Indwelling

George

He heard her footsteps and purposely ignored them. He heard her laughter, heard the clatter of her bottle plummet to the floor, heard the thud of her bottom tumble clumsily after it, it made him frown. George shrugged, rolled his eyes and foolishly disregarded it. He thought she was opening the bathroom door. It wasn't a nonsensical conclusion. His sister liked opening doors. She nearly opened all of them. In the house, in their home, besides the front door and the forbidden door, she opened everything: his bedroom, her bedroom, his parent's room, the refrigerator, every stinking cabinet, closet and wardrobe. Now, her new objective was to follow people to the bathroom, open the door once they were inside and walk straight in mid-tinkle.

She thought it was funny.

Three times Lady had walked in on him, twice with Obed, almost a dozen with Grendel. They had gotten to the point where they now locked the door. And so he did, slinking the knob left. And so, he kept ignoring the strange, now very common sounds erupting in rapt staccato from the other side. All at once, he forgot the door across the hall, the last door she had yet to open, the first she had tried and failed. Just for a moment, he forgot IT, like his parents did on occasion. IT was no longer a new threat. IT was nothing but an old haunt, a ghost his family had long since learned to avoid. And so, he finished his business, flushed the toilet and then silently opened the door finding a stark reminder lying quietly at his feet. Lady lay broken on the floor haunting him in her stillness.

All he could do was stare watching her eyes gape unseeingly up at the ceiling like his mother's had, of the chest that didn't rise, the hands that didn't clap, the laughter that didn't bubble like it once had. A silence flooded the small apartment, a silence that was deeper and more foreign than his own. It choked his tears and drowned out his heart beat. So overwhelming was it, it seemed like time itself had lapsed.

At first, George moved to touch her, but then he stopped as his gaze clouded, as it was lured by the glittering gleam of brilliant gold sparkling at him from the darkness. His gaze, a child's gaze, a haunted gaze, a wounded gaze, narrowed in anger. He aimed its frustration at the box nestled in the room across from him. Made of gold, it was ornate and intricate. Its decorations weaved together to form the wings of two angels kneeling on top of the flat beveled cover. Its decorations reflected in the blue green tear dripping and gathering and falling down the cheek of the devastated ten year old. He gritted his teeth, George. He stumbled down the hall. With his back against the wall, his glare stuttering to the door, his mind raced over what to do next.

That was when the movement caught his eyes. It stopped his feet, quieted his mind. A man stepped out of the closet. Dressed in a draping red fabric, he stopped before the body of his sister. The man eyed George a moment before he bent to pick her up. His hands and fingers were large and stout, overflowing with blatant strength. They cradled her small body gently like his gaze. It was soft and apologetic, one eye blue, the other green. The man covered his sister's eyes with his hand. He closed them gently, tucked them away with a story and a prayer.

That was when George moved, when his grief broke and his anger flowed. The boy ran down the hall, his fists drawn. He ran screaming. He tried to punch the man in the side, in the gut, in his back, hitting him where he could and as hard as he could while his tears blinded him. Some fell upon his lips, staining his tongue with salt as his words tumbled violently from his mouth. "YOU KILLED HER!" the child screamed. "YOU KILLED HER!" His voice broke. His tears increased until an ocean poured from his eyes. The child realized that punching the man was like punching those padded walls in his gym class. It didn't do anything. Still, he didn't relent and the man allowed the abuse. He watched him quietly as the boy continued to cry.

"You took her like you took everyone else. She didn't do anything. She was only a baby. She didn't know!" He choked and fell to his knees, punching instead the man's thighs and hips, the man's legs. "You're a monster. You're…"

And then his voice broke, his wails taking over where his voice failed. He stayed there. He grieved there until there was no more energy to make a fist and no more tears to cry. After a long time, George felt his strength ebb. He became nothing more than a powerless little boy holding onto the leg of the only adult who had hurt him the most. But then, to the man's amazement, something in the boy's gaze changed. His grip on the man's clothes tightened as the child looked into his eyes. His tongue softly wet the pink flesh of his lips.

"Take me instead. Please," the child begged. "Please bring her back."

