Author's Note: Once again, I do not own anything from Justified, E.L. or F/X. This is a one shot for now. There was too much fun to be had reading the handmade signs in Billy's church tent.
…and Nothing Shall by Any Means Hurt You
There was something convenient about shooting a man dead in a church. You could get forgiveness right after, if you were looking for it. Tim didn't feel much like anything needed forgiving – he and Colton Rhodes were way past that, well beyond begging for salvation. A question crossed his mind as he let his fingers trace the frames of the sunglasses he held, Colton's, a trophy some might call them, but Tim considered them a memento, a reminder of where he might go if he didn't watch his step. There but for the grace of God… But back to the question, which was this: was it still a church if the preacher were dead? He had heard the story from Raylan, that Boyd had killed Billy the Preacher right here in this same church with the bite from a serpent. Would Boyd beg forgiveness? Tim didn't see much use in it, but then he didn't believe in God. God had withered under scrutiny somewhere between Kandahar and Kabul, and besides it was the snake, not Boyd, that bit Billy, so in fact God needed to forgive himself for that death. Or maybe Billy's the one who needed to beg forgiveness since he allowed himself to be tempted by pride. Either way.
Jesus
is Coming
Soon
The sign was painted in red. Rather fitting. Tim decided mirthlessly, out of some deep down disdain for the pronouncement, that Jesus was coming for some sooner than others. Maybe Jesus and Colton were having a conversation right now. He'd like to be in on it, see if Colton really were sorry for Mark. Could you lie to Jesus? Probably. Considering what he had learned about men, lying shouldn't be a problem; getting an audience in heaven was the hurdle.
He dropped his head to stretch out his neck and spotted the blood on his shirt, wiped at it absentmindedly. Another one for the garbage; another body for the coroner.
A local Sheriff's Deputy approached, hat off in reverence, tiptoeing between the benches like he was in a real church, not a circus tent church. Tim watched, snorted, a wry sound.
"Uh, you the shooter?" Waving his hat toward the body, the man asked Tim the question in a voice hushed, a voice reserved for the naves and the pews.
Tim flicked his eyes over at Colton then up to the Deputy. "That's right."
He gave his statement mechanically – I did this, Colt did that – all the while letting his eyes wander the tent, reading the handmade signs, wondering at the spelling mistakes. Just how do you claim to be a spiritual leader of men and spell 'believe' wrong? Belive? Maybe there was a message in the misspelling.
My House Shall Be Called
the 'House of Prayer'
Have
faith In GOD
What Things Soever You Desire
When You Pray Belive That You Receive Them
And YOU Shall Have Them
(Mark 11:24)
Tim didn't miss the irony that he was facing words spoken by Mark while he was facing down Mark's killer. He thought hard about what he might desire, couldn't come up with anything that he'd ask God for, and dwelt a moment on the misspelling of the word 'believe.' Did he have to 'be live' to receive what he desired? And if Colton were right and Mark had mostly died over in Kandahar then Tim likely had too. So what then were the chances of getting whatsoever he desired if he were not alive? Pretty slim by the sign's reckoning. So why bother?
He turned his head and read another one.
Behold I give unto
you the power to
tread on serpents
and scorpions… and
nothing shall by any
means hurt you.
And that's what Billy the Preacher believed foolishly when the serpent hurt him. And here was some more fine and memorable irony to take away from this – Tim didn't believe a word of it and yet he had possessed the power today to tread on the serpents and scorpions and he had come through unhurt. Well, mostly.
If he were ever to meet God, they could certainly share a few laughs since they certainly shared the same sense of humor, but Tim doubted he'd like him.
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