AN: I did tell you it's a horror story ... Let the freak show begin.
Biblical quotes are italicized and were extracted from the King James's version.
Pastor Carlisle would have been wary of trespassing into the outlandish mansion's grounds, had he not seen a mother and child disappearing inside just a few seconds before the light rain turned into a full blown tempest. The inclement weather caught him unawares during his daily meditation walk—as a result he found himself stranded and dependent on some strange woman's hospitality. Irritated with his lack of foresight, he knocked on the door and waited for a response that never came.
The frigid rain beating down on his pampered skin prompted Carlisle to overlook the rules of good behavior and let himself into the house. The absence of furniture, as well as the dust coating every surface of the room, intrigued him—apparently he wasn't the only one availing himself of an unwitting host's generosity. Chuckling at the absurdity of his situation, he wondered if the woman presented any danger to him. Despite the very real possibility of her being armed or even demented enough to attack him, Carlisle was confident that he could manage her, be it by force of his physical strength or the allure of the monetary compensation he could offer.
The woman didn't make an appearance and he wasn't eager to draw her attention either. Therefore, he found a sufficiently clean, sparsely furnished little sitting room, and made himself comfortable. Freed from the soggy clothes, warmed by the sheets that had been covering the sparse furniture, drinking from the bottle of vodka he always carried, Carlisle let his mind wander. As usual, thoughts of his hefty bank account brought a smile to his face. After a childhood of deprivation, due to a father who started a new family and forgot about him, Carlisle relished the comfort he now enjoyed, all courtesy of a myriad of wealthy benefactors who had been lured by his undeniable charisma, angelic beauty and softly spoken words.
However, it wasn't all about the money. Being the founder and self-entitled prophet of a new religion, Carlisle enjoyed the status of a demigod: infallible, untouchable, unquestionable. And not even a soul as mercenary as Carlisle's could deny the attraction of finally being the subject of unrestrained love and fanatical admiration: his congregation would blindly follow his steps, wherever he chose to lead them. The faith they had in him would be humbling for a better man, but for Carlisle it meant absolute power and he had no compunction at using it for his own selfish goals, for he had no illusions as to his true nature.
Unlike many other religious leaders, Carlisle wasn't under the impression that a higher being actually talked to him: he was a scammer and proud of it. The idea of deceiving educated people excited him immensely, for it was a proof that, despite society's perception, he was more intelligent than any pompous Ivy League graduate. The exhilaration of luring the naïve, outwitting the supposedly smart and keeping up his sanctimonious façade, made him feel greater than any god, more wicked than any fallen angel.
"Pride goeth before destruction, and an haughty spirit before a fall."
The smooth, cultured voice startled Carlisle out of his reverie, making his fingers tremble and his beloved bottle roll out of sight. Looking for the man to whom the voice belonged, Carlisle found him standing by a tall window, his silhouette outlined by the soft light provided by lightning. An unexpected chill descended upon Carlisle, consuming his mind with a foreboding feeling of dread. It wasn't like him to fear the unexpected, however, there was something quite unusual about the man who had spoken to him, an otherworldly quality that had Carlisle struggling to maintain his composure.
"The wicked flee when no man pursueth: but the righteous are bold as a lion."
The condescension in the man's tone was unmistakable, serving to goad Carlisle into accepting the issued challenge. Forcing his tense muscles to relax, Carlisle studied the man who had obviously recognized him, for why else would anyone quote the Bible these days? Deciding on the side of caution until he could figure out the man's intentions, Carlisle made a concerted effort at staying calm and keep the man talking.
"I take it you are fond of Proverbs?"
"Not fond, merely knowledgeable."
"It's very rare to meet a young man such as yourself who takes the time to study the words of our Lord."
"Do you believe in God, good Pastor?"