The man paused considering the child. Then, he too knelt. "Do you know why she died?"

Silently, the boy nodded wiping his eyes. "Mr. Obed… Father told me about the Arc. He said it was dangerous, because it was holy. Lady must have touched it and she died like that man died before." The boy trailed off as he finally noticed the man crying silently in front of him. The man's hands were shaking as they held the body of his sister. The boy quieted as the man looked towards the body.

"I have watched over your family since the day your king placed my Arc in your home… since long before that."

"If that was true, then why did you take my Mom and Dad? Why did you take my grandma and now my sister? Please bring them back. Please…."

The man looked at the little boy. His thoughts weighed heavily behind eyes cloaked in vast wisdom. His gaze was cautious and yet sorrowful.

"And what about the soldier from before? He was helping you, wasn't he? All he wanted was to keep your Arc from falling to the ground. And my sister, she didn't know. She couldn't have understood that it was wrong to touch it." The boy reached out to grab the man's robe twisting it between fingers that were bigger than a child's and yet smaller than an adult's.

To this, the man shook his head. "This world is broken and so is mankind. He is evil from the start and of this, I cannot alter without also creating man into something they were never meant to be, what I do not wish for them to be."

"So, you don't help? You can't do anything?"

"I teach. I lead," the man replied, reaching a hand to rub the back of the boy resting his forehead against his shoulder. "But people go their own way. I will not stop them from making that choice. I cannot do anything other than punish, and that punishment is universal amongst everyone. That is why she died and he did too. This curse has been spread throughout everyone including you. Only a sacrifice can make this right. Forgiveness and holiness can only be found when the punishment is taken and the sin atoned for through blood. Do you understand?"

The child nodded, then pleaded. "Then let me be that sacrifice? Please do not take her from me."

Gently, the man shook his head. "No," he said, "you are not enough."

When the child instantly moved to interrupt, the man quieted him softly. "You are not enough," he repeated, "but I am."

Getting to his feet, the man looked about the small little apartment. His gaze softened as he looked. "I enjoyed my time with your family. It will be a long time before my presence will once more be so close to my people. I look forward to that day." And with a breath and a start, the man breathed life into the nostrils of the child in his arms. And so she coughed, and so she sputtered and so she breathed and squealed and giggled. Before he knew it, her little pink hands were double fisted into the hair of the God who brought her back to life. The man smiled, kissed her and then set her on her feet, untangling little fingers from his curling mane.

Giggling, Lady picked up her bottle and took two steps towards her brother, who grabbed her up faster than a frog a fly. He was crying, crying so hard that both of them didn't notice when the man vanished and the front door popped open allowing their babysitter to stumble in. She was cloaked head to toe in underwear and socks. She was also accompanied by the quiet rabble and wondrous smiles of his new parents. Their grins were spreading thickly across their faces.

Putting his sister down, the child watched as his babysitter was paid and sent her way. He waited while Obed drew him close and his mother drew his sister even closer. Her smile was contagious, giddy almost, well giddy and contagious. George almost felt the tips of his lips spread as hers opened in laughter. "I have something to tell you," she said. Her hand dipped to her stomach.

George's gaze followed and immediately, he knew what was coming. His smile deflated a little as doubt began to crawl into his thoughts. But then, his gaze skipped away from her towards the hallway, towards the door at its end swinging softly in a wind he couldn't feel. Moving to close it, the boy heard his father's voice echo down the corridor.

"Things are going to change, George, but you should know, we will always love you. You will always be ours. This is a blessing. Don't be afraid. We will make this work and with His help," Obed thumbed a finger at the closed door, at the hidden closet and the thing nestled somewhere inside, "it will surely work out."

The boy let go of the door knob and looked up at his father. Obed was watching him expectantly from the hallway's entrance. Then suddenly, for the first time in two years, a smile grew swimmingly across his face, brilliant for all to see. In speechless silence, the boy spoke softly saying, "I think, I believe you." Wiping a tear, the child ran to Obed and held him tightly. He didn't let go until dinnertime. He had found a new home at last. He had found his voice.

- Calla