From this point on, things may go a little slowly for a while due to the fact as I have to compleat my own body weight in course work and have exams looming on the horizon. Again. (Ah, the joys of being fifteen!)
Well, lets no ponder on that and as a treat, we have a new charater to introduce! But I figure you worked that out from looking at the title. As always, thanks for the reviews!
Chapter 16: Meeting Father Parker
"Perhaps, things would have gone so differently if fate hadn't worked out the way it did. What if Jobe's confrontation with Wrath had spun out a few minuets longer or the conversation with Casper had lasted for a couple more sentences? Maybe then, Virgil would have awoken before Jobe entered this church and prevented him from coming in, perhaps even avoiding that ugly fiasco with Claudia, necessary as it was.
And what then? Who knows, I certainly won't. Fate ran it's course and so must this tail, and I don't have the time to linger on the countless and possible outcomes, as fascinating as it may be…"
* * *
Tentivly, Jobe peered round the thick, heavy wooden door and took in the church's interior in a sweeping gaze.
He had to look twice, just to make sure his eyes weren't lying to him and painting a false picture to for Jobe's brain. Anticipating the very worst image of hell, nothing could have prepared Jobe for this. Everything inside seemed so…so…
Normal
It took Jobe's eyes a moment to adjust to the soft, warm and almost welcoming light that radiated from overhead lamps as he marvelled at the spectacle before him. A deep, luscious, red jungle of carpet flowed between twin rows of wooden benches and Jobe found he had to use every ounce of will power to stop himself collapsing on the nearest one. Throwing caution to the wind, Jobe stepped in side and closed the door behind him.
The rush of rich, warm air that engulfed him was enough to make his head swoon and Jobe suddenly realised just how cold he'd been. Ever inch of him felt as though it had been frozen, filling Jobe with a sickly coldness like the prelude to a bad case of flu. Having prevailed through sewer and snow, the church's mild heat was enough to make him swoon and he found himself suddenly shivering, and not just from the cold.
"Phil?" The slothful molecules of air hardly bothered vibrated at Jobe's feeble attempt at a whisper as he took another miniscule step, still clinging onto the doorknob as if it was a lifeline. Frustration began gestating within him as Jobe silently scolded himself for being so afraid. There was nothing in the church that should raise suspicion, everything from the whitewash walls to the stain glass windows possessed no threat whatsoever, even the smell of varnished wood and old books were comforting. On the country, they seemed to beckon him inside with a welcoming smile.
So why was he treading water at the entrance? Something was niggling at Jobe's mind like a hot nail, flooding him with suspicious doubt. The church's smile felt false, covering much darker intentions.
Looking at the hand that still clutched the decorative brass door handle, Jobe saw that the knuckles had turned bone white.
Reluctantly, he let go with a sigh.
"Phil?" The man tried again, slightly bolder this time as he prowled between the stiff wooden benches while trying to look in every direction at once. He felt like a guilty thief, creeping through some hapless victim's house as he softly approached the alter that stood at a lonely vigil at front of the church.
A musty book lat open on its stand and without meaning to, Jobe began to read the loopy script that tattooed the pages.
'…And so, the worthy's sins shall be absolved by Her undying love and they shall be forgiven, ushered into her eternal Paradise that will be the world reborn, in her faultless image…'
"Come to join God's flock?" Jobe's head snapped round so fast that his bones groaned with a loud, audible creek. "Or are you looking for something other than spiritual guidance?" The mellow voice from the shadows spoke again, in a soft, southern accent and for the first time, Jobe saw the man leaning against the stone pillar, obscured by shadows.
Jobe narrowed his eyes in suspicion, 'Great, just what I need! Another fanatic!' And wondered if there was anyone in this town who wasn't tainted by its religion.
The man stepped into the light, revealing the soft and mature features of a fifty-something year old. Straw blond hair fell just short of his muddy green eyes in lazy, unkempt locks and grey had begun to taint it.
A foxish smile formed on his lips that took refuge under a Hitler-esque moustache as he pushed gold-rimed spectacles up the crook of his sharp nose, obscuring his sharp eyes as they flashed at Jobe. The black shirt filled out over his somewhat barrel-like physique, suggesting that the man's salad day's had been and gone but not forgotten as belt that seemed one notch too tight bounded his middle.
Jobe felt lead trickle into his stomach when he saw the black and white collar that encircled his somewhat flabby neck.
He refreshed his smile, showing of an array of white teeth that would erne him a place on a Colgate advert.
"Now, now. You look as though you've seen a ghost," He purred in a mellow voice. "And I (his accent twisted the word, coming out as 'ah') can assure you that I am no apparition."
Jobe tried to manipulate his face into an expression that didn't say 'I want to get out of here, NOW' which wasn't proving to be an easy feat.
"I'm sorry, I was just looking for someone. I thought they were here but_" Jobe trailed off when he realised the vicar was staring with a morbid attentiveness at both the shotgun and bloodied pole.
"Oh!" Jobe let out a short, uncomfortable laugh. "Well…there_"
The stout man raised his hand.
"Do not trouble yourself, you don't need to explain. I know all to well what is happening to this town." A grave look crumpled his features but Jobe exhaled with relief. He had no idea how he would have explained the need for carrying enough weapons to start world war three and he found himself thinking that, perhaps, he could trust this man. There was something so charismatic about him.
