ELIJAH
The family had filled the bench seats of the room I called our sanctuary. With the windows sealed shut and blackened by paint, the only illumination inside was the warm glow of overhead bulbs, the yellow cast light that brightened the interior just enough to chase away the shadows. Standing near the door, I waited for my special guest, unconcerned about how the night would play out. Eve was tucked away in her special box and before long she'd have a friend to keep her company.
I knew Richard well enough to know he wouldn't fail in the task I'd given, and I'd be a liar to say I wasn't excited to see the results of our actions against the man we'd brought to the compound.
Just as that thought was flitting through my head, the honored guest of the evening stepped inside. I caught his gaze immediately and used a practiced smile to set him quickly at ease.
"Mr. Holmes," I crooned lazily as I extended a hand in greeting.
Gripping my hand, he smiled hesitantly. "Gentry, please. There's no need to be formal."
"Of course not," I answered, giving him time to scan his eyes around the sanctuary, to take in the altar and religious symbols, the two large crosses at the back that appeared safe and assuring unless one knew what they were for. "I know the drive out here is a long one. Can I get you something to drink before the service begins? Tea, perhaps? Or water?"
Darting his gaze to mine, he nodded. "If you have a bottle of water, that would be appreciated."
"Stay here. I'll be back in a second."
I'd made it five steps before he called out to me. "Don't you need to prepare for the service? Why are you the one fetching water?"
Slowly spinning on my heel to face him, I grinned. "It's like you said, Gentry. There's no need for formality in this place. We are a family sheltered in God's light. This isn't like the Catholic service you're used to. You'll see what I mean soon."
Inclining his head, he returned to studying the room while I snuck into a side room. Pulling a bottle of water from a cooler, I slipped the cap off, added a powder that would help Gentry along on his journey. Not enough for him to notice the effects, but just enough to make him susceptible to suggestion. In truth, it wasn't really needed when considering what I had planned to show him, but it wouldn't hurt. I tightened the cap back on the bottle before stepping back out where he could see me. Once his eyes were locked to mine, I made it appear as if that moment was the first time I'd ever opened the bottle. Handing it to him, I waited patiently as he pulled down a long, deep swallow.
Pulling the rim from his lips, he wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand and said, "That's much better. Thank you. I didn't realize how long the drive would take until I'd actually made it."
"That's understandable. Most people don't even know this place exists, so once they learn of it, they are still somewhat unaware of how far back it was built."
Purposely setting him at ease, I turned my gaze to the family as they took their seats and settled in for my sermon. Most now attended the parish during Sunday Mass, but preferred the sermons I gave here only because I was free to be myself - I was free to speak of the army for God we were steadily building.
"What is this place, anyhow?" Gentry's voice drew my attention back to him.
Rolling back on my heels, I clasped my hands behind my back. It was the posture of a man at ease, a man with no secrets and nothing to hide - a man completely in opposition to me. "It's an old tuberculosis hospital." Seeing the concern in his eyes, I quickly added, "It hasn't been used for that purpose in decades. They were planning on tearing it down thirteen or so years ago, and I couldn't bear the thought of it. You'll have to come out during the day sometime soon and see what I've made of it. The gardens alone are impressive."
The mention of gardens drew his undivided attention. "What kind of gardens? Food or flowers?"
"Food," I answered casually, knowing that he'd want to see the progress of our crops. The weather hadn't been hospitable over the past year, which had led to the failing farmlands. But, I had secrets hidden up my sleeve when it came to maintaining our particular plot of land, secrets I wouldn't be sharing with Gentry. It was better if he believed God has graced this area more so than others. Especially, if I wanted him to believe that we had only deserved that grace based on our steadfast battle against evil.
The family were all seated, quietly conversing amongst themselves while waiting for me to begin. I didn't give Gentry the chance to inquire further into the gardens before lightly touching his shoulder to lead him to a seat. He swallowed down the rest of his water, drawing a smile from my lips.
"I need to begin the service, Gentry, but be sure to wait for me afterwards. I have some interesting issues I'd like to show you when we're done."
