Broken Trust

I don't know why he wants me to come. It's such a cold night, and I have always been a good Christian boy and never gave my pastor any reason to worry about me. The note he left in my locker at church told me to meet him outside his office at 10 pm. It's 9:55 pm. I've been an going to this church since I was ten. I'm fifteen now. It shocked me that my pastor would be worried about me. I am standing beside a light pole near his office door. It's easier to see me in this dark night. I scratch a bump thats building up on my left arm. "Damn mosquitos." I curse as I swat away the culprit. That might be the reason; I curse too much. The pastor always says that cursing is the sure fire way to Hell. I always sit up front during church because it feels like he talks only to me. I like that kind of attention. He always preaches about how the Catholics like to say they know about the gates of Heaven and Hell, but they are only sodomites. Their parishes even accept the fact that leaders of faith molest their alter boys; the future of the church. It makes me sick. The wind blows harder while I ponder. I pull my coat up over my chest.
"Danny? Is that you?" My pastor John appears out of the dark like an angel out of the heavens.
"Hello John. Whats wrong?" I step back so that I stand in the light from the light pole above. He doesn't seem right. He seems edgy.
"I'm just worried about you is all. Wanna step into my office out of this cold?" He walks toward his door and pulls the key out of his jacket.
"Ok thats fine with me." I chuckle as I enter in the room behind him.
The room is much warmer than the outside. The room has the feel of an old den. Stained wood and the smell of cinnamon assault the senses. I walk over to the chair in front of his office desk. This room has got to be my favorite in the entire church. His holy image is displayed everywhere. From pictures of the last supper to edifices made of pewter standing erect on the desk in front of me. A shrine to his holy image. This man is truly a lover of God.
"Let me get your coat, Danny." He says as he reaches out both hands toward my shoulders. He takes off my coat but his hands linger on my shoulders.
"Now's not the time for a back rub, John." I move my arms in a clockwise motion and the jacket falls off my shoulders. I sit in the chair as John hangs my coat up on the coat rack and moves toward his chair on the other side of the desk. "So why did you want me to come out here tonight? It's not bad is it?" I lean forward so he knows I am really worried.
"No, of course not, Danny." He pulls his chair around his desk and sits it in front of me. His hands lay on both of my knees. "I've just been worried about how you've been doing." He gives this look that chills me to the bone. It's a look of sorrow and understanding.
"I've been fine. I make mistakes like any kid, but I love God." I shift to move his hands off of my legs, but he holds tight. "John, you are making me uncomfortable."
"It's ok. I know how you feel. I used to feel the same way. Let it go, Danny, and relax." He moves his hands up my legs toward my groin.
"John, what are you doing?" The shock causes my brain to lapse into some unknown region of the psyche.
"I know why you sit in the front row every Sunday. I feel the same way. It's ok, Danny. If you are scared I'll do all the work." He reaches his right hand up toward the bulge in my pants.
My hands reach out backwards as he gropes my privates. I grab the first thing I can find. A bible. Fear, nausea, and this sensation of pleasure that I believe is wrong compel me to grasp the book and swing like a baseball player directly at the pastor's outstreched face. I connect and he plumets toward the floor with a blank stare on his face. Knocked out cold. I vomit in the floor in front of his comotose head. Rash thoughts and hate assail my mind as I see his body lying on the floor. He taught us that these kinds of feelings were wrong yet he had them as well.
"I trusted you! You were supposed to protect me from the Devil, not give in to the desire. You are no man of God!" I scream at his innert body. Tears fill my eyes while I try to calm myself down. My hands move on their own accord. With my right I reach out toward the desk and grab the pewter effigy of our holy lord. It's cold against my fingers. As cold as the heart of God. My left hand reaches down and grabs a handful of his hair. I pull him up toward me. Two swings of the pewter and blood begins to spill out onto my pants and the floor. Three, and I'm sure he is dead because chunks of brain fly into my face. "I trusted you...I trusted you...I trusted you." These words cascade through my mind and out of my mouth as gently as the breath of an angel. I lean back against the closed door and examine my work. "I trusted you..."