ELIJAH
Dull. Boring. Quiet and so antagonizingly slow. Life as rural priest was the epitome of living Hell. The parish was deafening in its silence, a low static hum of white noise filtered through my ears, the whir of ceilings fans in small rooms, the tranquility of a mortuary that was full of the dead.
Several times, I'd considered returning to the compound just to entertain the family with my sermons and healings. Several times, I'd inflicted pain on the only companion I had, just to appease my curious mind. And several times, I'd been met with Eve's insistence that I wasn't one man, but two.
No matter how I tried to prod her, she couldn't give me more than that simple statement.
The recognition inside her was unsettling, to say the least, but it wasn't yet dangerous. I had ways of clouding her mind.
Leaning back in a scuffed wooden pew, I lifted my feet to rest atop the pew in front of me. The altar and pulpit were in my direct line of sight, the large stained glass windows a beautiful wash of color to behold on a cool, spring morning. The day was still young, and I sat in wait wondering if any of the men I'd invited to witness Eve's cleansings would return today to discuss their final opinions of what they'd seen.
Richard wouldn't arrive from the compound until early afternoon and I reclined back with my hand behind my head, contemplating how long it would take to have the entire town under my wing.
Word had gotten around about the poor woman possessed by the demon of lust. But it hadn't crawled far, only a few men knew what occurred during the meetings, and they've kept their mouths shut, save for the friends they knew would remain silent as well.
Farmers could be a bloodthirsty lot when you threatened the livelihood of their families. In the time that I'd become Father Jacob Hayle, two foreclosures had been filed, two banks opening their wide mouths ready to swallow the land and small profits of two families that had nothing left to give.
The head of those families came to the meetings, witnessed the lust that couldn't be driven out of a woman despite the pain she suffered, and within the stress addled state of their weary minds, they'd believed Eve was infected with something we couldn't see or name.
A door opened at my back, the hinges creaking ever so slightly in warning. I lowered my legs and twisted in my seat to find Gentry Holmes walking toward me.
Silver hair speckled with black pepper, he wasn't yet fully grey, but was getting closer, day by day. Gentry was a proud man, that fact evident in his strong shoulders, stick straight posture, and a swagger that spoke of hard work in Mother Nature's harshest weather. He had a steely gaze, the dark brown of his eyes focused and attentive, but today a shadow crossed his face. Gentry's lips were pulled into a taut line, his large, callused hands gripped into fists at his sides.
Either I was in a bit of trouble for what he witnessed last night, or something else was brewing on the horizon that he felt it necessary for God's intervention.
What he didn't know is that the God he'd always prayed to had left the building, and I'd replaced Him with every intention of finally seeing to the needs of His forgotten people.
On my feet, I offered a hand in greeting. "Mr. Holmes. It's a pleasure to see you again. What brings you out so early in the morning?"
"Bank called," he announced gruffly.
Ah, I thought, another land owner in need.
"Let's take a seat, Mr. Holmes, and discuss your problem." Giving him a sympathetic smile, I fought not to let my expression reveal my true thoughts. Once a man's livelihood is challenged, he's much more receptive to intervention - even if such intervention goes against what he would normally do in his life. Gentry was an esteemed member of the community, but it was his brother - Sheriff James Holmes - that interested me more.
Seating himself in a pew, Gentry's expression shadowed with concern. I leaned on the back of the pew in front of him, my legs crossed at the ankles, my hands clasped loosely over my thighs. "Tell me the trouble you're facing."
"Crops have been low," he mumbled, his eyes not meeting mine due to the shame he felt to face losing his farm. It wasn't easy on a man's pride to accept failure, to believe that his ability to care for his family has been lost to him. "I fell behind in mortgage payments, did everything I could to catch up, but without the proper weather-"
His voice trailed off, his palms scrubbing over his face as he pondered what he could do to save not only his farm but his pride. "That property has been in my family for generations. All the way back to my great grandfather. The only reason I had to mortgage it was to pay for several failed seasons." Glancing up at me, his normally sharp gaze was dulled by worry. "I can't let the property go. It's my son's future."
Patience, Elijah...Don't jump too quickly.
"Tell me what the parish can do to help. Is it prayers you're seeking? Comfort, perhaps, that God has a plan?"
Gentry's forehead wrinkled, his eyes glaring up at me in part question, part anger. "I want to know about what you showed us last night with that woman. Are there really-"
He scrubbed his hand over his face again, modern day reality warring with his spiritual beliefs. "Are there really demons, Father?"
My lips lifted at one corner before I could force my expression back to neutral. Keeping my voice at a low whisper, I answered, "I believe so, yes. Unfortunately, the way this country has gone, the lack of belief in the Almighty brought about by atheism, other religions and this innate need for progressive thinking, has made it difficult for the Church to fight the battles that need to be fought."
Eyes lifting to me once again, he settled back in his seat, relaxing more with the topic of conversation. "Doesn't God take care of that evil? Isn't our belief strong enough for him to help us?"
"Have you read your Bible?" I asked. A question for a question, it was the best method to make a person believe that the ideas you're feeding them are their own.
