DISCLAIMER: This fanfic is NOT reflective of any views the author personally has of others, nor to attack anyone with similar or contrary beliefs. This whole thing is literally just some dumb fun to take a nice break from my usual stuff. I do update my chapters every so often. I'm just letting you know.
This story is for some fun and should not be taken seriously.
Some details are going to be wrong because I can't really spend too much time on the wiki (and the wiki is not as good as I'd prefer), so forgive me if details don't line up 1 to 1 w/ the lore, but you're also free to point these mistakes out as I release chapters so I may fix them when I have time! (they're usually in there because I didn't spot them in post).
MINOR WARNING
This specific chapter does contain a self-harm element. To say and/or explain what it is would be spoilers.
You've been warned.
Thank you for understanding!
See the ends of the chapter for any changes and/or fixes. Thank you for your time and I hope you enjoy!
Chapter 6 – Church's Sin
The Godforsaken entered into view.
Moxxie found a parking space. After shifting into park, the imps, perfectly in sync, exited the vehicle.
"Okay, nice to know we're on the same-" Church yanked on the handle, bamboozled as to why it's not opening.
"-… page?!" He went to the other side and tried that door while Moxxie and Millie headed into the cathedral-turned-bar.
"ARE YOU SHITTING ME?!" Church squeezed himself into the front seat to try the shotgun door, releasing himself from his (surely, accidental) prison, falling face-first into the brimstone asphalt once again.
"Fucking child locks!" He got up and gently closed the door behind him.
Church headed to the front entrance of the Godforsaken and proceeded to face-plant himself straight into the giant doors.
"Fuck! Forgot!" He rubbed his face and entered.
. . .
As Church entered, he saw the imps take their seats. A familiar jet-white Hellhound in a nice, black dress-shirt came up with a notebook and pen.
"You must be the lovely couple that placed your reservation today! How're you doing?" Timmothy asked in a deep yet gentle voice, setting down a pair of dinner menus.
"We're doing very well this evening, thank you for asking." Moxxie answered.
"Good. That's good." The Hellhound nodded, setting a pair of red napkins with silverware rolled within, bound by silver ribbons onto the table.
"Forgive me. I just remembered." The Hellhound went back to the bar and leaned out of the employee's only door.
"Is something wrong?" Moxxie asked.
"Nothing, sir." The Hellhound returned with a couple candles in silver holders, setting up the table.
"A candle-lit dinner, just as you requested." The hellhound took out a zippo and lit the candles.
Millie's eyes shined with delight as the scene unfolded before her.
Moxxie saw how full of genuine joy Millie was and smiled.
"Millie, I-"
And then Church fumbled, accidentally scraping one of the chairs while looking underneath one of the tables for the portfolio.
"Damnit, Church. NOT NOW! NOT FUCKING NOW!" Timothy asked himself.
The Hellhound looked back to the Imps with a nervous look on his face.
"Forgive me, I seem to have an uninvited-"
"It's mighty fine, sir. He ain't disturbing anything." Millie interrupted.
"Are-… Excuse me?" Timothy blinked.
"He's just looking for his portfolio. It's fine sir." Moxxie nodded.
"Are you sure?" Timothy asked.
"We also still need a moment before we order. Thank you, sir!" Moxxie answered.
"Thank you. Thank you, but I'll still have a word with him anyway!" The silver-furred barkeep/waiter smiled and nodded before rushing over to Church and seizing him by the neck, dragging him over to the bar, disappearing behind the door leading to the kitchen.
EMPLOYEES ONLY
"Church, did you forgot your fucking portfolio!?" Timothy asked.
"Portfolio! Yes, I did. I completely forgot to grab it before I left! I am SO SORRY! Do you know where it is!?" Church answered.
Timmothy rolled his eyes with a groan and looked over to the kitchen, behind the curtain.
"Evelyn, have you seen Church's portfolio today?"
"Nah, Tim. It'd be right where he left it! Also, what did the imps order?"
"They haven't ordered yet. I'll let you know!" Timothy answered.
"Wait, Evelyn's a cook?" Church blinked.
Timothy turned back to Church.
"Yes, Evelyn cooks. Fire magic is our stopgap until our proper grill arrives in a couple weeks. Now, was there anything else you needed?!"
"No. Just the portfolio." Church answered.
"If it's not back on the table where you left it, then it's stolen." Timothy answered.
"Well, which table did we leave it on?" Church asked.
"I'm giving you 5 minutes to look, then I'm kicking you out before you do something stupid, AGAIN!" Timothy barked.
"Right! Fuck! Jeez, man! Chill!" Church seethed through his clenched teeth.
"Wait a minute! I just realized - did I tell you that I forgot the portfolio-"
"I'm on the clock and so are you, Church! And yours is ticking, so MOVE!" Timothy barked.
"Right! Sorry!" Church headed back-out to the sanctuary floor.
. . .
Church continued snooping around, looking for the lost portfolio.
"I swear! It was here! It was RIGHT HERE!" He whispered in a half-panicked, half-frustrated state as he scoured the corner-booth where he remembered going through the portfolio with Evelyn and Timothy not even a day earlier.
"It was RIGHT! FUCKING! HERE!" Church silently panicked as he motioned at the center of the table.
Church felt the presence of a pair of eyes looking at him as he searched.
Looking over, he saw Moxxie and Millie observing him.
Moxxie seemed entertained.
"Fuck, I feel embarrassed! This is Timothy's big break and here I am, making it look like a circus! FUUUUCK! WHERE IS THAT DAMN HUNK OF PAPER?" Church moved on to scour the next booth, but then felt someone snag him by the collar and hoisted him against the wall.
"Time's up, Church. Get out." Timothy whispered.
"Tim! Wait! I'm so close to finding it! I swear to-"
"No! You have embarrassed me in front of customers, TWICE! I am FULLY ready to straight-up punt your ass to heaven if you don't leave RIGHT NOW!"
"Five more minutes! Please, just five more minutes and I-"
"*Ahem*, excuse me." A familiar voice interrupted.
Church and Timothy turned to find Moxxie standing behind them.
The hellhound dropped Church onto the floor, landing with a *thud*.
"Good evening, sir! I take it everything's up to your standards?" Timothy readied the comically convenient notebook and pen from earlier as Church rose to his feet, dusting himself off.
"Yes, yes. Everything's perfect, sir. I just needed a quick word with my future business associate here!" Moxxie reached into his tuxedo and pulled out the portfolio and brandished it before Church and Timothy.
"I believe this was what you were looking for?" Moxxie asked.
Church and Timothy exchanged glances, not having any idea how to react.
"How long have you had that?" Church asked.
"It was just on the table when we sat down." Moxxie smiled.
"… So-… you're telling me-… if I just walked up to you-… and kindly asked-… very nicely-… at the very beginning-… then I could've… avoided putting on this whole tomfoolery dog-and-pony-show?" Church calmly, politely, taking pauses and breaths between segments, asked.
"Why, yes. Of course – not to say we didn't find it entertaining." Moxxie answered with a giant smile on his face.
Church took a nice, calm, long, deep breath.
"Ffffuuuuuuuuucck oooooffff." He nodded, not letting out a single noise despite the loud, agonizing, spiteful scream his intrusive thoughts demanded to announce to the whole cathedral that moment.
"May I please have the portfolio back?" Church asked very nicely.
"You may." Moxxie handed the portfolio over.
"Why thank you… very much!" Church gently took it, on the verge of breaking into maddened hysterics, barely managing to restrain himself.
He looked through the portfolio, checking to make sure nothing was taken or missing.
"Everything seems to be in order." Church said, eyeing the I.M.P. business card attached to the folder via a paperclip.
"That's good to know." Moxxie nodded, wearing a giant shit eating grin.
