Chapter 2: To Atone
The drive thereafter was spent mostly in silence, Ray was too tired for much more than the hum of the radio and the sight of the slowly rising sun. She'd dozed off more than once, but around eight-thirty, they'd finally reached their destination (and miraculously, Zack only missed the exit once.) The second Ray stepped out of the vehicle, a strange scent hit the back of her nose. The aroma was familiar.
Was that—?
"We're here, thank freakin' hell," Zack gave a gruff exhale, slinging his scythe over his shoulder and slipping a hand into his pocket—slamming the car door with a shove of his foot. "Don't think I could'a taken another minute in that damn truck." The duo turned to the building, it was a relatively small, wooden structure with brightly colored stain-glass windows, not unlike those they shattered on B2. It was surrounded by a thick forest and overrun with foliage. "Knock, knock, Preacher," he called out, "your pizza delivery's here." Instead of opening the front doors like a normal person, Zack slammed the blunt end of his scythe to the large entrance, forcing it ajar.
Inside was what one might suspect of a place like this—a podium before a congregation of benches, lined in rows of two, and behind the stand on either side were two doors, one for the preacher, and the other for confessionals. Beyond the rest, it smelled even more strongly of that same, overwhelming scent—from the floor to the ceiling. "Reeks like a hoard of dead rats in here," Zack let out a single hack the moment he'd walked through the door, Rachel's nose twitched as well.
"I apologize if the salvation I've offered isn't to your liking."
The duo pivoted in sync as the voice called from behind. Gray stood tall and regal, just as he always had. One hand was hidden, tucked behind his back—while the other held his bible at chest level. "Geezus fuck!" Zack exclaimed, over-dramatic. "When the hell did you get there?!"
"But only a minute ago," he said, yet calm and collected. Ray gave him a skeptical look, or the closest thing she could muster, but if he noticed, he was unfazed. "I didn't think it'd be so easy to catch you off-guard." Needless to say, neither Ray nor Zack were keen on his phrasing.
"Well, fuckin'—don't be creepin' around like that," the boy replied with a scowl, "you're lucky I didn't slice you in two."
"Indeed," Gray said simply, taking the comment in a stride to rival Rachel's. Venturing a few steps forward, he walked past the younger duo. "Now then, shall we?" Perhaps resentfully, Zack followed his lead—muttering curses under his breath. Rachel, however, stood stagnant yet. For the first time, Abraham acknowledged Ray's presence, "Are you coming, Ms. Gardner?"
Her skeptical gaze lowered with a tilt of her head, but she didn't take her eyes off him. "Yes, Father," she answered ultimately. Taking a slow step, she followed the two men into the building, the large doors shutting loud behind her.
"I'm afraid that was the last of the anti-hemorrhagic," Gray lit the two candles sitting on the front podium, "but please make use of the church's remaining supplies as you see fit. The rafters are wooden, but there are blankets in the closet."
"Wow, didn't know I was stayin' in a five-star hotel. What's next, complimentary breakfast?" Zack crossed his arms. "This place is even rougher in shape than your little murder mansion."
"You may sleep outside, should you rather."
Foster spouted a few more slights as Ray zoned out from the back and forth between her seniors, gaze wandering to survey their surroundings. It was a church like any, but she felt little sense of divinity for some reason. "Unless you require nothing further, I'll be back in my study. Do call for me if you need anything." As he was so quick to dismiss himself, Rachel's heart pounded at an odd pace, even if Zack withheld no reservations. Truly, despite the circumstances, she couldn't help but feel a sort of unease.
"Wait," Rachel said, soft and abrupt.
Abraham stopped, not so-much as turning to inquire over his shoulder. "What is it, Ms. Gardner?" A long pause was held before she finally found a proper voice.
"Why are you doing this?"
An even longer pause followed before he answered. Turning in full to look back to her, his confident and stern expression never faltered.
"To atone, Rachel Gardner."
Zack let out an unhumored "hah!", but Ray only looked to him with eyebrows knit in confusion. From behind her, Zack wore an amused glower. "You're so full of shit, dude." The preacher neither concurred nor denied. "What, wanna go back on all the deaths you wracked up in your little fun house?"
