Fear the Wicked (Illusions Series Book 2)(9)
There was no place for me to run this time, no escape that could protect me from the world, or protect the world from me. God himself couldn't save me now. He'd tried. He'd failed. And all because of one person.
Sex could no longer appease me. Ravaging some woman as she screamed and moaned could no longer let me pretend that everything would be okay. Vengeance was the steady pulse inside my heart, the black shadow over my eyes and the caustic veil that smothered me day in and day out until I promised myself to take it.
But first, I needed to understand why.
Yes, Jericho had laughed at the repeated question. He'd mocked me and scorned me, told me to enjoy the ride I never wanted. But for as much hatred as I held for him, for as much I wanted to throw my hands up and sink into oblivion without ever thinking of that small, rural town again, why was the question ceaselessly whispering in my head.
What had I done to make my twin brother want to destroy me so thoroughly? Why had it brought him so much pleasure to sacrifice Eve’s life to me?
The only trail I had to follow was our past, the only breadcrumbs left behind were those rooted in the city where we had parted ways as brothers, only to come back together in life as enemies.
The first question I needed answered wasn't why my brother had set out to hurt me, it was why had he gone mad?
The answers wouldn't be found in the small town where he was known as Elijah, they would be found in a large, turbulent city where he was raised as Jericho Hayle, a devout Catholic boy who, for reasons I didn't yet know, had been scorned by the faith he'd once held so dearly.
I would have those answers, but first I had to gather the courage to walk in through the parish's doors, to humble the beast inside me just long enough to pretend like I had any faith left at all.
A large cross lifted into the sky above a building designed to express the glory of the Almighty, and behind it shone the lights of a city in which Jericho and I had once thrived.
Would the good little girls recognize me now that they were mothers and wives?
Would I be able to control the violence inside me just long enough to get what I needed before heading back to that small town in the heart of the Appalachians?
I wasn't sure of any of those answers. The only thing I knew was I had to try.
Hopping off the ledge – toward the roof and not the streets below – I angled my head into the breeze that was blowing and tried to steady the beat of my heart for where I knew I had to go.
Back to the city. Back to parish that I’d once run from screaming. And back to a family home that now stood bleak and empty after my parents both died without either of their children giving enough of a damn to return in time to say goodbye.
ELIJAH
Dull. Boring. Quiet and so antagonizingly slow. Life as rural priest was the epitome of living Hell. The parish was deafening in its silence, a low static hum of white noise filtered through my ears, the whir of ceilings fans in small rooms, the tranquility of a mortuary that was full of the dead.
Several times, I'd considered returning to the compound just to entertain the family with my sermons and healings. Several times, I'd inflicted pain on the only companion I had, just to appease my curious mind. And several times, I'd been met with Eve's insistence that I wasn't one man, but two.
No matter how I tried to prod her, she couldn't give me more than that simple statement.
The recognition inside her was unsettling, to say the least, but it wasn't yet dangerous. I had ways of clouding her mind.
Leaning back in a scuffed wooden pew, I lifted my feet to rest atop the pew in front of me. The altar and pulpit were in my direct line of sight, the large stained glass windows a beautiful wash of color to behold on a cool, spring morning. The day was still young, and I sat in wait wondering if any of the men I'd invited to witness Eve's cleansings would return today to discuss their final opinions of what they'd seen.
Richard wouldn't arrive from the compound until early afternoon and I reclined back with my hand behind my head, contemplating how long it would take to have the entire town under my wing.
Word had gotten around about the poor woman possessed by the demon of lust. But it hadn't crawled far, only a few men knew what occurred during the meetings, and they've kept their mouths shut, save for the friends they knew would remain silent as well.
Farmers could be a bloodthirsty lot when you threatened the livelihood of their families. In the time that I'd become Father Jacob Hayle, two foreclosures had been filed, two banks opening their wide mouths ready to swallow the land and small profits of two families that had nothing left to give.
The head of those families came to the meetings, witnessed the lust that couldn't be driven out of a woman despite the pain she suffered, and within the stress addled state of their weary minds, they'd believed Eve was infected with something we couldn't see or name.
A door opened at my back, the hinges creaking ever so slightly in warning. I lowered my legs and twisted in my seat to find Gentry Holmes walking toward me.
Silver hair speckled with black pepper, he wasn't yet fully grey, but was getting closer, day by day. Gentry was a proud man, that fact evident in his strong shoulders, stick straight posture, and a swagger that spoke of hard work in Mother Nature's harshest weather. He had a steely gaze, the dark brown of his eyes focused and attentive, but today a shadow crossed his face. Gentry's lips were pulled into a taut line, his large, callused hands gripped into fists at his sides.