"Wait, hold up." Church noticed something different on the card – most notably, the fact that it looked much newer than the card he remembered from the day before. The card even had contact information including a fax and phone number printed on that wasn't there previously. Church flipped the card over and found a street address written on the back along with a note:
Welcome to Hell Mr. Tiernan!
Signed, Moxxie & Millie – I.M.P.
Church felt his heart freeze inside his chest.
"If you can wait for a few hours, Church, I would be more than happy to answer any questions you may have. Now if you excuse me, I have a date with my loving wife to return to!" Moxxie bowed, eyeing Church with a smirk before turning around and heading back to his table without another word.
Church's jaw dropped.
"Well I be damned, Church! What are the chances?" Timothy laughed.
"What the fuck just happened?" Church blanked out.
"What happened, is you have a front-seat interview with the people that killed you! Your murder-mystery arc is over, Church! You did it! You finally won!" Timothy elaborated, insulting Church's (admittedly low) intelligence.
"Now if you excuse me, I have an order to take. Find a seat and I'll be with you shortly!" Timothy happily skipped over to the table and took the pair's order.
Church felt like his brain had shrunk to the size of a walnut.
"THEY'RE THE I.M.P. I'VE BEEN TRYING TO CONTACT THIS WHOLE TIME?" Church slowly processed the information, bits at a time.
He thought back to when Moxxie first pointed a gun at him, then thought back to the bar when the goth showed Church that he was shot, and then he thought back forward to the car when Moxxie struggled to restrain himself from laughing.
At that moment, it finally dawned on Church.
"MOXXIE'S THE ONE THAT FUCKING SHOT ME!?" He felt like the biggest idiot in the history of idiots to ever exist.
An array of questions assaulted Church, but one of them was louder than the rest.
"WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?!"
Church tucked the portfolio under his arm and headed over to Moxxie and Millie's table only to be stopped by the sound of a pump-action 4-guage shotgun.
Church looked over and saw Timothy pointing the anti-aircraft infantry weapon pointed right at Church's center of mass, ready to turn him into a fine red mist if he tried any shenanigans. Church decided to take a seat in one of the nearby booths, keeping an eye on Moxxie and Millie as he waited for an opportunity to make his move.
… And so he waited.
… And continued waiting.
Their food finally arrived, and the smell caused Church to double take.
"Is that goddamn steak? With proper side and seasoning?" He felt the roof of his mouth start to water.
Timothy went back to the kitchen, disappearing behind the door behind the bar.
"Shit! The smell of that food is driving me nuts! FUCK! I'm getting distracted again!" Church took the opportunity to relocate to one of the corner booths next to the bar, trying to distract himself by admiring the entrance and architecture of the Godforsaken, just like yesterday.
The sound of a platter hitting the table spooked Church as Timothy set a pair of glasses of ice water down, followed by some fries as an appetizer.
"Thought you might be thirsty again, and while I was at it, figured the smell was driving you crazy too." Timothy nodded.
"Tim, I'm sorry about-"
"Don't. I'm the one acting like an ass, tonight, man. I should be the one apologizing." Timothy interrupted.
"Well, this IS your big break…" Church sighed.
"I kinda-"
"Bro." Timothy interrupted again.
"I should've made sure you had that dumbass thing at the very start. This is my fuck-up too, man."
Church nodded.
"I remember being stressed out over school and shit. I behaved the same way." Church leaned back into the leather booth, relaxing.
"What do you mean?" Timothy asked.
Church took a deep breath.
"Well, being a dick to anyone that could distract you or… be a threat to tasks you want done. Homework and stuff." He took a swig of water, followed by snacking on a fry.
Timothy nodded his head, understanding.
"I couldn't help but overhear your conversation with Evelyn this morning." He asked.
"Yeah?" Church acknowledged.
"You don't have to talk to me about this if you don't want to, but…" Timothy paused.
"What did happen that day – October fourth, I mean?"
"… October fourth." Church bit his cheek.
"Eeh. Fuck it: He's willing to listen, I'm in the mood to vent, and Evelyn's busy. Why not?"
Timothy's ears perked as he listened.
"I-… I failed a test the Friday prior. Dad found some suspicious crap in Olga's closet, so to keep her out of trouble, I took the fall. She was always working with her occultist weirdos, claiming she was working on "something important", but never sharing what that was. I only really saw her at school.
"Whenever I'd ask what she's doing or if I wanted to hang out, she'd brush me away with claims of "saving the world" or whatever hogwash nonsense DHORKS probably brainwashed her with or whatever."
Church took a deep breath.
"It was getting so bad, my grades started suffering from the stress of dealing with her. We just… never hung out. I never really even knew her beyond some random invention she'd show up with for show-and-tell, back in Elementary."
"Was this all part of her Job – DHORKS, I mean?" Timothy nodded.
"I wouldn't really call having anything to do with that weird occult, DHORKS or whatever heathen nonsense they have going as "working", but-… Olga just… was never there for me. Dad didn't like it either, but I guess it grew on them, because after the incident-" Church pointed at his scar.
"- she stole a lot of Dad's attention from me. And with Mom gone…"
The crucifix again rubbed against Church, but being an inanimate object, it couldn't get his attention.
"Absent mother? Can relate. At least you had your pops looking out for you." Timothy nodded.
"I actually think…" Church fixed his posture.
"I think she might've actually died. I've heard stories of dads leaving, but rarely moms."
"But you said she left?"
"I was… really pissed-off when I was talking with Evelyn. Again, Dad would lock-up when we tried to ask, so we didn't exactly have a lot of creditable sources. Olga's the one who told me she left, and… it just never occurred to me to question it." Church answered.
"Olga – yeah, your sister. You said something about her giving you that scar. Is that the incident you mentioned earlier?" Timothy pointed.
"… Yeah."
"What happened, exactly?" The Hellhound asked.
Church took a deep breath.
"She…"
Church took another deep breath.
"She thought Dad, our dad… a genuine, swell guy that just wants to give people hope… was making contracts and pacts with Demons."
Timothy blinked.
"How long ago was that?"
"Roughly a couple years before we died-"
"No, I mean your Dad with the contracts-thing."
Church paused, staring at Timothy in disbelief.
"Don't you dare tell me you believe her."
"No, but you're Tiernan, and the rumors started twenty-five-ish years ago, and you're like, what, nineteen? It kinda lines up-"
"No, No! Tim. My Dad would not make deals with demons. Ever. Over anything. He would not do that, straight-up."
Timothy stared at Church, worried and unconvinced.
"Are you sure?"
Church groaned.
"Of course I'm sure. I KNOW my dad! He helped me through one of the most horrible times of my life-…"
Church clutched onto his Rosary and held it tight to himself as he continued.
"- while Olga just fucked around, then shows up out of nowhere to accuse him of one of the most insane things conceivable!
"I was there for her when she needed me, but she was NEVER there when I needed her, and one day, several days after the worst day of my life, she shows up and cries about Dad having a paper trail that linked him with powerful demons, and how she had the balls to invite me to confront Dad on it with her!"
Timothy paid attention.
"What happened next?"
"I told her to go fuck herself was what happened next. Then she claims to have evidence of her insane accusation."
"… And what was her evidence?" Timothy asked.
"She claimed that she couldn't tell me, so she planned to show me! Want to know what her plan was?" Church was visibly more frustrated as he got closer to the memory.
"I can see that this is definitely a source of resentment between the two of you, so I can tell that this is going to be unpleasant. Yeah, hit me." Timothy took a sip of water.
"Her plan was to summon a literal fucking demon." Church recalled.
Timothy proceeded to choke on his water.
"Yeah, I think that's when my Rhabdophobia developed." Church's battle-form started slowly showing.
"Oh, and it proceeded to kill some of her occultist accomplices who helped her with this bullshit, idiot plan, and she almost got herself possessed after her ritual succeeded – the moron!" Church blurted as a halo flickered in-and-out of existence above his head.