"So what, is this all the coming of some 'Paradise'?" Jobe asked the question that had burning a hole inside him. Maybe for once, he might just get a straight answer.
The vicar stifled a short chuckle and grinned wirily.
"Ah, I see you have met sister Wolf."
Jobe furrowed his brows.
"Who, you mean Claudia?"
The man nodded, the spectacles slipping down the sharp curve of his nose.
"I can see now the cause of your apprehension. Claudia is in possession of a somewhat…disturbing persona, but don't worry yourself. Sister Wolf's bark is far worse than her bite." The man smirked contently at his comment. "She is full of delusions."
Jobe found another question raise its head.
"But aren't you two part of the same…" Jobe made a vague gesture towards the collar that contained the vicar's neck as he tried to think of any word other than 'cult'. "Religious group, Father…"
"Please," the man raised his hands, in a sign of forgiveness "If we were being formal, then you could call me Father Parker, but as this situation is far from requiring formalities, you can call me Richard. And to answer your question, just because we are of the same faith doesn't mean we share the same beliefs." Towards the end of the sentence, the preacher's voice began to rise in intensity to the point where the last word was nothing but an angry hiss.
Jobe leaped back, into the alter as Father Parker began to pace back and forth like a caged tiger, "I mean, dose this look like an 'eternal Paradise' to you?" He continued, spitting passionately. His eyes snapped back onto Jobe, his glasses flashing dangerously as Richard swivelled his head.
"No" Came the somewhat meek reply.
"Amen to that!" Richard grinned furiously. Jobe found himself unable to stop his face creasing into a mirroring smile. The vibe of excitement Parker was emitting was contagious and Jobe found himself infected by his giddying intensity.
As quickly as the frenzy had come on, it vanished and the Father reverted back to his mellow self, perpously fixing his glasses back to their rightful position.
"So why is she letting all this happen if it is so against your beliefs?"
"As I said, Sister Wolf is considered somewhat of a radicalist" As he talked, Jobe sat down on the steps leading to the alter, hanging onto every word that Parker weaved and forgot any suspicion he had for the man.
"She believes that the world must first be reborn in the Almighty's image, cleansing it of all sin's before God's arrival."
Jobe looked pensively up at the man.
"And everything that's going on now, it's just a taste of what's to come?"
Parker nodded gravely in response.
"Unless she can be stopped, yes." There was a pause and the only thing that filled the air were tiny partials of dust that floated dreamily. "You must get out of here before that happens."
The stern words awoke something that had fallen to the back of Jobe's brain.
"Damn it" He quietly scolded himself for being so forgetful. "Has anyone else come here, except for me?"
Richard's head suddenly perked.
"Why, as a matter of fact, there was. A young fellow like yourself was here no more than an hour ago."
Jobe leapt to his feet as a small flutter of hope rose in his chest.
"Was he okay?" He babbled. This was the first bit of good news he'd heard since, well, since he arrived
"A little worse for wear, but he took off before I had a chance to speak to him." Jobe's hope went out like a light, extinguished by an oppressive despair.
'If Phil had left an hour ago, he could be anywhere by now…'
The disappointment that filled Jobe must have been evident on his face, for at that point Father Parker hurriedly continued.
"In his haste, your friend left his coat here, if that is any consolation."
Jobe followed the direction of Richard's shrug to a row of the firm wooden benches. It took his brain a moment to click and decipher the dark object that lay strewn across the elongated seat. As if in a trace, he walked towards_
"Phil's jacket…" He mumbled numbly, picking the leather coat up from its resting place. No doubt about it, Jobe couldn't mistake the coat that Phil had had since he was fifteen, which he still insisted made him look like James Dean.
Something jangled softly as Jobe scoped it up. Parker peered curiously over the man's shoulder as he delved into the pocket, pulling out a small metallic object that rested in his palm.
"What is it?"
"A key," Jobe read the small, scuffed tag attached to it. "Blue Creek apartment."
Jobe grinned, tossing the keys into the air before stuffing them into his own pocket.
"Well, my boy, can you give me a hallelujah?! That sounds like a good lead if I ever saw one!" The Father clapped jovially on Jobe's back with a hard, square hand.
"Hallelujah," Jobe echoed, still grinning ecstatically. For the first time, he was close to finding what he was searching so fruitlessly for. The end was near, and he could feel it as he strolled towards the door.
As Jobe crossed the church's threshold, he caught sight of a wooden statue of Jesus that hung suspended over the doorway and felt that hope burn so brightly that he could illuminate any darkness.
The door clicked to, and for a moment, Parker stared after Jobe.
The silence's short reign was broken by a sudden uncontrollable burst of laughter.
He'd played his part wonderfully, filling Jobe's head with nonsense and acting as a 'guiding light' to his preordained destination. The game had been set, all there was to do now was to wait for the pieces to play it out…
Glancing up, Richard saw the crucified figure and laughed even harder.
"God truly is coming, and there's not a damn thing you can do about it," He cawed in a mocking tone. "Can you give me one last hallelujah?"
Firing off a mock salute, he turned and strolled leisurely up the aisle, still roaring uncontrollably.
The statue of Christ merely watched him sadly with melancholy glazes eyes, a painted tear frozen on one cheek.
Another slowly welled up in his eye.