"Of course, I have," he answered indignantly.
"Then you know the answer to that question. It is through our belief that God grants us the tools to combat evil. We have many tools, some of which have been lost to the modern world."
"What are you saying, Father?"
Gripping my fingers over each other, I dropped my gaze to my shoes, gave the question time to linger before offering an answer. "I'm saying that, as a whole, we no longer actively combat the evil that plagues this world. We've become complacent, have forgotten the violence implicit in the assault against that which attacks us. If you know history, you know that not all battles have been fought with prayer alone."
He nodded his head, silently considering my words, struggling to make sense of them. "In a situation like mine, where does the evil exist? Is it in my family? Myself? The bank?"
I smiled, not one that reached my eyes denoting happiness, but one that was sad, resigning to the truth of our discussion. "The bank, perhaps. Money is the root of all evil, is it not? But then, our society runs on money, making everything evil to a certain extent. I don't think there's much to be done about that."
"What can be done, then?"
Edging him closer and closer, I was careful with my words, both their meaning and the speed with which I delivered them. Conversion wasn't a hatchet job, it was more precise than that, the use of a fine scalpel sometimes necessary in order to gain what was needed. "You said the crops have failed repeatedly. Despite your prayers, I assume."
"Despite everything," he grunted.
"Perhaps," I offered, "it has nothing to do with you personally, but the town. The evil that infects it. Look what happened to poor Annabelle Prete. What could have happened to the woman you saw last night during my demonstration."
"How do we stop it, Father? How do we fight against it?"
His sharp gaze was pinned on me, his hands wringing over his lap. Desperation oozed from his pores, his mind ripe and open, waiting for the answers that would relieve him of the problems in his life. I needed him to find those answers, while I simply walked beside him to the conclusion.
Lifting my gaze to meet his, my lips pulled into a tight line. "How do you suppose we should handle it?"
Shaking his head, he cast his eyes toward the altar, the sun shining through the stained glass window bathing his face in reds and golds. "We fight it with any means necessary. We bring God back to this town. But we're only a few people in a world of billions. What power do we really have?"
On the outside, I was without expression, my posture contemplative and morose. But inside, I was beaming, a brilliant light blistering out through the fissures of my innermost shadows. "We have God's power, do we not?"
His eyes snapped to mine. "Yes. Yes, we do."
I canted my head to the side. "His power is greater than anything in this world, is it not?"
"It is," he answered, the worry written across his features sharpening until resolve set into the creases of his face.
"However," I acquiesced, "there is one slight issue we cannot control, one small problem that would prevent us from achieving what we need to survive."
Waiting silently, he didn't move a muscle. So focused and attentive that he appeared frozen in place, he was a tightly spun ball of need just waiting to be unfurled. I had to be careful which string I plucked. "The law, as it stands, would not agree with our methods - the old methods - of dealing with such a threat. Without God in our government, what can be done?"
I shrugged a shoulder, breaking our stare to cast my gaze toward the front doors. So full of anticipation that it had become a vibration beneath my skin, I forced my breath into a steady rhythm.
"My brother is the law around here," he said, drawing a smile from my lips. Finally, he'd said exactly what I needed him to suggest.
Schooling my features, I returned my attention to him. "Your brother is the Sheriff, correct?"
He nodded in response.
"Why do you bring that up?"
"Perhaps he could turn a blind eye. Keep our activities off the radar, so to speak."
It was difficult - damn near impossible - not to clap my hands together and praise God for the direction this conversation had turned. Well, not God so much, but myself. I had been the one to lead Gentry to this point. Divine guidance was isolated to my hand alone.
"Your brother is a Godly man?"
"You know that to be the truth, Father Hayle. He attends your parish every Sunday when he isn't working. He's as attached to the family farm as me. If there is a solution, he'd be willing."
Taking a deep breath, I blew it out, pausing just long enough for the thought to settle in. "He wasn't here last night," I pointed out. "He hasn't seen the truth of what's infecting this town."
"So, we'll show him. If he sees it with his own eyes, I can guarantee he'll do whatever is necessary to save this town. We've been here for generations. Our blood is tied to this land, our fathers, our grandfathers. I have no doubt at all that he'll understand once he sees the truth of it."
Tapping my fingers against my thigh, I met his stare for several seconds before inclining my head.
"I believe I can set up a demonstration. But not here. I tell you what: why don't you come out to a special place I've acquired, a secret place I've been using to help the town? It's hidden away, tucked discreetly behind walls to keep out prying eyes. I believe you should see it before we bring your brother into the mix."
Bringing Gentry to the compound was a risk - one I was willing to take, if for nothing else but to gain his utmost alliance with my mission. He was the only man to approach me after witnessing the demonstration with Eve and, through him, I knew I could gain the compliance of the town.
Slowly but surely.
Baby steps.
"I'm willing to see whatever you need me to see, Father. I'm done with being blind."
My smile reached my eyes this time. "Good, Gentry, that's very good. You should come tonight. I'll ensure that the family is ready to meet you."