"What happened?" Timothy wiped his face.
"I got in the way and… Well, I tried to banish the thing! And - …" Church pointed at the cross-shaped scar on his face, tracing from his hairline, down past his eyebrow, down to his jaw as the translucent "X" flickered.
"As you can see, it didn't fucking work!"
"Your Exterminator is showing." Timothy took a sip of water.
Church scrambled at his face and hair, hopefully dispelling his battle-form.
"I see. How did you escape?" Timothy commented.
"Dad showed up and saved the day. Apparently, Apparently… A-PARENT-FUCKING-LY… some folks he claimed to be "a bunch of old friends" showed up in his office – not at, in - and warned him of what EXACTLY Olga was doing, what EXACTLY was going down, who EXACTLY to expect, and had everything down to EXACTLY where we were… in the fucking ritual room. And he prepared on a scale comparable to a Deus ex fucking Machina and proceeded to be one."
Church took a deep breath, keeping himself under control as he continued.
"And then after that, Olga and Dad start hanging out like nothing ever happened while I had to figure out how to move on with this fucking thing on my fucking face!" Church pointed at his scar again. Again, the silver-golden "X" appeared over his eye as his flesh darkened into an abyss.
"Church, it's showing again." Timothy whispered.
"Olga got her own friends killed in a fucked-up plan that nearly got ME killed, then after Dad saves the day, she all of a sudden starts deciding to be a family member, after returning from vanishing off the face of the earth for fuck-knows-how-long and starts hanging out with the very guy she was willing to throw under the bus over some conspiracy-bullshit, then has the balls to try to make things up with me?! After all she did?! She is a fucking witch, with the candles and everything! And she's in heaven now! How the fuck is she in heaven?! And how the fuck am I in Hell?! The fuck did I do?!"
"It's all Bullshit!" Church finally concluded his rant, slamming his fist onto the table.
"I kinda need to call a little myself." Timothy remarked.
"Ex-fucking-scuse me?" Church was visibly starting to lose it as he struggled to keep himself under control.
"Too many things are lining up." Timothy commented.
"A pastor's daughter being a witch is just not a thing, unless the guy allowed it – the Tiernan from the urban legend, indeed did utilize witches. Your sister being some sort of occultist fits the MO of the Tiernan from Urban Legend."
"A fucking coincidence-"
"BUT! You expect me to believe that even though your father is a "Tiernan", you're eighteen years old and the name started circulating down here roughly twenty-five-ish years ago, your dad is not that Tiernan, even though a lot of stuff lines up."
"Because it's just-"
"But if your Dad was indeed, THE Tiernan, then everything makes a lot more sense – your sister stumbling across the paper trail, her occultist shenanigans being tolerated – how can you not see this?!"
"Because I-"
"Your sister was competent enough to summon a demon, but also incompetent enough to almost get herself possessed by it - some pissant bitch-baby demon that then got itself exorcised in under a minute by some McDonald's dollar-menu Sunday past-"
Church slammed his hands on the table and glared at Timothy with a look that caused the room to brighten as he rose from his seat.
"Don't you fucking dare compare my old man with those pissant swindler fast-food fucks that take advantage of the insecurities of spiritually lost people and treat the subject of my faith like a commodity to be bought and sold - and you bet your ass, if I see someone trying to sell a Bible for $6.66 down here, not a single existing method of torture any demon here in Hell has already invented will compare to the nightmares I would gleefully inflict upon whatever self-righteous, plastic, script-reciting, pre-manufactured business model-following artificial fuck that has the audacity to treat my values like a market commodity! *gasp* I hold NOTHING for those McDonald's dollar-menu Sunday hypocritical fucks other than my disdain and hate. HATE! Do you even know the meaning of the word, Tim?!"
Timothy cocked his shotgun and pointed it at Church.
"Church, please stop. Your inner exterminator is showing! NOT IN FRONT OF THE CUSTOMERS-"
"There are over a hundred million nerve endings in a single human body, Tim. and if God and Old man Morningstar put aside their differences to inscribe the words "hate" and "loathe" on every single fucking atom of them, it would not equal a single one one-billionth of the hate I feel for those false fucking shepherds that I feel for them every instant I remember that they exist. *Inhale* Now don't you fucking dare compare my father to those charlatans ever again, or I swear to both God and Morningstar, I'll rip that shotgun from your disembodied hands, and I'll-…"
"Shove it up-… and pull the trig-…" Church snapped out of it, realizing what he was about to say.
"Oh fucking shit. It happened again." He realized his mistake, grabbing his head by his ram horns and sitting back down.
"Ffffff-FUCK! Oh fuck!" Church tried to calm himself down, waving his hand over his face and head to make sure the features from his battle-form were dispelled.
Silence filled the sanctuary. Not even the jukebox was playing anything.
"Sorry." Church whispered, holding his face in his hands.
"Oh God, I fucked up! AGAIN!"
"I'm sorry."
Timothy looked over to Moxxie and Millie.
To his fear, the imps were watching.
"Fuck! Damage control time!" The hellhound immediately switched gears, getting up from his seat and heading over, throwing the shotgun back behind the bar.
"I am deeply and terribly sorry for this disturbance! I promise it won't ever happen again! I swear this individual-"
"Is not associated with the Godforsaken, and hence is not representative of the establishment." Moxxie finished for Timothy, much to his bewilderment.
"It's quite alright, sir. The food is also very delicious! Compliments to the chef." Moxxie added.
"… Excuse me?" Timothy looked at him, bamboozled.
"When we are ready for Mr. Church's questions, we will let him know." The imp elaborated with a smile.
Timothy's ears folded back as his expression changed to a worried confusion.
"These two just witnessed an exterminator lookalike, and they're not even as much as BLINKING, or even ASKING about it! Just yesterday, everyone in the building – including me – were ready to blow Church's ass to kingdom fuck, but these two are acting like they see that shit every Tuesday! WHAT THE HELL'S GOING ON?!"
"Excuse me – do you know this sinner demon?" Timothy asked.
Moxxie bit his cheek, holding back a grin.
"We can neither confirm or deny if I.M.P. had or currently have any relations or involvement with Mr. Tiernan to any nonauthorized individuals without proper authorization. If you have any questions, we must request that you call our office or inquire our office at the specified address on our recently updated business cards." Moxxie answered perfectly.
Timothy and Church's jaws dropped in response.
"This is beyond my paygrade." Timothy shook his head and headed back to the kitchen.
. . .
Moxxie and Millie continued their date.
"For fuck's sake, it's been like an hour already! Who are they waiting for?" Church started becoming more and more impatient.
"Fuck it! I don't care anymore! I ball!" He rose from his seat and started heading over to the Imp's table.
Church gently placed the portfolio on the table.
"Hello, I'm very sorry to interrupt, but can I please ask what this is, just to get this out of the way?" He asked.
Moxxie nodded his head.
"Never thought I'd live to see an expense portfolio get nabbed by a new arrival – let alone, ours, under these circumstances."
"Okay – an expense portfolio. I'm finally getting somewhere!" Church sighed in relief.
"What kind of expenses?" Church asked.
"You see, Mr. Tiernan – everyone on this list was either a target, or someone we expected to die anyway. They were all contracted by different people, but instead of hunting them down one at a time, we decided to pull some strings and cash everything in all at once. This portfolio is a collection of the different costs and payout for each individual." Moxxie answered.
"… So you lured everyone to the gas station – the semi-truck filled to the brim with explosives…"
Moxxie nodded.
"The luring was not us, I.M.P. specifically…"
"So… Me and Olga… being there… was a… horrible coincidence?" Church asked.
"Well…" Moxxie bit his cheek.
"Time to rip the bandaid off." He sighed.
"Yes, unfortunately." The imp answered.
"But my sister was still a target." Church processed.
"Church, you and Olga weren't supposed to be there."
