*mumbles something about that damn Randy* 4-2-17
"She lives in me! I am the container of a power that no one could ever comprehend. I will tell you this, and listen very well, my brothers and my sisters, the day will come when you will face fear. What will you do? Run? Hide? No. There is no hiding from this pervading, creeping darkness. Take it within yourself. Walk that road I lead you down, and there will be paradise!" Bray smiled triumphantly at the cheering crowds. Sheep, all of them. They needed him so much. If only they understood. Bray knelt, and spread his arms apart. "Follow the buzzards!"
How many of those faces in that sea of faces became his tonight? How many took up the mantle to bear the word of Sister Abigail in their hearts? How many disciples joined the ranks? Bray knew there were many. So many students to teach. An army to take down the machine. Sheep that could outwit a wolf. Backstage, Bray passed by people he knew, worked with. They thought him just another man. A fantastic, if cryptic talker. He had to hide a smile. Years of his work have borne delicious fruit. The time was ripe for more to learn the ways. There was always room in Bray's flock for more. The entire world even! The surge of power within him sustained him through travels around the world. Abigail would touch strange lands through him, and leave a mark, like a vine. The vine would grow, and grow, and choke out anything that stood in the way.
"Great showing tonight!" Some random wrestler passed by, lauding him. Bray meted out a quick thanks, and continued on his way. Back to another nondescript hotel. There, he would feed his body, bathe it. Keep it in that sublime shape that Sister Abigail required of him.
In his room, he did as he planned. He bathed first, still feeling filthy from the show. Room service had brought him his late order. He ate sitting at the plain desk. His phone sat within his reach. For a fleeting moment, his desire to call Ruby overwhelmed him. So much so he swam in it. Drowned in it. Abigail pushed back against the emotion inside of him. She was the dam that contained this swell of feeling.
"I cannot have her." Bray said aloud. It wasn't said very convincingly. "I cannot have her," he tried again. That was better. "I cannot have her." He blinked for a moment when his cell rang. It rang a couple more times before he answered it.
"Hello, Bray? Would you be able to come in tomorrow early? We need to have a talk." It was the big boss himself.
"What kind of talk?"
"The kind that I'd rather talk to you face to face about. See you tomorrow then." Bray hung up, set his phone down, and questioned Abigail.
"Some things you need to find out for yourself, baby." She had not talked to him like that since he was young. Abigail then retreated into a deeper part of himself. Disconcerted, he fell into his bed, exhausted suddenly. He had worked for so long now, he was a few years to forty. The desire to bring the machine to its knees drove him, though. Sighing, he soon fell asleep. That night, though, he was plagued with dreams of sheep burning, and rivers of blood, and wolves circling him, ready to pierce him with their fangs.
"You have had an exceptional run with this company. You've brought us, well, the most fascinating times, and memories..."
"You're letting me go." Bray interrupted. His contract was about up. Somehow he was convinced beyond a shadow of doubt that they would re-sign him.
"We are choosing to let your current contract run out, but we would love to have you stay on in some capacity. You could talk with some of the guys to give you ideas." Bray sat there, hearing the words, but choosing to let them echo within his brain. Abigail was silent as the grave.
"I'll think about it." Bray said as he rose, and walked out of the office, not even waiting to be dismissed. His head pounded, and he could hear the blood rushing in his ears. What just happened? Blindly, he walked back to the hotel, and started to pack his things. Where does a preacher go when he cannot talk to his flock? Where does the wayward shepherd go?
