Fear the Wicked (Illusions Series Book 2)(47)
Glancing at his expression, I saw that he was being truthful. His lips were turned down and his jaw was tight. I wondered if he felt the same chains and trappings of his profession as I’d felt in mine. For me, it was financial, but for him, it had to be more. The larger the parish, the more politics took over, and the easier it was for the wicked to invade and prey on those who believed them divine.
Turning my focus back down to where my hands were clasped together over my lap, I watched my thumb idly rub over my skin, the lines stretching until absent, only to return when my thumb released the tension and allowed the flesh to snap back in place. I watched the blood pool beneath, turning white when I increased the pressure of my hold until the skin was absent of life.
“When I was a kid, our lives were built around the Catholic Faith. I was too young to understand the guilt, the shame of being alive and making stupid mistakes that are inherently human. Up until I was six or seven, I truly believed there was a God who existed to love me, that truth could be found in the happy songs they taught us in Sunday School, that it was truly a miracle every Christmas when we remembered the virgin birth of Jesus in the manger. Life was seemingly magical when I was a kid.”
“I assume your father had something to do with that changing,” Timothy supposed.
“You assume right,” I admitted, my jaw ticking with the tension of clenched teeth. “The punishments started after he discovered Jericho and I looking at a book on female anatomy. We were only curious boys trying to understand the differences between women and men. But my father, in all his glorious wisdom, believed that our curiosity was the worst form of sin.” Sad laughter rushed over my lips. “Why is sex worse than murder in this particular religion?”
Timothy’s burst of soft laughter joined mine. “It seems that way, doesn’t it? Even if the act is so natural that even animals have to accomplish it in order to prevent extinction. I had a priest explain to me once that sex isn’t a bad thing if it occurs between a married couple – as long as it was performed in the missionary position and for the sole purpose of creating a child.”
“So, we’re not allowed to enjoy it. Is that where the sin exists?” Growing quiet, I flicked my thumb against my skin once more, watched the blood push away and come back to color the flesh. “Are we allowed to enjoy anything?”
“We can enjoy our relationship with God,” he offered.
Nodding my head, I raised my focus back to the golden cross on the altar. “You mean the God who allowed a grown man to beat on two innocent boys just because they’d grown old enough to know there was a difference between the male and female body?”
His voice was remorseful when he answered, “I’m not sure God can be blamed for that.”
“Can He be blamed for anything?” I pondered aloud, more to myself than to Timothy.
“You know as well as I that God gave us free will to make a choice. We can choose good or evil, can act in accord with Grace or devastation. Just because one person chooses to commit mistakes in blatant disregard for the welfare of other people doesn’t mean God doesn’t care. How often have many of those mistakes led to something good and decent?”
I knew what he was getting at. I’d learned many of the same answers while in seminary school. The only problem was that I had difficulty believing them. Nothing good came from my darkness. At first I’d believed that my mistake with Cassandra led to me saving Eve from my twin brother. But, in the end, it only led to me having the opportunity to destroy Eve as well.
“You haven’t finished telling me what happen to lead you to where you are now.”
It was funny how his prodding question perfectly fit the thoughts I was rolling over in my head.
“After years of abuse at my father’s hand, I found myself questioning his Faith. I often wondered if the Church wasn’t evil for creating men so delusional they felt the need to torture their own children in order to save their eternal soul. I also wondered how the bruises were never noticed by my Sunday School teachers, how something so open and obvious could be missed by the very people who were the hand and mouth of God. I never understood how an entire body of people could remain silent.”
Taking a breath, I released it slowly. “So, when I turned eighteen, I decided to abandon Faith for science, for something that could be seen, touched, weighed and measured. I figured if the answers to my questions weren’t found in the Bible, surely they could be located in a school of intellectuals.”
When my voice trailed off, Timothy filled the silence. “What happened then? Obviously, you returned to the Faith in order to become a priest. Did something happen that showed you God could exist, after all?”
I shook my head. “No. I made a mistake, one that cost a beautiful woman her life.”
Timothy turned to look at me and for the first time since we started talking, I turned as well to meet his gaze. “It wasn’t murder or anything like that. Just a sexual game that went too far. The medical examiner told me a blood clot had been loosened in her veins, that it had traveled to her brain and caused a stroke. He said it could have happened at any time and I spent the next couple of months wondering if I hadn’t sped the process along. I considered myself a monster. I believed that my father may have been right. That my sexual deviance had led to the destruction of a woman who was kind, who was beautiful in every way, who would have never hurt a fly, if it could be helped.”