This caught Church off guard.
"… Why was my sister a target? What did she do?"
Moxxie at first didn't answer.
"Dear…" Millie gently held Moxxie's hand.
"I think he deserves to know." She softly reassured him.
"Your sister was very competent at her job, but she wasn't good at hiding her tracks." Moxxie answered.
Church despaired at the answer.
"… Oh God, let me guess – the Overlord the mythic Pastor-version of "Tiernan" screwed-over, got onto her trail, and assumed she was related to him, because of our last name."
A pause ensued.
"Am I wrong?" Church asked.
"Not really. There's nuance, but you're close enough." Moxxie answered with pain in his voice.
"Fer a Pastor's kid, you seem to catch on quickly on how things go down here – that, or ye jus' know much more than ye let on." Millie remarked.
"For a business with "Immediate" in the name, you seem to have more patience than… well… expected." Church commented back with a slight chuckle.
Pause again.
"This kinda sucks, but I get it." Church shrugged.
"Wait, you don't hate us for… well… murdering you?" Moxxie asked.
"You were just doing your job. If I hate anybody right now, it's Olga, but it's less about her and the fact I'm frustrated for not knowing why I'm in Hell." Church answered, taking a deep breath.
"Will that be all, Mr. Tiernan?" Moxxie asked.
"Eh, before I leave you two back to continue your date-…" Church put on a temporary, but best-he-could Columbo impression.
"I did have just one more thing." He smiled.
"Did you shoot me before I burned to death?" Church chuckled as he asked the question.
"Um…" Moxxie tried to hold himself back from laughing.
"I will just say that the cross-shaped scar over your eye was where I aimed my rifle. No hard feelings?"
Church stuffed his hands into his pockets, holding back his own laughs.
"Nah, but before I leave, all I have to say is-…" Church paused for dramatic effect.
"Good shot!" He finished.
Church and Moxxie shared a hearty laugh.
Just then, the entrance doors to the Godforsaken opened, and the jukebox changed its tune to something horrible.
The clock struck. It is now one hour to midnight…
NOW PLAYING: AFTER DARK X PERFECT GIRL (ESPRESSO DEPRESSO REMIX)
Church instinctively looked, not pay attention due to still enjoying his time with the imps, but then as the door slowly closed behind the new person in the room, Church could not help but continue looking, as if bewitched.
He instantly regretted it.
Every nerve in Church's body lurched in pain to punish his choice in pampering his curiosity.
His lungs froze in his chest as if he were trying to breathe in the vacuum of cold, frigid space.
From his seat, Moxxie saw every hair on Church's body stand on end: His club-carded tail shot straight out like an arrow. The pupils of Church's eyes shrank. His entire body language completely 180'd, reeling from that friendly, warm, gentle giant demeanor to reeking of pure terror and fear in the span of three, long, painful seconds. To Church, those three seconds felt like years.
"Uh, Church, you alright?" Moxxie innocently asked, only now noticing the new presence approaching their table.
Contrary to the lyrics the Godforsaken played, Church was not falling in love with the woman before him, nor was she strange to him.
The hairs on Church's body, from the back of his neck to the tips of his feet stood end-to-end. One emotion and one emotion dominated him - the same emotion he felt that very day, seven years ago when he opened the door and saw what had haunted him from that day onward – the worst day of his life.
The emotion could only be described as a mixed concoction of pain, fear, shock, loss, more pain, more terror, and similar overlapping emotions put together in a single electrochemical chaos concoction as Church unwantedly continued observing this person approach him in an excruciatingly slow perception of time as his own body betrayed him, forcing him to continue perceiving this person.
The woman was wearing a modest, black funeral dress that went from the base of her neck, down to her ankles. Her hair was black as night, save multiple thick interrupting locks of blonde strands as a small pair of goat horns peeked through her bangs. Her irises were a light red, akin to a white rose painted to imitate its crimson, natural born cousin.
Her skin was white like a ghost, with the only exception being a rose-red rash around her neck. She kept approaching the table until she was within conversing distance.
The female sinner demon paused before speaking. She put on a kind smile and folded her hands as if she expected to meet Church here.
"Good to see you again, Church. I've missed you." She spoke softly with a smile, with no hint of any real emotion underneath her pretty face.
Church recognized her voice from over the phone.
He stepped back, then took another, heading towards one of the service doors, never breaking eye-contact with the sinner demon. Church fumbled for the doorhandle, finding it after a couple seconds. Opening the door, he exited through it, closing it behind him.
The sinner demon rolled her eyes and turned to the Imps.
"You must be Moxxie and Millie from I.M.P." She offered her hand in greetings.
"You're late." Moxxie declined the offer.
"I'm sorry miss, have we met before?" Millie asked.
"I'm the secretary of overlord M. Bezzle – the one that financed your hit earlier this week. I contacted your office on behalf of my boss to place it. We spoke over the phone." The ghost-skinned sinner demon explained.
Moxxie looked back to the door Church disappeared behind, then back to the Sinner demon.
"I'll have you know that M. Bezzle is most pleased with your performance and is willing to pay in full, now that we have confirmation of the Tiernan family's passing."
The sinner demon smiled.
"Forgive me, this must all be very inconvenient for you, especially considering that it was supposed to be Olga here and not… him." The secretary apologized. Her smile became a frown for a moment before spotting the portfolio on the table.
"Ah! That must be your missing expense sheet! I'll admit, I was half-expecting you to just file a replacement after Church took it." She pulled out a checkbook.
"So, how much does my boss owe you for the inconvenience?" The sinner demon asked.
"Wait- wait a minute. Back up." Moxxie raised a hand and shook his head, confused.
"I thought the hit was against a single member. Not the whole family." He stated.
The sinner demon paused, then nodded, smiling.
"My boss has considered the death of Mr. Christian Tiernan's family to be satisfactory." She answered robotically like a rehearsed script.
"And besides, I and Church have a lot of catching up to do anyways, so, him being here works for me." She smiled, running her hand through her hair.
. . .
Church ran, ran, and ran down the twisting, near-endless stone hallways of the Godforsaken, trying to put as much distance between himself and her as possible.
He'd arrive at a door, enter, and close it behind him, and just sprint to the end of it.
Running… Running… Running…
Eventually, he couldn't run anymore.
This particular hallway seemed to be some sort of storage area, covered in thick layers of dust, and poorly lit as if nobody had been through it in years.
A mannequin stood at the side of the hall. Church failed to ignored it as he walked past.
"You belong here~!" The mannequin whispered with what sounded like glee in its voice.
"No, I don't!" Church seized it and drove the mannequin into the stone floor, splintering the head into a hundred wooden shards on the floor.
"If she belongs here, then so do you! Why wouldn't you belong here?" The mannequin defiantly whispered from a mouth that was not.
The question caused something in Church to snap.
"SHUT UP!" With a reel of his foot, he stomped on the surviving pieces of the dummy as hard as he could.
*CRUNCH*
The materials cracked like glass.
Church stomped again on the torso.
*CRUNCH*
Then another time on the hips.
*CRUNCH*
Then a couple more after that on the legs.
*CRUNCH* *CHLOTCH*
*CRUNCH* Church kept stomping on the mannequin until it was nothing more than mulch on the hallway of the cathedral floor.
"SHUT!"
*CRUNCH*
"THE F-!"
*CRUNCH* Church immediately clasped his hands against his mouth as his foot landed on the mulch that was formerly a mannequin.
"FUUUCK!" He looked around the hall, hoping no one other than himself heard that.
Church rushed into the next room closing the door behind him.
The room was a tiled, semi-tidy, rectangular chamber with a drain in the floor and a wide mirror beheld by a counter of sinks, with several aluminum dividers marking stalls.
"It wasn't my fault… None of this was my fault!" He tried to tell himself again but was interrupted by the sound of something that caused the hairs on Church's neck to raise all over again.