"What I've done is left between myself and God alone," Gray replied with his firm belief of honesty, and—as always, that assuredness reflected within his expression. Confused and unsure of his meaning, Rachel only stared back, soulless. "I must atone."
Gray's footsteps echoed heavily as he took his leave. The door slammed shut with a thud, causing the candle flames flicker in the cross breeze. Gardner's vacant gaze lowered to her bare feet where there was a curious, reddish tint to the floorboards. The sins Father Gray had on his hands, did he really think he could make up for them so easily? That if he did this, helped them now, God would forgive him in the end?
"Whadda load of crap."
A metallic clang followed as Zack threw his scythe to the side and flopped down into one of the congregational seats. Taking slow steps before sitting down at his side, Ray replied, "He did say he saved you, though." There was no denying that.
Zack rolled his eyes, growling in annoyance. "Yeah, well—it's his fault I was ever thrown in jail in the first place." Rachel lingered in a momentary silence.
"I don't know if that tru—"
"Shove it."
Okay. Next question. "How did he do it?" Ray changed the subject. "Helped you escape, I mean."
A smirk returned to Zack's face. "Remember all that creepy mind bullshit he pulled on you?" A humored huff followed; "Must be some pretty strong shit, 'cause he used those drugs worked on the whole damn prison." Ray looked down once more. The reverend really had done a lot for them, hadn't he? Just so they could fulfill their promise he had a shaky faith-in at best, and yet, given that trouble, and their promise, here they were. Rachel took a few steps forward, however standing behind him at a comfortable distance yet.
"Zack?"
"What?" he looked over his shoulder.
"I'm glad you're still alive, but..." she trailed off.
Oh, great, he sighed, muttering under his breath, "here we go again". She didn't need to finish the sentiment, because the tone of her voice said it all, just like it had many times before. "But why haven't I slit your throat yet, right?" He rolled his eyes. "Ya think I was plannin' on you gettin' shot again or what? Been kinda busy."
Alright, then: "Are you free now?"
"Geez, make it sound like a dentist appointment, why don't ya?" Again, he rolled his eyes. "Look, I'm starvin'. Help me find something to eat, then we'll talk." Fair enough, right? "Doubt Old Man Preacher has much stored in this dump anyway."
Ray was silent, but ultimately, she stood, walking to the nearby cupboards; the nobs were caked with a fine layer of dust and webs. Brushing them away, the inside was pure and untouched. There was nothing of interest on the first two shelves, but on the bottom were three cans of something or another. Taking them in hand, she turned and held one out, reading aloud the label: "Soup." His eyes lit with amusement.
"Well, I'll be damned, and God said let there be light." He arose to stride over to Ray, taking the tin and popping the top open.
Well, he had food.
"Now?"
"Would you just give me a fuckin' second, kid?" With his hand on his hip, he turned with the can to his lips. "Jesus Christ." Doing as he asked, almost robotically, Rachel turned towards the podium. Passing the time, her gaze panned up to the stained-glass above the alter, it was beautiful, bright. With his hand in his pocket, he stepped to her side and gazed upon the cloaked, angelic figure as well. "Who is this bitch, anyway?" he asked, swallowing down a mouthful of the canned liquid, "I keep seein' her everywhere." Ray paused before giving the answer.
"The Virgin Mary," she replied, "Jesus's mother."
Zack raised an eyebrow, expression nearly shouting the words, "ya gotta be kiddin' me". Not even gonna comment on that one. Beyond the woman was a man hung on a cross, whom he did recognize. "And that's the baby boy right there, 'eh?" Rachel nodded. Crucified, soon to die for her sins. Her sins, her sins.
Her laundry list of sins.
"Zack?"
A growl reverberated in his throat. At times like this he couldn't help but wonder: was he really the one who needed to learn patience? "What did I just say, Ray?"
"That you needed a minute," she replied, however venturing to ask, "but, I was wondering, is it okay... if I take a minute, too?"
