Fear the Wicked (Illusions Series Book 2)(72)
Four weeks. I couldn’t believe it took four long weeks for the salesclerk at the gun shop to locate everything I wanted. I had my suspicions he was intentionally forcing me to wait it out. Every time I got in touch with him, he questioned me incessantly, making quick comments in an effort to catch me off guard. Although he’d hoped to trick me into revealing the real reason for the weapons, I’d held strong in my ridiculous story that I needed the guns for hunting.
I wasn’t an idiot and neither was the clerk. He knew as well as I that the guns weren’t for hunting – not unless I was planning on gunning down an entire herd at once. But still, I went through the motions, swearing up and down that I wasn’t some psychopath hell bent on destruction. In the end, it came down to one thing for the man: money. From the amount he charged me, he must have made a fortune.
Fortunately, now that I’d cashed out my inheritance, money wasn’t an issue. Had I attempted this on my salary as a priest, I wouldn’t have been able to afford the handguns, much less the semi-automatics I purchased with them.
The trip between the city where I’d grown up and the sleepy, rural town where I’d lived twelve years of my life as a devout man hadn’t been a long one. Three days, with plenty of time taken to sleep at motels, stop to eat when I was hungry, and search the news for any signs coming from that area that indicated something wasn’t right. There was never a speck of information to be found. As usual, the small community was quiet, never making waves other than its activities in the county surrounding it.
Driving the long winding roads through the mountains was difficult. The canopy of trees, the rounded peaks of the mountains in the distance, the wild animals scurrying off on the side of the roads reminded me of the first time I’d traveled here after college. At that time, I’d hoped to find peace among the townspeople. I’d hoped to find absolution in a life devoted to God after Cassandra’s death. And here I was again, driving into the town with the guilt of another woman’s death on my mind, Eve’s face flashing in my thoughts as I drove past the businesses that dotted the area and into the heart of the town. I’d never spent much time with her outside of the parish in the week I’d known her, but that didn’t matter. She had been a constant thought on my mind as I ran errands and drove about, and, as such, she was on my mind now.
It was Sunday when I arrived, which worked out for me since I knew most of the townspeople would be at the parish. I didn’t have to worry about somebody recognizing me before I could park my truck off where it wouldn’t be seen and sneak up to check on the activities while remaining out of sight. The walk wasn’t long and before I knew it, I was crossing the yard while being careful to watch for anybody who would be watching for me. Jericho wasn’t stupid. He had to know I’d return eventually. Unless he was so far gone in his insanity that he truly believed he’d broken me with Eve’s death.
In truth, he had. Initially, at least. But as is common with the passage of time, I’d had the opportunity to lick my wounds until they healed and regained my sanity.
Ha. Sanity. The thought of it actually made me laugh as I slowly approached the parish I hadn’t seen in months with a gun tucked into the back of my pants and another at my side. There was nothing sane about this situation. Not what I’d learned about the past, and definitely not what I’d learn about Jericho claiming to be me as he continued leading the parish as its priest. We’d long traveled past what it means to be sane and wandered into a fictional world filled with the most wicked men of all.
From what I was beginning to understand, it’s the people dressing themselves in the shroud of being good men that can commit the most evil. They are given access to the young. Are trusted with the minds and bodies of the faithful. They lead us in a way of thinking that eventually grooms us to believe that they are infallible and can commit no wrongs. We are constantly directed to look into the light so that our eyes can’t adjust to the shadows. And it is within those murky confines that exist behind closed doors and within tight corners that we see the truth. There is nothing good about them at all, we’ve just been trained to believe the illusions they cast out and told us were reality.
Those are the people to be avoided above all costs. Those are the ones that should be publically shamed and brought out to admit to their horrifying crimes. Because, in the end, it’s the deceivers that are the most horrendous of all, and if good men do really exist in this world slowly slipping into Hell, then those men would be better off opening their eyes to the truth that stands before them, because to see it is to fear the wicked.
I don’t believe that all men who claim to be good are actually bad. Men like Father Timothy exist, the kind who truly believe they can make a difference. It just sucks that a faith that should have been a beautiful balm to the soul of the devout can be used to disguise pure evil.
It’s not like we weren’t warned. It’s written all over the Bible. But when a society is formed beneath the fantasy that true darkness cannot exist beneath God’s light, that society is doomed to fall. We’ve closed our eyes to the true seat of power. We’ve covered our ears and refused to believe we were led astray. It’s not the fault of the faith that we’ve sunk so far, it’s what’s been done with it in the hands of power hungry men.
Money truly is the root of all evil – it’s a shame that people have been led astray for so long, they’re no longer able to see it.