I run. Faster than my legs can carry me. Faster than the air my lungs can breathe. Faster than the speed of light. But no matter how fast I try to be there, I’m never on time.

In the distance, I hear a scream.

The sound reverberates in my ears, over and over again, until I hear nothing but her voice screaming my name.

“Frank! Frank! Help!”

Faster, faster.

Seconds feel like minutes, and when I finally arrive, I’m too late.

Two men have her arms locked in their grip. They’re dragging her to a car.

Another scream comes from the car, this one much higher and louder.

It pierces my heart, crippling me, but I won’t give up.

I’ll never give up.

I run toward them as fast as I can. But before I can catch up, the two men have already pushed her into the car and jumped in after her. Right as I touch the back, they hit the gas, and the car shoots away right from under my fingers.

The last thing I see is the faces of the people who put their trust in me. And I failed them.

Everything fades in front of my eyes, and I black out … only to wake again in the darkness covered in sweat. Rain pours down from above as I stare at the woman lying on the dirty ground underneath my feet.

Her limbs twisted.

Her body broken.

Her face shattered.

Blood spilled everywhere.

I hold my breath, and it feels like forever until I breathe again.

But no matter how hard I try … I can’t get her voice out of my head. She keeps whispering my name.

Frank.

Frank…

“Frank!”

I open my eyes and blink a couple of times, unsure of where I am or what time it is. My vision is blurry, and my face feels like it’s been inside an oven. I wait a few seconds, and she yells my name again. Only now, it’s a completely different voice.

“Frank, get up!”

I lick my dry lips. “Mother …” I mutter.

I take a deep breath and close my eyes again, trying to forget about what I just dreamed. My head throbs like a hammer struck it several times. And my stomach constricts like someone sucker punched me. God, I hate waking up like this.

“Christ, look at you,” she mumbles, wiping my shirt with something, probably a wet cloth.

I’m way too out of it to even care.

“Get up,” she snaps, patting me like I’m some kind of dog.

“What?” I grumble.

“You look despicable. Wash yourself.”

“What did I do now?”

“Look around!”

I open my eyes and lean up on my elbows. Only now do I see all the empty bottles lying on the floor along with some socks, shoes, and a belt scattered around the room. A splash of liquor stains the carpet … and I think a bit of puke as well.

“Look at you …” Mother wipes a cloth along my forehead and cheeks. “You look miserable.”

“Thanks,” I say with a laugh, but even that hurts.

“I can’t believe you did it again.”

The disappointment in her voice really cuts deep. I hate when she talks to me like that. She’s my mother. Well, sort of. Technically, she’s just the woman who raised me because we’re not related by blood. Her real name is Margaret. I call her Mother because everyone here does. She’s the one who organizes everything at the church, and she’s been my caretaker for all these years. Even though I’m thirty, I still need her more than anything in this fucking world. She’s the only thing that keeps me tethered to this place.

“C’mon, get up,” she nags, pulling on my arm.

I do as she asks and sit up in my bed. I place my hand against my forehead to stop the headache, but it’s no use.

Mother walks to my sink and fills a glass with water. She rummages in her pockets and takes out a few pills. “Take these.” She holds both out to me.

I know she won’t leave me until I do what she says, so I just take them.

“Where were you last night?” she asks.

“I guess that’s obvious,” I muse, grinning a little, but she smacks me with my own Bible.

“Frank Romero! How many times do I have to tell you to stop drinking!” With every word, she gives me another slap. “You drunk!”

“Okay, okay, I get it!” I hold my hand up to stop her from slapping me again. “I’m not drunk anymore.” That’s a lie, but I don’t care. Anything to get her to stop.

“Then man up and get your filthy ass cleaned up,” she growls, looking at me with those deathly eyes. They always terrified me when I was young. They still do.

If anyone ever told you old ladies were timid and gentle, they were lying.

I let out a long-drawn-out breath and get up from the bed, only just noticing I’m still wearing yesterday’s pants.

“You have ten minutes to get dressed,” she says firmly, putting the Bible back on my nightstand. “And not a minute more.”

“Why? I haven’t even had breakfast yet.” I scratch the back of my neck and yawn.

She puts her hands on her hips. “Frank. Did you even look at the time?”

Now that she mentions it … no, I haven’t.

She frowns. “It’s nine ‘o clock.”

“So?” I shrug. I still don’t get the point.

“On a Sunday.”

It takes a while for it to click.

My eyes widen as I say, “Oh …”

“Exactly.” She taps her feet on the floor. “The church is filled with people already. They’re all waiting. The only thing missing is you, Frank.” She opens the door.

Flustered, I reply, “Sorry.”

“Save it,” she spits. “Just make sure you’re”—she looks me up and down—“presentable.” Then she walks out and closes the door behind her.

I quickly wash my face with water, rinsing off the puke and stench. I look like a mess, and I’m not talking about all my tattoos. No wonder people think I’m a hack. I act like one, so that’s what you’re gonna get.

I dry my face with a towel and take off all my dirty clothes, almost stumbling over them. Snatching the clothes off the hook, I comb my hair and slap myself to wake the fuck up.