Zack raised an eyebrow. "What, before bein' murdered?" She nodded in reply; he shrugged. For someone who constantly talked about how much she wants to die, she sure was flippant sometimes. "Knock yourself out, I guess." He wasn't done with his soup yet, anyway.
"Thanks," said Ray nonchalantly. Putting her hands together at chest-height, the girl closed her eyes, tilting her head back slightly towards the stained-glass.
"What are you doing?" dare he ask. Not opening her eyes or breaking her concentration, she replied simply.
"Repenting."
He hummed. Weird time for her to start that. "Why?"
"I want to," she said softly, "at least once."
He raised his brow, an expression reflecting surprise. "Ha!" Zack exclaimed, taking a large, final sip before throwing the can on the floor. "Think you're gonna have to do a lot more than that before ya gotta ticket upstairs." Her soulless, dead eyes opened partially as her eyebrows knit together with his discouragement.
"What else can I do?"
Zack laughed at her. "Don't ask me," he gave a humored exhale, "I'm the serial killer, here."
And then, like a drop of morning dew from a rose petal, a sparkling sonance echoed in Rachel's ears.
"What?" she asked, almost breathlessly.
"Hm?" Zack hummed. It was as if he'd said something truly remarkable, though even Rachel wasn't quite sure what that could've been, yet she gazed upon him with eyes wide with wonder. He rose an eyebrow. "What?" he asked as she offered nothing else. Truth be told, he felt kind of unsettled by the look on her face. "Stop starin' at me like an idiot."
"I," Tension built in a long moment as she gave no answer. Looking the other way once more, she concluded, "Sorry. It's nothing."
"Freakin'—space cadet," he acted as though he'd dismissed her behavior, but noting the absent look on her face, he finally turned and took his scythe in hand. Half-heartedly, he asked, "So, we doin' this or not?" Rachel was silent as the sound of metal dragged across the wooden floor. "'Cause it sure looks like you're not smiling," he said in a taunting tone. A pensive look showed on her face, for she suddenly had quite a lot on her mind. He was almost surprised she showed no interest in trying to fake him out with a forced expression.
"I'm sorry," Ray answered softly, "I still need a minute." Zack sighed, as if merely inconvenienced.
"Girl, you pick the absolute shittiest times to care."
He was probably right.
"I still want to die," she corrected him quickly, "it's just—" Ray muttered, but as she spoke, she was suddenly cut off as Zack flopped back down on a rafter with his scythe at his side. As he did, he let out a pained groan. She flipped to look at him, he was clutching his side. She ran to kneel beside him, showing something akin to urgency. "Hey, are you okay?"
"Fine," he muttered. Just another bullet wound, and not even the worst he'd had.
Rachel dared peek past the tear in his tattered hoodie. He claimed it dismal, yet his torso... was still bloody and swollen. He hadn't even wrapped over it. "I don't think you took care of yours well enough," she pointed out, sullen.
One could almost hear Zack rolling is eyes. Still the same, this one, always nagging, nagging, nagging. "It just grazed me, it didn't get stuck in." Truly, all thing considered, not a big deal. Rachel looked downtrodden, knowing well that it really should've been stitched.
"I'm sorry," she apologized, "I don't have any thread with me."
"Tch," he smirked, honestly more relieved about the fact than anything, "don't worry. It'll heal."
Her vacant expression lit with a sort of weakness, but she nodded ultimately. Images of all the collateral he'd acquired during their time in the building flashed in her mind. When considering as much, she supposed she really shouldn't be doubting him; he'd taken more bullet wounds than most people would ever fathom in their lives, and here he was, living to see another day nearly a year later.
After a moment, she rested only her head on the bench seat next to him, gazing up with half-lidded eyes. Zack raised a bandaged brow, "What are you doing?"
"Tired," was her only exhale.
He gave a sigh and shrug. "Whadda'ya say we get some sleep, then I'll kill you tomorrow." Foster closed his eyes, too, and Rachel echoed the sentiment with a subtle nod.