Something heavy swung from a rope behind him.
"I'm not turning around!" Church continued holding the door shut.
"I'm not facing it!" A tear fell down his cheek as he lied to himself.
"You're just a bad dream… and I'm gonna wake up." Church announced, building himself up as he slowly loosened his grip on the bathroom door entrance.
He slowly, sluggishly turned around.
Church was greeted by a pair of legs wearing navy-blue dress pants and matching shoes, swinging from a burnt, gasoline-reeking cadaver with half of its head destroyed, wearing Church's white, satin shirt as a bedsheet hung the rotting carcass from a ceiling fan.
Even his father's necklace was accounted for.
"Churchy, boy~!" the corpse welcomed in a mocking tone.
Church blinked, wishing he didn't recognize the dead, rotting remains of himself – almost unchanged from when he saw himself from the video.
"What? Not the corpse you were expecting?" The cadaver mocked.
"W-… What the fuck-…?" Church's mind froze, bamboozled.
"What the fucking WHAT, you waste of space? Spit it out!" The cadaver retorted.
Church tried to process what was happening.
"What the fuck is going on? What the fuck is this?! HOW is this?!"
"How is this possible, you ask? How do you think, you stupid fuck?" The charred corpse retorted.
Church blinked, not answering.
"What the fuck are you?" He changed the subject.
"I'm exactly what I look like, Churchy boy~!" Church's corpse smiled, laughing at him.
Church looked at the shoes his corpse was wearing. He reached forward and poked at one of the feet, then got kicked in the side of his face by the opposing appendage.
Church tended to his bruise as he tried to keep eye contact with his corpse's single, clouded-out eyeball.
"You're not a figment of my imagination, so what the fuck are you?" Church asked, hand still tending to his bruised cheek.
"Playing dumb doesn't work on yourself, you fucking idiot." The charred corpse spat.
"I'm you from the day you ruined your life – the WORST day of your life." He explained.
Church listened.
"I'm the fucking dogshit friend that Trinity got into a shouting match with."
"No." Church interrupted.
"I'm the incident that got you expelled from the school afterward – like Cain with his rock…" The corpse continued berating.
"I am the one that argued with you for twenty minutes before walking into her room-"
"Shut the fuck up!" He tried to shut it down.
"- and what did you see, Church?" The corpse asked.
"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" It didn't work.
"What did you see when you walked in, Churchy?" He repeated the question.
Church refused to answer the question.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk. Oh, Churchy, Churchy, Churchy-boy! Whose fault is it?" The corpse mocked.
"No one's! Not hers, not mine!" Church shook his head.
"NEITHER OF US BELONG HERE!" He shouted.
The corpse laughed.
"So you're just in hell for no reason, then? God send you on a fucking vacation into the bone zone?"
"I don't know why I'm in hell-"
"BULLSHIT, Churchy~! You know EXACTLY why you're in Hell." The corpse saw through his thin veil.
"Then fucking tell me! What was my sin?!" Church yelled.
"WHAT. THE FUCK. WAS MY SIN?! FUCKING TELL ME, THEN!" He demanded.
"You know exactly what your sin is, Church. Now stop being a pussy and say it. Say it from your own fucking mouth!"
"FUCK YOU!"
"Say it! FUCKING SAY IT, YOU WORTHLESS FUCKING SACK OF SHIT!"
"HER CHOICE WASN'T MY FUCKING FAULT!" Church's voice cracked when he screamed it. He could feel the tears running down his face – albeit, slightly stickier than he remembered.
"And which side of you believes that – the pussy "Mr. Perfect can do no wrong" side that you kept trying to push, or the side of you that fucking knows it absolutely fucking was?" The corpse asked.
"… It wasn't my fucking fault." Church curled into a fetal position, wanting to die all over again – to feel those damn flames again – to feel the suffering and pain to burn that shame all away all over again – even the bullet in his skull.
"IT WASN'T MY FUCKING FAULT!" He screamed.
"… We've told ourselves this lie for seven… long… painful fucking years, Church. Look around you! WE'RE IN HELL! God himself doesn't even believe that big, fat, ugly lie, so who are you fooling?! It's time to face the fucking music and admit it! WE. FUCKED. UP. Face the music, 'cuz your song's-a-playing~, Churchy~ boy~!" The corpse stated the obvious in a mocking tone, reminiscent of a church choir.
"Shut up…" Church whimpered.
"Shut the fuck up! You're my corpse. You're just my corpse. HOW THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING TO ME?!" Church shook his head, trying to find some argument or retort to by some miracle, win against himself.
"You died loooooong before that, Churchy. You know that." The corpse answered.
He gave Church a moment to sob on the tile floor.
"You can't shut this out anymore, Church. She's here, in Hell – the one place she isn't supposed to be. You can't keep living this lie anymore." Church's corpse spoke his living counterpart's thoughts.
"What do I have to tell you to FUCK OFF AND LEAVE ME ALONE?!" Church screamed.
"You know exactly what to say, Church… But you won't admit it."
"BECAUSE IT WASN'T MY FUCKING FAULT! I didn't put the noose around her GOD DAMN FUCKING NECK! I didn't kick the chair out from under her FUCKING KNEES! I didn't fucking do anything! She did it herself, twenty minutes before I showed up!" Church bawled as tears streamed down his face, recalling every detail from that day, etched into his head.
"And there it is, Churchy~ boy~!" The corpse chuckled.
"WHAT?! FUCKING WHAT?!"
"The reason for your damnation: Your sin." The corpse laid out, plain as day.
"It's right fucking THERE! IT'S RIGHT FUCKING THERE! HOW DO YOU NOT SEE IT?! ARE YOU SO FUCKING BLIND THAT YOU CAN'T FUCKING SEE IT? IT'S THERE! IT'S THERE! IT'S RIGHT FUCKING THERE!" The corpse screamed at Church over and over again, knowing fully well how futile it was.
"… It wasn't my fault… It wasn't my fault…" Church denied it again and again, knowing full well that his bullshitting wouldn't work anymore.
"… Welp, seven years everyone told you that lie – your father, your sister, your therapist, everyone. Seven years that you've told yourself that lie. What more's an eternity in Hell? Who fucking cares anymore, Churchy~? We missed the bus! We're in Hell, and even if you admitted it now, we're shit-out of luck, and we ran on fumes looong ago. There ain't no going to heaven for us anymore." The corpse cut through again.
"You made it the worst day of her life, and she made you pay the fucking piper. Fucking admit it already! WE. FUCKED. UP. Now we're dead. 'How' we're in Hell is fucking irrelevant. Pick yourself up Church. It's too late to cry." The corpse grew tired of arguing.
Church wiped his face, finding red stains on the sleeves of his shirt.
He rose to his feet and looked around the bathroom.
The corpse was gone. The bedsheet and fan that suspended it were gone.
Church turned to the bathroom sinks and tried to wash the blood off his hands and face when he looked into the mirror: There he was – the blue eyed, preacher's kid with that auburn-brown hair, staring back at him.
The reflection and Church's face were drenched in tears of blood.
Church grabbed a paper towel and tried to wash his hands clean of the blood.
"It wasn't my fault."
It didn't work.
As he looked into his own reflection, something inside Church snapped.
The room started getting brighter.
Church looked at his reflection, deciding that he didn't want to see it anymore.
A new song played.
TIGER KING
Church emerged from the door, entering the sanctuary.
He took a hard look at the ghost-like sinner demon looking back at him. She again, gently smiled.
Church walked over to the bar.
"Here for my free drink, Tim." Church whispered to the silver hellhound.
"What will it be?" Timothy asked.
"Something for a broken heart - fuck me up good, but don't burn my throat." Church answered.
"I have just the thing, but that's gonna take me a minute." Timothy agreed.