So the man had recognized him. Suddenly, Carlisle felt more at ease, for the man probably bore some resentment towards religion or perhaps, more specifically, towards Carlisle himself. Had the man been one of the many Carlisle had unscrupulously stripped away from material possessions? Or maybe he had discovered the true destination of the money donated to Carlisle's church? Either way, the man obviously disliked Carlisle, for whatever reason. The best course of action would be to put on a show of piety and charm the man out of his grudge. It wouldn't be hard—Carlisle had done it a million times before.
"Of course, I believe in God. Don't you?"
The calm soothing voice in which Carlisle spoke should have been placating, but the man seemed to be impervious to its intended purpose, for he answered too quickly in harshly spoken words.
"Believing implies accepting the truth of an affirmation without verifiable proof of its veracity. For me that's an impossibility."
"Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding."
"Another quote from Proverbs. How you impress me, good Pastor."
"It's my job as a man of God to know all of his teachings."
"Only to know all of his teachings? Not to live by them?"
Indignation flared within Carlisle's chest. The implications of the stranger's seemly innocent question weren't lost on Carlisle—apparently the man's grudge against him ran deeper than he had originally guessed, for it was aimed not at Carlisle's public persona, but instead at his personal life. It was imperative that Carlisle discovered what the man had learned—the possibilities were infinite.
"Lying lips are abomination to the Lord."
The enigmatic statement did little to help Carlisle understand the man's frame of mind. There were so many lies he had told over the years … The various instances in which he had been dishonest flittered through his mind: the day he lied to the police and got away with murdering his mother; the many years he spent convincing his congregation of his divine calling; the way he betrayed his wife with women who believed his false declarations of love; the murder of the few people who had suspected of his schemes … but most importantly, how everybody had fallen for the illusion he projected, without realizing that a psychopath lurked underneath.
"He hath uncovered his sister's nakedness; he shall bear his iniquity."
The man couldn't have been more clear had he directly addressed the issue. Was this what the man was about? Was he the fruit of Carlisle's loins? The one conceived in sin? At that thought he remembered how sweet it had felt to soil his sister in their father's eyes—his own brand of revenge upon the man who had abandoned him. The revulsion, the anger, the broken heart … the old man never knew that his little girl had been an unwitting pawn in Carlisle's game: she never knew they were family, for daddy dearest never bothered telling her about his previous marriage.
The silly girl would never know that daddy loved her so much that he was willingly to overlook her incursion into the world of prostitution. However, lying with her brother was a whole other thing, and their father simply couldn't bear Carlisle's taunts: he killed himself. He had the pleasure of delivering the news to his grieving half-brother, going as far as putting on a pretense of sharing the same sentiment. Destroying his sister, mocking his brother, damning his overly religious father to hell … Carlisle's plan had been pure perfection and he was damn proud of it.
"Quoting from Leviticus? I thought Proverbs was our thing."
Undaunted by Carlisle's attempt at deflection, the man approached him slowly. Only a coffee table stood between them and Carlisle fancied that he could almost see the man's too perfect features contorting into a grimace of distaste as he continued speaking as if he hadn't been interrupted.
"A thief, a liar, a false prophet, a murderer, an adulterer, an incestuous brother … Is there any rule you left unbroken?"
Carlisle wondered if he could possibly escape the unusual encounter unscathed. The veil of denial fell and Carlisle was finally able to recognize the man for what he truly was: a demon, an avenging angel, a deliverer of divine justice sent to punish him for the many sins he had committed throughout his life. According to religion, his only alternative was to repent from his sins and beg for forgiveness, but the truth was he regretted nothing.
Smiling in dark satisfaction, Carlisle reached for his discarded clothes, seeking for the little knife he always carried. Taking control over his own death was the only victory he could possibly expect given his predicament, and he relished it until his very last breath.
Not for one moment did Carlisle suspect that he had simply played right into the man's plans.
"Thy pomp is brought down to the grave, prophet that prophesy the deceit of thy own heart, thee that wrought much wickedness in the sight of the Lord: the worm is spread under thee, and the worms cover thee. Thy name shall rot, thy soul shall be turned into hell. "