ones from the city to the manor. Were it not for the formalities beating him about the head, he would have long since been in the presence of his kin. It was a reasonably short distance to go by shadow-way, but by car, the drive was an easy sixty minutes.

They were close now, at any rate he could feel them, even smell them in the air. The familiar soft tug on his soul grew stronger the closer the got and the alluring smell of ash and cherry blossoms that surrounded the front garden drifted subtle through the air. The early rain only helped to accentuate the fragrance.