Before she closed her gaze off in full, however, she looked over to Zack's scythe nearby, an odd, inhuman sort of fondness in her gaze. She reached out, pulling it closer, it's metallic handle resting in the crook of her elbow. The metal was cold, yet it made her feel so warm, and just like that, she fell asleep cradling the reaper's weapon.
It'd been a long time since she'd rested so deeply.
"I've decided I'm going to carry our promise forever."
Forever.
Forever.
Forever.
A firm hand rose to his chest, over his racing heart, gripping the fabric of his hoodie. He jolted awake instantly, a near inaudible yelp escaping his lungs, rolling off the tip of his tongue with an "R", but his consciousness subsided the call before it came to fruition. His breath was heavy as he gazed to his lap in a daze, trying to reacquaint himself with the world of waking. He quickly remembered the situation, a relieved exhale resounding from his lips.
He put a hand to his head, running his hand through his fore-fringe, shifting to gaze upon the little girl yet slumbering by his leg. It was the same place she'd fallen asleep, but she was... holding his scythe? "The hell?" He face twisted light with confusion. Little weirdo probably fell asleep thinkin' about her untimely demise or some shit. He gave an exhale of annoyance, standing to adjust himself. He pulled his hood down, scratching the back of head as he stretched.
"Did you sleep well, Isaac?"
Turning his attention, the young man looked towards the voice that called to him. Reverend Gray stood at the podium. "Peachy fuckin' keen, thanks," he replied, no sense of humor showing on his face, clearly still grumpy.
"You were muttering in your sleep again," the reverend noted bluntly. "I see nightmares yet plague your slumber." Zack's gaze narrowed, as he wasn't at all amused.
"Watch it, or I'll slice that dingy mug of yours."
Gray smirked back to him, amused on the contrary, it'd seem. "Ah, yes. You made no such promise to slay my smiling face." Zack rolled his eyes as the older man stepped out from behind his place, walking past the bandaged boy. "Perhaps you'd like to discuss what's been clouding your dreams in the confessional?"
Zack snorted. "As if."
Gray looked over his shoulder with a sly expression. "You won't even humor an old man? I did save your life, after all."
Zack paused, raising an eyebrow before he let out a mild laugh. "Well, when ya put it like that," a mischievous smile spread beneath his wraps. Wasn't his style, but, hey? If the Preacher wanted to play that card, maybe he could make it fun. "I hate owin' people favors, so just this once, then we'll call it fair." He stood up straight. Leading the way, Gray replied, with a single "indeed".
The duo entered the door left of the central stand. It was way too small for Zack's liking—only lit by a single, dim candle. There was a dusty counter, atop which a gated fence divided the two; they took their seats on either side, facing one another. Putting up his feet, the younger man leaned back casually. For a moment, they sat in silence.
"Isaac Foster," Abraham finally said. He did a strange gesture Zack didn't recognize, pointing to his head, heart, then side to side. "In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit—confess thy sins."
An entirely unhumored laugh was forced from the lungs of the addressed. "All'a this again?" The corner of his mouth turned upwards. "You should know by now that this shit don't work on me like it does with Ray." He'd risen his voice a bit, as if to taunt the reverend with the fact.
"Perhaps not," replied the preacher, however unfazed, "but your response might also be the answer to your overcast slumber." Zack raised an eyebrow, scoffing another laugh. He really wanted to hear it, huh?
"Alright, then," he lowered his voice again. A momentary pause followed as he mused him, pretending to contemplate the matter in sincerely. "Well, sometimes, I sleep in late on the weekends. I've littered in the road," he lingers, as if he's pensive, however overlapped by a satirical hum. "Oh, and," he laughs, "I'm a serial killer." The words dripped from his lips, like the blood from a scythe wound. It sounded so much less like a confessional, but rather a cause for victory. "I've killed more innocent people than I can even count."
(Quite literally. He could only count so high.)
Despite his sentiments, Reverend Gray didn't so much as bat an eye. "Why?" he asked simply. An unnerving grin showed on Isaac's face.