"Take your time." Church nodded, understanding, keeping it together.
The pale sinner demon rubbed her hands, slowly approaching Church.
The imps remained in their seat. Unlike earlier, they didn't seem too enthusiastic about what they felt they were about to witness.
"Hello Church." She smiled with an almost childlike glee like a friend reuniting with another.
Church didn't say anything.
"I, uh… I got your phone call." She commented.
Church didn't say anything.
"I had no idea you'd remember my number after all this time! How long has it been?"
"October fourth, seven years ago." Church answered.
"Do you recognize me?" She asked.
Church took a deep breath.
"Yes. Yes I do."
Timothy arrived with Church's drink.
"I call this one "the medicine" – high-content vodka mixed with soda." He placed the shot glass in front of Church.
"Thank you, Tim." Church took a sip of the weird mouthwash/cough-medicine tasting concoction.
"Uh… Church?" The sinner demon observed, confused.
"I didn't know you drank." She commented.
"I don't. This is my very first." Church answered, downing it in a single gulp.
"That's… good to hear!" She took a seat right next to him.
Church ignored her.
"On the house. You're going to need it." Timothy re-filled Church's cup, then left the room through the Employees only door.
"Church, come on. It's me – Trinity! Don't you recognize me? Don't you want to talk to me?"
Church took a sip from the shot glass, not saying anything.
"Church, we've known each other since we were kids. You can talk to me. Ask me anything. What's wrong?"
Church sighed and nodded.
"How did you know that I died?" He asked.
"It said in the magazine a couple of days ago – twelve dead in an explosion. Your name is right next to Olga's."
Her answer confirmed everything Church feared.
"… If you actually read the magazine, you'd know that I'm not in it. Just Olga and those other eleven." Church downed the rest of his drink, then finally looked Trinity in her face.
"How did you know I died?" He asked again.
Trinity didn't say anything.
"The portfolio are all secondary targets. There needed to be a primary – someone, who needed to die. Who was it, Trin?" Church asked.
She didn't answer.
Church looked over to Moxxie, then back at Trinity.
"… I was the primary target. Wasn't I?" Church asked.
Trinity refused to answer.
"The target…" Moxxie interrupted, somberly.
"Was indeed a Mr. CH Tiernan." He finished.
Silence.
"You order the hit on me. Didn't you?" Church asked. No rage or anger was in his voice. Only simple pain.
"It's fine. I get it. I understand. You hate me – after what I said to you that day." Church commented – again, no hate was in his voice.
"I understand." Church nodded.
"I-… No. You got it wrong. I-… My boss, M. Bezzle-"
"Is the guy that placed the hit on me and Olga - placed the fucking hit on me, because my last name was "Tiernan" – the guy that fucked up his self-enrichment shenanigans, and YOU called it in." Church interrupted.
Trinity tried to speak, but nothing came out.
"… you-… You fucking put a god damn hit on me…? Why, Trinity? Why?" Church couldn't bring himself to say those words, but he mouthed them out.
"Church, please, I can explain-"
"We're done, Trinity." Church shook his head and took a step back.
Trinity's eyes widened in shock.
"Wait! No! I can fix this-" She went into damage-control mode.
"No." Church answered.
"Please, Church, I'm sorry-"
"NO!" Church firmly answered again, a tear of blood ran down his face.
"Church, I know this looks bad, but please let me explain! Just tell me what happened-"
"What happened?!" Another blood-tear rang down Church's face.
"WHAT HAPPENED?!" Church repeated.
"Do you remember a single thing of what happened October fourth, seven years ago?" He asked.
Trinity looked at Church with a confused expression.
"… You don't know?" Another tear fell down Church's face.
"It couldn't have been that bad." Trinity bit her cheek, shrugging.
Her answer was the wrong answer.
"I felt horrible that day – after our fight… So I went to see you after school…" Church raised a finger and pointed at himself.
"And do you know-…" Church wiped his face, staining his sleeves in the blood of his tears.
"-Do you know what I saw-… when I opened your door?" Church pointed to the roof as he asked. His tears were getting harder to repress.
Trinity held her breath, realizing her mistake.
"… I saw-…" Church's voice cracked as he tried to give an answer.
"… - A tipped-over chair…" Church moved his hand in a clockwise circle, still pointing up.
"Underneath you-… as you hung… dangling from the fucking ceiling fan…" Church shook his head as his voice faded into a whimper.
Trinity tried to hide the rash around her neck, immediately realizing what he was talking about.
"You're wearing the dress you wore to your funeral."
Trinity didn't say anything, letting Church continue.
"I carried you… in that… tiny box… down the god damn fucking aisle…" Church choked, sniffling as he took his next breath.
"I… lowered you… into the fucking ground…" He choked again.
"Not a day passed that I didn't think about you." Church whispered, shaking his head again.
"I'm sorry… I'm so sorry for what I did to you that day…"
Trinity turned away, hiding a smile that Moxxie and Millie immediately saw and frowned upon.
"I'm sorry too~." She turned back around. Again, with that fake, plastic look that would've fooled anyone else, but she made a mistake.
"I don't care how sorry you are, Trinity." Church shook his head.
The smile faded from her face.
"You hurt me, and I don't forgive you."
Trinity stared at Church, bewildered by what he was saying.
"I can't forgive you. I won't forgive you. I'll NEVER forgive you, for what you did to me – back then, and now." Church whimpered.
"… Church?" That answer was not what Trinity was expecting.
Church shook his head, his face drenched in his tears of blood.
"We're through, Trinity." He answered, turning to head out the door.
"Church, wait-" Trinity put her hand on Church's shoulder.
He violently pushed her off, accidentally revealing that piece of himself again as the halo over his head radiated before simmering down, dispelling itself.
"Next extermination day, do me a favor and just fucking kill yourself, just like you did last time!" A piece of Church wailed in pain when he spoke those words to her.
Never in his existence did he ever conceptualize saying anything like that to her, but here he was, doing it for a second time.
"… You don't mean that." Trinity tried to brush it off as a joke.
"… You're not her, and I'm not him" Church answered, seeing through her and himself.
He didn't want to show It, but Trinity was right with him not meaning what he said: Church was in pain and wanted it all to stop.
Part of him did want to get back with Trinity, but with the old Trinity from school – not whoever this stranger, changed by seven years of literal Hell has become – she was the same soul, but not the same person, and the same was with Church.
Church wanted to stop hearing her voice, to stop seeing her – to stop remembering her: meeting her, befriending her, falling in love with her, fighting with her, seeing her die, then burying her, and then having those memories collide into a hurricane of horror from meeting her all over again.
Church wanted to stop remembering her AT ALL, but now if he never saw Trinity again after this spat, then Church would have to spend all eternity remembering that those words were the final words he ever spoke to her.
"When you died, Trinity, that part of me that loved you, died with you."
Church faced Trinity a final time.
His face was already a deeper-maroon-red color, darker than an average imp's. Now, that face is drenched red with blood from the tears he shed from those painful memories.
"All you're looking at… is a spiteful… old… rotting…charred corpse… of a bigoted pastor's kid… that died in his hatred… for the person he loved – who could never forgive himself… for what he did to you." Church felt like he took his own heart and ripped it in half as he spoke those words.
"I'm sorry for what I did to you… but I can't forgive you." He turned away again and took a deep breath.
"Church Tiernan is dead. You killed him, Trinity, twice. Goodbye." Church slowly exited through the doors of the Godforsaken, continuing his walk as the doors creaked slowly shut behind him.
Trinity took a step forward, then felt a hand restrain her shoulder.
"Let go! He's mine!" She wanted to fight the hand off.
"You don't love him." A familiar Baphomet continued holding Trinity's shoulder, preventing her from following Church outside.
Trinity waited for him to turn back one final time to look at her before the doors closed.
The doors closed with their resounding, heavy, signature *thud*, then locked.