I’m still so damn hammered that I can barely walk straight, but I finally manage to dress. Right before I walk out the door, I put on my robe and make sure the white piece of my collar is visible. One last look at the mirror has me blowing a kiss and winking at myself. Damn, I’m so hot I could bake an egg on myself.

Speaking of, I’m gonna grub out on some bacon and eggs when I finish.

I’m tempted to skip town so I can have a proper breakfast instead of doing this sermon, but I know Mother would never forgive me. And boy, do I love her to death.

Before I walk out the door, I snatch the small bottle of liquor I saved underneath my nightstand and tuck it into my chest pocket. Call it a good luck charm. Or a fuck-it charm. Whatever floats your boat. As long as I have my drink, I’m good.

As I open the door from the chancel, all the people sitting in the pews look up at me, and I pause. Their eyes fall on me like spikes piercing my body, and it’s at this moment I feel most judged.

Some would say not to let this feeling overwhelm me, but sometimes, the voices in my head need to shut up for a moment.

I make my way to the pulpit while fiddling in my pocket, looking for the small piece of paper I scribbled on yesterday. I remember writing down a sermon or something of the sort. But when I get to the pulpit and place the paper on it, all I find are random words and gibberish; sentences that don’t make any sense. Well, so much for a great sermon.

“Uh … good morning, everyone,” I say with a half-assed smile.

Some people shuffle around in their seat, some cough, and others look bored.

It’s the same shit every day, only worse. Every time I’m here, I see another empty seat. People just don’t care anymore.

And me? I feel like shit, and looking at them, I honestly don’t know why I’m still here.

Why I’m even trying to put up a front.

I clear my throat and try to ignore my raging headache and starry eyesight.

“So … hope you’re all having a great day so far,” I say, the speaker slightly squeaking on me. I adjust it a little and continue my babbling. “Or I hope at least one of us is.”

People look annoyed.

I guess that’s only natural because I am too.

“Let’s talk about God. We’re all here for God, right?”

Of course, no one answers.

“Yeah, thought so.” I chew on my lip for a moment.

“God. God. God. They say He’s all around us. Everywhere. Anytime. Looking down upon us to keep us safe. To watch over us. Or so they say.”

Everyone’s still staring at me, so I guess I’ll continue.

“God. You know … I haven’t found Him lately. And I bet a lot of you haven’t.” I pause. “Have you ever wondered if He abandoned you?”

No one answers, but from the looks on their faces, I can tell half of them agree. The other half I prefer to ignore.

“If God wasn’t the One looking out for you? Who do you turn to?”

No one answers, which I expected.

“No one,” I say. “No one but yourself. You are the only one who can save yourself.”

Some people clutch their purses tight, and others cover their mouths in shock. Like what I’m saying is so strange. Like none of them have ever thought it. Of course, they have. They’re just afraid to admit it.

“And you know what? God doesn’t care about me. Or you. Or about any of us.”

Some jaws drop.

“Why else would He make us suffer so much? Why would He give us so much pain? Why wouldn’t He just take it away?” My nails almost dig into the wood. “He wouldn’t. Because God doesn’t do easy. God doesn’t give us anything we need. God wants us to fight for it. God wants us to do the work. He’s not here to have pity or make your life better. That’s your job.”

“Frank!” I turn my head to see Mother whisper-yelling at me from the side, but I ignore her.

“I’m not here to tell you what to do. Nor is God. I can only tell you that life will never be easy. It’s always going to be tough, and shit’s going to come at you and ruin your goddamn life.”

More audible gasps.

“And you know what? That’s okay. Because life is about pain. And suffering. It’s about repentance.”

As I speak, my eyes fall on a girl sitting in the crowd. A beautiful girl with wavy, dark brown hair just past her shoulders, sharply defined cheekbones, and thick eyebrows topping big blue eyes. She looks like she’s in her twenties … pretty, and definitely eye-catching. So much so that I can’t even remember what I was saying.

All I can think of is her … and then I notice the little boy sitting next to her, watching his feet dangle below the pew. She grabs his hand and squeezes.

Her eyes … I can’t stop looking.

For some reason, my brain stops functioning.

Even if only for a second, the worries disappear. And I don’t know why, but somehow, someway … she feels familiar to me.

Which is strange because I’ve never seen her here before.

A cough from another churchgoer pulls me from my thoughts, and I clear my throat and continue.

“We go through life because we must. All for the sake of the afterlife. For heaven, we do it all. Heaven … Boy, I think we’d all love to be there right now.” I look at the girl and wonder what she’s thinking. If she’s ever thought of heaven. If she realizes right now that when I picture her naked in front of me, that would be heaven.

Luckily, no one can see inside my head.

Instead, everyone’s gone quiet now.

I mutter, “And as far as I see it … you can live out your life to the fullest or give up. God doesn’t give a shit anyway. He just wants you to make a choice. And whether you choose to accept is up to you. We’re all going to die anyway.”

Mother suddenly barges up to the pulpit and turns off the microphone then glares at me profusely. She doesn’t need to say a word. I turn around and stumble off, grabbing the small bottle of liquor in my pocket and drinking it down in one gulp.

I don’t give two shits that everyone in here can see me drink.

I’m already going to hell anyway. Might as well make it a fun trip.