"'Cause it was fun," he explained simply. "'Cause I just couldn't help myself."
"You say as much," the elder quips back, not missing a beat, "though you've yet to slay Rachel Gardner."
Through the gate, Zack narrowed his burning, golden eyes. "That's different," he said, gruffer now, "and you already know why."
"Because of your oath, yes," Gray still sat tall, never faltering in posture, "but even as I enabled you, and so far as under the influence of drugs, you've always resisted. Is that promise more important than your personal enjoyment?" A odd twinge beat through the younger man's pulsating heart.
"So what if it is?"
"Then it'd seem," a wrinkled hand finds it's way to his Bible, "Rachel Gardner has shattered your greatest sin," he explained, to which Zack eyebrows knit together, never releasing the man from his glare. He wasn't sure he understood, but he certainly knew he wasn't happy about it.
"The hell is that supposed to mean?" he hissed.
Without reluctance, Gray elaborated to Zack's dismay. "She has absolved you of your most severe vice, you cared so deeply to maintain your oath that you spared her life until you returned to the world beneath the true, pale moon."
And now, he'd hit a nerve.
"Who gives a shit if I did?" Zack rose in tone. "That was for my sake, not hers—I'll be damned if I let her make a liar out of me!"
The boy heard a small chortle from the other side. "Yes, of course. The lord does look down on those dishonest," his remark earned a growl from the penitent, "but that fact cannot change what's already passed." Zack felt as though something grew unfathomably tight in the pit of his chest, he clenched his fists as his pulse grew quicker.
"The fuck ya tryin'a say, Preacher?"
"Nothing remarkable," Abraham shrugs, "though simply that angels aren't the only ones who can perhaps save those that've lost their way."
For a moment, the boy grew perplexed; it took a second to understand his meaning. The pounding in his chest grew more intense and adrenaline was almost painful. "Nobody can 'save' me," his tone was venomous and biting, "not even Ray."
Gray was unfazed. "I did not mean her."
Zack grew silent as he took Abraham's meaning. After a moment, the boy leaned in close to the screen, where he spoke in a gravely whisper now, as if inciting a threat, a warning, a curse.
"I am going to kill Rachel."
The preacher nodded. Sincerely, he replied, "I never doubted that."
Zack's nails dug into his bandaged palms. He glared through the holes in the grated screen, to the pearl sclera staring back. Actually, for real?
Fuck this guy.
"Y'know, Pal? You can act high and mighty all you want, as if God himself is stickin' his dick in your ass, but at the end of the day? You're just as fucked as the rest of us."
With Zack's unholy language in the house of God, Gray narrowed his eyes. "Isaac—"
"You keep sayin' we're all sinners or whatever, damned to fuck, but all the people who died in your little building? Dear Doctor Danny, that sadomasochist bitch," he huffed a laugh, "even the brat," (not to mention, all the sacrifices) "it ain't on me, it ain't on Ray." He pointed to him, through the screen. "From start to finish, that was all you."
Gray took on a stern tone. "My hand is not the center of this confessional."
"Sure, sure," Zack snorted, "but, hey, just riddle me this, Preacher," Gray's untoward glower was now perhaps shown more-so for what the boy would next ask: "Just how much blood's really been stained on that Bible, anyway?"
Abraham was silent.
" — May God give you heaven's dew and earth's richness—an abundance of grain and new wine. May nations serve you and peoples bow down to you. Be lord over your brothers, and may the sons of your mother bow down to you. May those who curse you be cursed, and those who bless you be blessed. "
—12:3, Genesis
His hand gripped the sacred book tighter, but his gaze on the boy didn't falter. As the reverend parted his lips to speak, suddenly, his voice was drowned out to a sound much louder.
"Come out unarmed with your hands behind your head!"
The screech of Zack's chair scrapping echoed on the floor. "W-What the hell?!" yelled the boy. Gray's neck jolted to snap in the direction of the door. A muffled voice echoed over megaphone from beyond the building; police sirens blared. "You set me up?!"