Church did not turn around.
The clock struck midnight and The Godforsaken once again changed her song.
DAY 7 – CARRY ME DOWN
Church sat on a bench out in the parking lot, waiting for anything else to happen.
There was a carton of smokes and a lighter right next to him.
. . .
"… Welp, I was turning 18 before I died anyways, so who's gonna stop me?" He grabbed one of the cigs and put it to his mouth.
*Flick*, *Flick* Church drummed his thumb on the igniter, lighting his first cigarette.
"Trinity? That's a nice name. I'm Church, but you already knew that." His mind nose-dived back into the past, reliving the nostalgic better days.
*COUGH, COUGH! HACK! COUGH* Church adjusted to the newfound chemical in his throat.
"Stop, please." He finished the roll-up in less than three drags, dropping the butt at his feet, stomping it out, then taking another cig out of the carton.
*Flick* Church ignited his second cigarette, finished it in two drags, then dropped the butt and stomped it out.
"Hey, you're that new kid. What's your name?"
"Alex."
"Alex! Awesome. You seem like a cool guy. Want to play some basketball after school today?"
"… I'll think about it."
Church blinked.
"You were anything but a stereotype." He remembered.
Church took out his phone and peered into his contacts.
"Zach…" He hit the green button, calling the number.
Calling…
Calling…
"Hello?" A familiar voice answered the phone, exhausted.
"… Zach."
"Church?"
"Yeah, it's me!" Church nodded his head.
"Church, I have to get up for work in a few hours. What's wrong? Did you drink?"
"No. I'm not drunk nor high – at least not yet anyway. It's just…"
"What's wrong?"
"I just needed someone to talk to."
"Is Timothy or Evelyn there? I heard he scored a reservation. Is everything going well?"
Church hesitated to give his answer.
"Trinity is here."
"Sorry, who? Are they another member of the Godforsaken?"
Church's heart sank when Zach asked that.
"Our friend from school." He answered.
"Oh, right. Her. I thought she was just a friend of yours?" Zach asked.
Church didn't want to, but his mind summoned the memories all over again.
"Study partner… Music class… we hung out after Dad's sermons…" Church reached into the carton by his side and pulled out his third cigarette, hoping that this one would numb his pain.
*Flick*. Church lit the inhalant between his teeth and huffed.
"You were Alex." He remembered.
Church finished the cigarette with his second drag and stomped it out.
"You remembered me, Alex, when we met at the bar. Remember?" Church smiled as another tear of blood ran down his face.
For that moment after saying those words out loud – processing that even here, after everything Church endured, it all seemed bearable, like seeing a ladder ascending to a light out of a dark place.
"… Church, Alex died five years ago. It was two weeks after you moved away – after your father lost the chapel. That's just a dead name, now."
And just like that, the ladder crumbled into a thousand splinters.
"I'm not her anymore. It's been seven years. I've moved on. Haven't you?" Zach asked.
Church knew the answer, but he couldn't bear to even think to say it.
"Church?"
"Still here." He reached into the carton and pulled out his fourth cigarette.
*Flick*. Bottoms up.
Church finished this one in a single draw.
"Was there something else, Church?"
"Yeah: Tim's clients that placed the reservation." Church reached for his fifth cigarette.
"Yes?"
"Moxxie and Millie – I.M.P." He lit his drag and tried to slow down, only inhaling enough to ignite the roll-up.
"That's-… that's good! Good going, Church! What did you find out?"
"... Nothing."
"Well, what do you plan to do next?"
"I don't know anymore."
Church finished joint number five and sent it to join one-through-four.
"Thank you." Church pulled out cigarette number six.
*Flick*.
"Goodbye, Alex."
"Chur-"
Church hung up, returning his phone to his pocket as he finished cigarette number six in a single, long drag.
He reached for drag number seven, feeling just as pathetic as he did with cigarette number 1.
Then number eight…
Then number nine…
Then ten…
Eleven…
Twelve…
"God, do you fucking hate me?!" Tears streamed down Church's face as he pulled out number thirteen.
"I'm… so sorry… for what I did to her…" Church cried, remembering the day that ruined his life in excruciating detail.
"It wasn't my fault…" Church lit and smoked the cig.
''Everyone said so. Everyone told me…" He lied to himself as he moved on to number fourteen…
"Dad told me…" Church propagated as he moved to number Fifteen…
"It wasn't my fault…" Church lied to himself as he lit and smoked number sixteen…
"It wasn't my fault…" Then seventeen…
*Flick*, *Flick* Church wept uncontrollably as he stuck number eighteen in his mouth and lit it.
"… God, I'm-…" Church wept over and over again as the butt of eighteen fell from his mouth and so he stuck number nineteen in.
"I'm… sorry…" With a single drag, Church finished it and moved on to number twenty.
"I'm so sorry…" Tears of blood streamed down his face as he wept, finishing twenty and taking out the next cigarette.
"I was such an evil piece of fucking shit…" Church stuck 21 in his mouth and lit it.
"The corpse was fucking right. It was right all a fucking long…"
21 expired. Church reached for Cigarette 22.
"I fucking DESERVE to be here… I fucking deserve all of this…"
22 became 23.
"It's all my fault."
23 became 24.
"This is all my fucking fault…"
24 became 25.
"I'm-… I'm sorry…"
25 became 26.
"For… fucking… everything…"
"I wasn't the perfect son to my Dad… I hated Dad for reconciling with Olga…"
Church didn't know it, but he was speaking out loud.
"I fucking hate myself for being an awful friend and brother…"
26 became 27.
"I hate Trinity for putting me here with the hit…"
27 became 28.
"I hate Olga for making it to heaven…"
28 became 29.
"And I fucking hate myself."
Church cried as he found himself caught between acceptance and denial.
"I HATE myself… SO… FUCKING MUCH… for so much shit…"
Church tried to breathe.
"You're right, God! I fucking deserve to be here!" His thoughts fought against themselves.
"Why?! Why wasn't I a better person?!"
"I could've done so much better…"
"But FUCKING NO – I wanted to be the Mr. FUCKING PERFECT THAT I'D NEVER BE!"
Church cried even harder.
"Dad… Please… I'm…"
Church bawled like a child.
"I… I'm…
"I'm so…
"I'm sorry…
"But nothing I can do can change that…
"I deserve this…"
Church cried into the night, but being in Hell, no one could hear him… Or so Church thought as a familiar presence approached from behind and set a familiar black leather jacket on his shoulders.
"Hey. Mind if I take a seat?" Moxxie greeted, leaning against the bench.
"Not at all." Church motioned with his head and scooted over.
"Damn, Church. You smoke that whole carton by yourself?" Moxxie stared at all the spent cigarettes at Church's feet.
Church took the final cig – number 30, from the carton and got ready to light it.
"Before you inhale that one, I'd just like to say…" Moxxie interrupted.
Church halted, listening.
"I'm sorry I shot you." Moxxie apologized, still holding back from smiling.
Church chuckled and shook his head.
"Is okay. You were… just doing your job. Put me outta my misery." Church's voice was sickly from the tears of blood and from the fact he just chain-smoked a whole carton of cigarettes.
Church shook his head again.
"You were… just doing your job…" He repeated.
Moxxie nodded.
"Is it really true you slept in a dumpster?"
Church chuckled.
"Yeah. The shower after was awkward." He tried to laugh.
"You were just doing your job… Just doing your job…" Church whimpered, still crying.
"If you don't mind spending the night on the couch, I and Millie could give you a ride to our office in the City – maybe have a couple things for you to do for some quick cash, if you want. I and Millie will still have work, but I'll answer any questions you have." Moxxie offered.
"I'd like that." Church nodded with a sniffle.
"When-… When we leaving?"
"When we figure out how much you owe Loona for smoking her carton of cigarettes and using her lighter." Millie answered out of nowhere.