He cocked a brow, but took his seat regardless. The anxiety of his situation was still riding on his shoulders, and it would only be amplified by what I'd slipped in his drink. Before long, he'd be eating from my hand, begging for assistance as he promised to convince his Sheriff brother to join our cause.
The room grew quiet except for a few hushed whispers. Slowly making my way up the aisle, I didn't raise my eyes to the family until I was in place behind the altar. The room was completely silent by the time I lifted my eyes.
The family stared back, their gazes focused and intent, their ears ready to hear what I had to offer them, their hearts open for the promise of the coming of God's sword. I was only too happy to oblige them.
"It fills my heart with hope to see you all sitting here tonight. It's been too long since we've gathered, since we've taken the opportunity to come together in the name of the Almighty and determine how we can make ourselves fit for His purpose - for His army."
A few low murmurs broke out, my family bowing their heads to humble themselves before their God, others folding their hands together in reverent prayer. Candlelight flickered, creating a myriad of dancing shadows throughout the room, the swirling smoke of incense adding to the effect.
While I'd been a true believer in my youth, while I'd given up every part of my body, heart and soul to a God who sat laughing in his heavenly throne, I'd learned what it took to lead a congregation, what it took to lead a man to the belief that something existed beyond this world.
It wasn't always the meaning of the words spoken, the threats and warnings, the guilt that was heaped upon us until we lay crushed; sometimes it was something as simple as the inflection of the voice, the deep booming tones, the haunting whispers that teased a man's mind with truth.
Music had the same effect for many. It could draw goosebumps from the skin, tears from the eyes, and elation from the heart. And having been one of the Good Lord's small songbirds, having been a part of his choir, I'd crafted my voice through the years to lure the weary into my fold, to make them believe that safety and serenity could be found in the message I delivered to them.
I was using that voice now to soothe them, but soon I would set their hearts aflame, would rouse them until they would commit the greatest of sins in the misguided belief they did it for God's cause.
If my childhood parish had given me anything, it was the knowledge of how to use my voice, as well as the drive for revenge that fueled me.
Forcing those thoughts from my mind, I focused on the message I was giving my family. What I wanted in the end wasn't nearly as important as the path I took to get there.
"Our mission has never been more urgent than it is now. In the last month alone, I've run across all sorts of evil. The demons are encroaching. They're invading our lives through our family and friends. Our neighbors and business associates. They're hiding in plain sight, spreading their wickedness through lust and anger, through greed and lies."
Pausing, I gave them a moment to think about my words, to consider where they may have seen examples of what I was describing. My family members wouldn't have had too much experience with the outside community, but Gentry would have, and it was his mind I wanted to bend more than the others.
"I'm sure all of you can give me examples of what you've seen. Just as I'm sure none of you can deny the truth of my words."
They nodded their heads in unison, their hands still folded in prayer. I looked over the faces that had surrounded me for many years, the weary expressions they now had to learn their fears the world was more infected were true. What I said was gospel to all of them, everything illusion until I ripped off the veil to reveal the truth.
I'd just confirmed their greatest fear, and now I was ready to ease them into compliance before pushing them to extremes.
"What can be done about this?" I asked, posing the question and letting the silence fall again to give them time to come to their own conclusions. Never forceful, I liked to dance around the answers, liked to let them think they found the solutions I'd led them to on their own.
"We fight it," one brave family member said, his deep voice resonating against the ceiling and walls of the sanctuary. Silence beat its lonely rhythm before the rest of the family broke it with their agreement. One after the other, their resilient faces heated with the resolve of soldiers.
I knew every one of them as well as they could be known. I'd gathered them from all walks of life and from all four corners of the United States. Some were wanderers, lost vagabonds who sought comfort and inclusion in some place other than the streets. Others were victims of some horrible tragedy, weak and desperate to know that what happened to them hadn't been the result of their decisions or mistakes. Some had been struggling through life barely making ends meet, while a rare few had been successful, but still searching for that hidden piece that would make their personal puzzle whole.