"I have done nothing of the sort!" Abraham protested, to which Zack only cursed beneath his breath, forcing himself to forget about the conversation prior.
It wasn't a moment before the duo burst out the confessional door. Remarkably, Rachel was yet to stir. As the reverend ran to his office, Zack was quick to grab the wakeless by the scruff of her dress, forcing her to stand; his scythe fell to the floor with a clank. That, ironically, was the sound that roused her. A confused mutter slipped past her lips, "huh?"
"Rise and shine, Sleepin' Beauty," Zack hissed, picking up his scythe in the other hand. "We've got company."
Disoriented, the girl looked around. Flashing, red and blue lights tinted the stained glass somehow more vibrant. "The police?" Her heart suddenly picked up to match the moment appropriately. "They found us?" So quickly?
"Hm, well, sure as shit seems like it," Zack hissed, perhaps more than a bit done with her inability to grasp what he would've thought was, y'know, the obvious. "Hope you're ready to haul ass, girl." He looked over to Gray, "'Care to show us to the back door, Old Man?!"
"They'll be waiting for the two of you at the rear entrance," Gray replied (also ironically stating what he'd thought was blatant.) "You'll need to take the trap door under the desk in my study."
Rachel's bleary gaze blinked in confusion. She was confused with the way he'd spoken: "Are you... staying here?"
"Are you crazy?!" Zack shouted. "You think an old crossbow's gonna do anything against the shit they're packin' out there?"
"If they focus their efforts of myself, the two of you might be able to flee in haste," explained the reverend, stepping far beyond the younger duo. "Should the Lord decide my grave is best made in his house, then so be it."
The younger boy blinked, not sure he understood. Not about all his crazy religious bullshit, but, "Why are you doing—?" Gray cut him short, looking back with a stern expression and the tone to match.
"Dear boy," said Gray, "you asked what sins I've stained on my bible, the reasons I must atone," he gave a pause.
Shocking both onlookers, the reverend threw his holy text on the stained, vermillion floor. It landed face up, a waft of purple smoke releasing from the book's open page. Ray stumbled back with the awareness to cover her mouth, but Zack stood, flabbergasted at the sight. The nauseatingly sweet aroma grew heavy and impossible to escape. "Zack," a panicked Ray called out, helping prop him up as she gripped the sleeve of his boy stumbled, gripping his head. He felt dizzy, chest growing tight again, and in what was the fraction of an instant, but felt like it could've been his full life time, Zack remained stunned. For maybe the first time in his life, it seemed as if things had been made just a bit clearer.
Reverend Gray's legacy put that of Isaac Foster to shame.
"You—"
The boy's shaking voice was cut short, as Abraham aimed his bow back in younger's direction.
Alerted, Rachel shouted, "Wait!" Snapping from his daze, Zack's eyes widened the slightest fraction of confusion, though he showed no sense of fear until Gray fired an arrow past his head—though the fact itself wasn't cause for anxiety.
His aim was set on the candle at the alter, burning down to the wick. He shot it, sending its fires cascading to the carpet below. They spread at an abnormal and alarming rate, the flame reflected in Zack's yellow, dilated optic. "Shit!" he grit his teeth. "What the hell, Old Man!?"
"Leave now, lest you wish to burn alive." The words taunted Zack fiercely, and he wanted nothing more than to lay the scythe in the bastard's chest that very moment. He lingered in a long moment before his first decision became his final.
"Don't gotta ask me twice," he said, voice dark and low. He looked back to the fires, and then to Rachel. "Let's go, Ray!"
She looked at Zack, then to Gray, then back to Zack. The girl lingered in the moment of reluctance. "But, the reverend—"
She was cut off by the feeling of a larger palm gripping her petite hand. He pulled her along, not giving her a choice. "If he wants to dig his grave, he should've employed that kid in his suicide tower!" Rachel looked over her shoulder to the sight of Reverend Gray cautiously approaching the chapel doors with his bow in hand, and then, with that final look, she turned away, never gazing back.
Beyond the roaring flames, she could've sworn she'd heard his voice once more.
"Atone, Rachel Gardner."