Fear the Wicked (Illusions Series Book 2)(56)
He was only two sides of the same person, the man who had to be strong in order to battle evil, and the other gentle one, who loved me like a husband should a wife.
“I love you,” I whispered when he pulled his lips from my forehead and planted another soft kiss on my cheek. His fingers tightened over my shoulder, not enough to hurt, but just a firm squeeze.
Pulling away even further, he stared at me for several seconds. “I love you, too.”
I couldn’t question that he meant what he said. I could question if I really deserved him.
ELIJAH
After leaving Eve in the bedroom to get some restful sleep for once, I weaved my way through the compound and scanned the windows to see that night had fallen, the moon having taken its place in the sky surrounded by a myriad of stars that could only be viewed in rural places.
Stepping into the sanctuary, I cast my gaze up at the altar, my body positioned between the two larges crosses from which Sisters Eunice and Joyce had once hanged. At the time, I didn’t assume the crosses would be used again, at least for a long time, but it seemed they would find purpose with the criminals that Sheriff Holmes had promised to bring me.
It was five minutes until eight and the men in the family were shuffling into the sanctuary to take their seats. Richard had done well to keep the women and children occupied elsewhere in the building.
My sermon tonight would wake up the bloodthirsty monsters hidden inside the hearts of the faithful. It amused me to think that despite what is written in the Good Lord’s Bible, these people still called for war and pain, death and destruction, believing it was the only way to bring peace upon the Earth.
Perhaps in the Old Testament, that sentiment was true, but the New Testament was softer and more forgiving. It’s why I didn’t read much from the book that discussed Jesus, and I kept going back to read from the passages that made these believers feel justified in a holy war. It was all in how the material was delivered, and that fact wasn’t only true for the way in which I led the family. Judgment and hate, fear and condemnation runs rampant in every domination that subscribes to the Christian Christ.
Just look at the way people are judged for their sins. Look at how entire groups of people are shunned and considered not worthy. It’s in the churches and Sunday Schools, in politics and religious skirmishes. Even in a day where we should be more cognizant of how different groups should get along, there is still fighting and judging, condemning and shaming – a practice that goes against what their dead Christ had told us.
It’s the reason I couldn’t practice a faith in a God who was nothing but lies. Religion wasn’t a vehicle used to save humanity when entrusted into the hands of man. It was nothing more than a political power play, a balm soothed over the hearts of the masses while the wolves crept in to rip them apart.
I’d trusted the holy when I’d attended my childhood parish. And look what that trust had done to me.
Jacob had asked the question why over and over again during the time he was the focus of my games. If he’d searched deep enough, he would have discovered the truth of why I was doing any of this.
Revenge is a stone cold monster that settles in the belly rolling endlessly until you were so tired of living with it churning in your gut you finally acted to get rid of it. Some carried the need to get even until it ate at them and poisoned them, following into their early deaths, while other men like myself thought hard about how to attain it.
Twelve years is a long time to put a plan together and play it out to its end. But for something as big as I had planned, I needed to learn to be patient.
The shuffling of feet stopped as every man had taken their seat giving me the cue that it was time to move forward. Reaching the altar, I stood at the makeshift pulpit and delivered a message of death and slaughter.
For each word I spoke, the men’s eyes grew wider, their shoulders becoming tense with the need to fight for their God. I opened their mouths and shoved down the hallmarks of violence into their full bellies and greedy minds.
I spoke for an hour, closing the sermon with prayers to the Almighty, and then watched as they sauntered off back to their duties to the compound. I wouldn’t need them again, at least not tonight, while I tested whether what the sheriff had promised would actually be accomplished.
At ten on the dot, a family member ran to grab me claiming the sheriff was outside the compound demanding to be let in. I instructed the family member to lead him inside, to deliver him to the sanctuary where I would be waiting.
Waiting patiently as the family member ran off to lead the sheriff in, I leaned against the pulpit and shoved my hands in my pockets. Staring down at my shoes, I only lifted my head again when I heard the sound of footsteps storming in.
I almost laughed to look up and see the sheriff dragging in a man who was both confused and angry for being here.
“What the fuck?” he bellowed from the floor where he was being dragged by the back of his shirt. “You brought me to church?”
“Shut up, you piece of shit,” the sheriff roared back before kicking the man in the ribs. He dropped him like a sack of flour and I’d almost expected the man to split at the sides and release his innards all over the carpet.
Unable to smile as I was still playing the part of the solemn priest, I pushed off the pulpit where I’d been leaning and slowly walked toward the sheriff and his captive.
“Sheriff Holmes,” I greeted him, extending a hand out. He shook it and settled his weight over his feet. We were about the same height, but his build was more broad and thick than mine.