For each one, I'd had an answer to their greatest question, and it had been easy to lure them into my grasp. After years of preaching to them and living with them, I had every single one truly believing I could lead them to the light.
It was too bad there was no light to be found in my darkness, there was no truth to be found in my promises. I was more deceitful than the Devil himself, more convincing than the holy-roller evangelical preachers who'd become wealthy in their wicked games.
Rolling back my shoulders, I stared out of a mass of bodies who would commit evil in my name. Without them I couldn't accomplish what I'd set out to accomplish, and I should have appreciated them for their loyalty, but I couldn't. It was the same bullshit fealty I'd paid to my parish as a kid, the same bullshit faith that led me to a life of torture and pain.
Seeing the heat rolling behind their eyes, the dedication to my cause, I decided now would be a good time to pull Gentry even further into my web. He was a good man, a good Catholic, and it would take blending the two worlds together to bring him around, to convince him what we were doing was sane. Chancing a glance at him, I saw that his eyes had widened, that his pupils filled and darkened what should have been the light color of his eyes. The drug was taking its effect. It was time to lead him closer.
"We should pray," I announced, my voice booming so that it echoed, the tone demanding but not disconcertingly so. I was the point of unity and strength that could bring this group of warriors together. "We should pray for God's holy guidance! That He shines His light on us and shows us the path to our absolution! We should pray that with His power harbored inside our hearts and souls, we do His will in our battle against the evil that plagues us."
I chose not to lead the prayer, keeping my voice silent while the family lifted their voices to the heavens, begging in their undying faith that God would strengthen them against the evil that closed in around their tiny little world. What they didn't understand was that evil had always stared them in the face smiling a friendly grin while luring them down a path that would ultimately destroy them. Casting my gaze about the room, I focused my attention on Gentry Holmes, noticing the way he fell prey to the harmony of voices praying to the Almighty.
Faith, in of itself, can be an uplifting chorus, the music that crawls inside the weary soul to act as a balm soothing its many troubles. Adding to the harmony of voices was the environment: the dim lighting, the flicker of candles, the religious symbols, and the swirling smoke of scented incense that helped elevate the soul to a higher plane, helped make a person falling prey to the vestiges of a long remembered story believe they were communicating with something bigger than their self.
The ease with which religion and faith could warp the mind was a fascination to those who were born into a life of logic. I wasn't the first to take advantage, and I wouldn't be the last. For centuries, religion has warped the feeble minded. Wars have been waged in its name, blood spilled, lives lost, and the victor riding off into the sunset believing that slaughtering men, women and children had somehow earned his place beside God.
Even I had fallen prey at one point, had been beat down and torn apart, made to regret being alive while lifting my voice to a higher power that didn't give a fuck about me.
There were times I remembered being so engrossed in the spirit that my heart would race and my lungs would work harder to draw in air. My mind would float off with the harmonious voices and I believed in God's holy light just because my body had been so affected. Just like Mr. Holmes was now, I assumed, the drug I'd given him heightening his senses, creating the physiological response inside his body that cemented him to the moment, lifted his spirit as high as my family's voices as they sang out in prayer.
From where I stood, I could see that his eyes were glazed over, not because I'd given him too much, but because I'd given him just enough to believe he was connected to this gathering, that he belonged with the group of men and women who were steadfast in their resolve to do God's work.
He was right where I needed him: worn down by the state of his life and open to any suggestion I gave him.
It wouldn't be long before I knew his brother would join him in that belief, would turn a blind eye to the odd occurrences and nascent whispers of a town falling quickly under my control.
Unable to help the grin that stretched my face, I joined my voice to that of the family's, leading the prayer into its holy crescendo before bringing it to a close.
The room fell silent and I continued my sermon. By the time I'd suggested the violence to come, and by the time I ended my sermon with feigned sincerity, I knew that Gentry Holmes was mine.
There was only one last thing he needed to see, the jarring evidence of the demons that haunted us all.