He burst through the doors of the church and skidded across the floor to the alter. He hit his knees and began to pray. He prayed until they started to bleed, until he could no longer feel his feet. He prayed so hard and so long that he became short of breath. He prayed for something or some one to come back and fix the things that were broken. To bring him back. Even if for just a moment. Just long enough to at least say a proper goodbye. To ask him how to go on. He just needed a second. Just to breathe him in. To jumpstart his heart again. Unlodge it from his throat. He prayed, prayed, and prayed. He prayed for what felt like forever. And all he heard was the silence.
He stumbled from the church and drove. He drove until he was so tired that he could no longer see straight. He did not feel anything. Not the cold winds that whipped through the open windows, or the stinging drops of rain. He just drove. He drove through towns and cities. He drove down long winding dirt roads and straight paved ones. He passes multitudes of motels and diners, only ever stopping just long enough to refuel. He did not stop. If he stopped everything became real. He would be gone. He drove until finally he hit something. Heard the thud of whatever it was, hit the impala's front bumper.
He jumped out and saw the dog. It was lying there in the middle of the street. He started to just turn around and keep driving. The thing was dead anyways wasn't it? Except no, it wasn't. He heard the small whine that escaped from the back of the poor animals throat. Thought that maybe it wasn't so long ago that he was making that same whimper. His heart started to slide from his throat back into his chest.
He still prayed everyday. He had stopped the driving, but still he prayed. He didn't know why he did it. It was almost a compulsion. He knew what was really happening up there in the heavens. Knew that most likely he wouldn't get what he wanted. It was almost like the universe was programmed to give him exactly the opposite of what he knew he needed. He passes his time taking care of the injured dog, and making small talk with a girl. She was a normal thing. Their conversations always completely mundane. She was a normal shaped bandage that pulled the hole in his chest back together. Temporarily.
He still woke up short of breath with pains in his chest. Where there should have been a heart beating instead there was a silence. A void. The bandage may have been holding his chest together but it was most definitely not filling the hole. So he continued to pray. Until his lips turned blue and he was gasping for air. In the dead of the night. On his knees in front of a lit candle. His fingers moved through long forgotten rituals of putting together strange ingredients. His lips uttered words in another language. Long dead and forgotten. Nothing happened. No sudden burst of air or light signaling the arrival of something far greater and more powerful than himself. No strange coldness that brought the awareness that something was creeping up behind him in the dark. Just more of the same, which was nothing. Just more silence.
What felt like years later, but in reality was just one, a phone rang. It shrilled through the silence in his head. He picked it up and listened to a voicemail. And once again he was back in the car driving. Quickly, speeding across the country. Mumbling hurried prayers under his breath as he drives. He stumbles into an old, dilapidated cabin. Sees a face and hears a voice that he hasn't in what feels like centuries. He takes a deep breath. His heart starts to beat again.