On a particularly beautiful Sunday, Dean was leaving the church service not too early in the morning. A beautiful smile spread across her face, which didn't go away until everyone had left the temple. Dean used to stay inside to fix things so that when the next duty date came, everything would be ready. Without realizing it in the least, he had already been there for almost over an hour and a half. He looked at his watch in a hurry, ready to go. But then something drew him. He turned on his shoulders deliberately and slowly, only to behold the image of a crucified Christ right in the middle of the pulpit. That face of horror and seemingly eternal suffering completely captivated him. At that moment, he couldn't say exactly why he approached the image, so close that he barely stopped a few meters from it. but he had done it anyway.
It all sounded strange to him, that Christ had been part of the landscape of his vision for a long time, every time he wanted to enter the church, but he had never bothered him in the slightest, never until that moment. Such a heartbreaking image was not the best for the new sinners, who left as quickly as they could, perhaps out of remorse and shame for their mistakes. Dean was no stranger to it, he noticed it but never said anything about it, of course, he was a Catholic, he prayed to Mary and all the archangels in heaven, every time he got up, almost at dawn, but he simply believed that God's choice it was something that all people should choose of their own free will.
Realizing that he had been prostrate for so long, he straightened up fully, arching his spine a little, to regain his perfectly straight posture. He turned once more, this time with the idea of leaving for good. He walked through the huge black doors of the church, his hands in his pockets as he hummed some forgotten song in his mind… but he had forgotten something. The doors were not closed. He was a few growls away from cursing back then, calming down heroically right at the end. He backed away, returning to the building. Leaning over the entrance, with the doors already closed, I hear something. A dry, harsh noise, like a blow. Dean guessed it could be some forgotten child in the crowd, sometimes it happened, because the little ones got bored and played hide-and-seek while the mass was being celebrated. He started to unbolt the gray metal padlock, entering the church at once, but he didn't stop before he had barely taken three steps forward.
Even if he wanted to, that noise did not come from the calls for help from a frightened little boy. A guy dramatically dressed in black was on his knees, his back to Dean. He charged at his own skull, crashing it onto the solid wood of the stage. Dean's heart stopped for a moment, it could be a schizophrenic with loose reins, that was dangerous of course, but there was another possibility that terrified him even more, that the man could be possessed.
The individual turned around, staring at him. He was no more than thirty, with shaggy hair and a dark face. Deep in her throat, she let out a scream that sounded neither human nor natural. Dean could have run at that exact moment, but he didn't. Standing in the doorway, sometimes moving her feet in and out due to sudden tremors, she didn't allow eye contact to shorten for a second.
"What do you want?" I ask. Not knowing if he was really saying that to the man in front of him or to the very demon he possessed inside.
The subject was about to scream again, but stopped, filling his eyes with tears almost to the point of falling apart. Dean's ears were stunned by the piercing screams racking his head. The demoniac did not move his lips in the slightest, he did not even purse them in a grimace, but the voices rang and rang as if drawn from the suffering of sinners in the depths of hell itself. He tried to cover his ears with his hands as hard as he could but to no avail. He closed his eyes tightly without realizing it, it had only been an unconscious reflex. As soon as he opened them, the subject seemed to disappear. He slowly removed his hands from his face, feeling his breathing slow to normal.
He run away terrified. Returning home immediately. Being there and with the night peeking cold and gloomy over his window, Dean could not sleep. He did not pray to Mary or to the Archangels, during the morning that preceded it. He also didn't go to church when a new Sunday on his calendar approached. He couldn't even pass near the temple without trembling. Everything stopped, almost for a whole month. Of course, the church members tried to contact him, but Dean didn't answer their calls. He tried to get back to Maria one night when he was desperate, one when his dreams had been too abominated by the torment of the demons. He prostrated himself on his knees and prayed for almost three hours, but she did not listen to him, he did not find comfort there, only an inert and indifferent statue, nothing to help him.
That's when he just turned to the natural, the completely earthly, a therapist. His name was Castel, Dean never knew his last name, maybe because he never told him or he just wasn't paying attention the first time they saw each other or when he introduced himself to him. He helped him or so he assumed. But the demons continued to torment him. One of the times, Catel said something to him that he could never forget:
"If the demons chase you... don't turn around and run, because you will never really outrun them because they are faster and more agile. If the demons scream, don't put your hands over your ears or try to silence their voices, because their tones are louder and shrill than a lion's roar. Just face it, Dean. Just face it"
As soon as he heard him speak, the image of a man being ripped apart by a rifle shot went through him. He could still remember the smell of blood on the asphalt. Dean had only wanted to rob him, because he was desperate and because he hadn't found another way out. But he was very young and clumsy. He accidentally fired the gun and then ran away. There he realized... that that man, that poor fellow sick with alcohol, came to look too much like the possessed man... Then he knew the truth, he knew it. God was punishing him, that was his punishment.
Leaving the office, his face was pale, almost as pale as last time in church. On the way home, I look out the window at the temple late at night. It remained sealed and meek, resting in silence and darkness. Dean slammed on the car's brakes right away, freezing at what was in front of his eyes. He remembered Catel's words in a flashing second. He was going to face his demons. He took hesitant steps toward the building, always slow but steady. He broke the main glass to get in. The image of Christ attacked his eyes immediately, lighting up withering within the entire room.
"I'M NOT AFRAID OF YOU!" he yelled, turning countless times on his heel to look around, "DID YOU HEAR ME, YOU FUCKING DEMON?!... I'M NOT AFRAID OF YOU!"
A voice managed to be heard from deep inside, causing the ground to vibrate with the most powerful tremor. Dean went on and on screaming. Until everything fell apart. He saw before his eyes a hooded figure escaping from the church, making everything light up out of nowhere, as if someone had turned on the lights of the temple. In fact, it was. Castel was there, as soon as he could turn around. With an expressionless face but calm in a certain way, with slowed breathing and hopeful eyes. Dean didn't ask, didn't say anything or do anything, he finally knew everything. He saw a new being leave in front of him. Then when he was completely alone, he looked back at the image of Jesus, which had changed. A man with a book in his hands and resplendent red clothes. That sympathetic look caught him. Meanwhile, the sirens of a patrol exploded in his ears. They had come to his call. I smile slightly, closing my eyes in peace.
God had finally forgiven him.