Church took number 30 and placed it in his mouth.
"I was a bare-knuckle-boxing champion in the delinquent underground before graduation. I've survived worse!" Church lit the final cigarette and surrendered the lighter.
"I'll work it off like nothing happened."
He took Timothy's leather jacket from the bench, hoisting it onto his shoulders as the wind picked up. As Church fiddled with the silver crucifix around his neck, he took one last look at the giant Cathedral of Hell before entering the company van.
. . .
Meanwhile, back in the Godforsaken
Timothy got his janitor supplies and got to cleaning. He opened the door to the bathroom and was greeted with the most disastrous sight of property damage he'd ever seen.
"WHAT IN THE FUCK HAPPENED IN HERE?!" Timothy yelled at the top of his lungs.
There was not a single thing in the room that wasn't damaged.
It was a slow drive to Imp City.
Church sat in the backseat, slowly dragging away on cigarette number 30 as the van drove, illuminated by the neon lights.
Millie looked over her shoulder at the sinner demon sitting behind her.
"How you holdin' up?" She asked.
Church barely rose his head just enough to meet her at eye level, savoring on his last remaining cigarette.
With his cheeks drenched in the blood of his tears with an anguished expression on his face, Church nodded his head.
"I'm ok." He barely managed to whisper.
Both Millie and Moxxie knew he was lying.
"Hey, we have to make a quick stop. The office will have to wait until tomorrow, so you'll be crashing at our place." Moxie pulled into the parking lot of what looked like some sort of disco club and parked.
"Would you like to come with us? It might cheer you up." The imp invited Church.
The sinner demon didn't answer.
"If you change your mind, we're gonna be here for at least five, maybe ten minutes, max." Moxxie and Millie exited the van, leaving Church alone.
Music played from the club, muffled from the walls and ecstatic reverberations.
"This is my life now." Church thought to himself, wallowing in his emotions.
He picked up his silver crucifix and looked into it.
"Why?" He asked, stroking his thumb across the silver ornament as if it was going to somehow answer his question.
"Because…" A voice that both was and wasn't his own answered.
"You're not better than anyone else here… but that doesn't mean you have to be evil like them either." The silver cross answered.
Church blinked, hypnotized by the answer.
"You tried to be perfect, because… You were afraid.
"Afraid of standards for your behavior, afraid for your Sister, afraid of your Father, afraid of what those around you were thinking of you… the actions they may take with you on their mind…
"You were afraid of being judged. That's why you wanted to be perfect… but it didn't work."
Church wiped away his blood-tears with his new leather jacket, listening to this answer as he continued staring at his silver crucifix that he found out was magic – this gift given to him by his father to help him cope with tragedy.
Maybe it was Tim's booze, maybe it was the cigarettes or perhaps some other drug, but Church swore that in the center of this silver crucifix suspended from a string as part of the Rosary, was a single eye that gazed at him, lovingly, tenderly.
"But Church… You don't have to be afraid of being judged by anyone anymore."
"But-… But I'm in HELL! Everyone judges me – my scar, you, me! Because I'm me!" Church whimpered.
"True. You're in Hell. People will still judge you, no matter what you do, but you don't have to fear it anymore. You're dead."
"Then… What do I do?"
"Church… You don't need to meet the standards of some loose concept or idea of a perfect person anymore. You're FREE!"
"Free to do what?" Church asked.
"Free to be… a good person."
"On whose terms?"
"Yours!" The answer concluded.
Church wiped the tears from his face. All of a sudden, the eye looking back at him didn't seem to be something out of a drug-induced hallucination.
"I'm sorry I wasn't there for you, but I'm proud you're trying…" The voice cracked at the end.
"I love you…" She spoke.
"… Wait…" For Church, something clicked.
"What are-"
"Hey, we're back!" The doors opened and the Imp couple entered the vehicle.
"Anything happen?"
Church looked back at the silver crucifix again.
The beautiful eye was gone.
THE END
In memory of Church's Author, the creator of the original character, who entrusted me with her character before passing away in 2020,
whose loss was the drive behind the original fanfic named "Hell's Answered Prayer".
You were the best IRL friend I had, and I wish I did more, and I wish this was better.
Thank you for reading A Hope in Hell (aka, Hell's Answered Prayer)! I hope you enjoyed. If you've spotted an inconsistency, let me know so I can fix it. I don't always spy them in post, so it's always nice to have someone tell me as soon as possible!
Thank you for your time and I hope you have a good rest of your day!
WARNING - bit of a self-rant. You don't need to read this if you don't want to.
STORY Fixes
- Made it more blatantly obvious that Church's Rosary is actually some sort of talisman. The original fic already screamed this, but I made it scream even harder.
- fixed some grammar errors I missed in the original files, but fixed in the original story, then needed to fix again.
Conclusion(s) that I've come to while writing this rewrite, what I've learned, and my deepest despairs
- Honestly... I think the original version of the fic was much stronger, despite suffering from lore inconsistencies and other things. This one does too, but as a result of trying to fix lore inconsistencies that I had from the original story. The original was hyper-focused on Church and how he was an outcast in Hell, and it was a flawed, but functioning premise that was worked on as early as 2019.
Here on the other hand...
I tried to inject more ideas that I had to cut from the original fic that she and I talked about and developed, HOWEVER as I was writing the rewrite, I stumbled into problems that the original story managed to avoid (*Cough* CARNYX *Cough*), due to adding details that I cut from the original, because I couldn't get them to work - they were like puzzle pieces that, while necessary for the context to the story (Olga being a DHORKS agent, Church not knowing what DHORKS is, their father making deals with Hell, and so-on), but it just... DIDN'T FIT at the time of the original (plus, it didn't help I was writing it before the show aired), so I cut those ideas thinking I'd work them in here... AND IT STILL DIDN'T WORK!
In the original, I had to cut back and only drop hints of things I wanted to do, for the exact reason of Timothy's exposition dump in Chapter 3 - there's ways to not ever do it, and with the original, I didn't want to take the risks, so I cut A LOT for the sake of making something that worked and functioned, thinking I could rewrite the details in at a future time.
Here, for the rewrite, I took that risk of trying to mash the pieces in where they didn't fit, AND BEHOOOOLD! Oh lord, there's definitely ways to NOT go about things, and I learned it here!
The worst part is I'll probably forget these lessons when I try to move on and I'm genuinely worried that what I learned here won't stick, which is a tragedy because I wrote this for both my friend, and myself as a way to move on and grieve... And now I'm worried I'm going to be rewriting this fic until I get it right... which, considering how hard it is to check the source material outside of watching the show directly, this is gonna take a while.
Ultimately, this story might need to go through a third rewrite so I can finally get the details I wanted in the original story ironed-out so they don't conflict with the show's cannon, and make this the story that I wanted for the person I wanted to write it for...
But I'm burned out.
I can't go on.
I poured my passion into the original fic, and here, you can see that most of the segments with Church are literally copy/pasted (mostly because there wasn't anything obviously wrong on surface level, so I didn't change it - some stuff got changed, but other than adding Carnyx and fixing-up some backstory inconsistencies, this was a can of beans I wasn't prepared to open).
I want the story to be better - more than better - perfect... But I'm just... not there.
I gave this remake what I could, but my fear is that it's never going to be enough.
-.
The previous version of this fic, you can find if you wish to read it. Just search for "A hope in Hell fanfic" and you'll (most likely) find it. You are absolutely free to compare versions if you wish. I've been doing it, and... there's definitely some problems to say the least. I'm convinced that the original is better.
-.
If you're here, then that means you've listened to the insane ramblings of an insecure fanfic author who never thought he'd be writing fanfics for anything outside of a guilty pleasure.
Thank you.
I hope the fic was entertaining to you (even if there's a possibility it didn't entertain the way I hoped it would), and I hope you have a good rest of your day!