Chapter 6: The Prodigal Son Pt III

Hours Later

I don't know how long exactly I sat there in that room but I could tell that Dr. Franklin's orderlies began to wonder that themselves right alongside me. I knew it was a long time only by the light coming in from the windows becoming less and less bright. All I was thinking about the whole time was how I was still most likely the only one in New Canaan who pieced together the burned stranger's identity. As much as I thought about that and as long as I thought about it, no amount of thoughts could lead me to any conclusion about what to do with that information if it was the returned stray as I saw his chest rise and fall in my peripherals over and over and over again.

I was right in my earlier assessment. I was by no means the last visitor of the day for the mysterious burned man, and my body said hello to everyone who stumbled into the patient cubicle that afternoon to leave a gift for the unfortunate soul. There must have been about four or five new people from the town who did so after my arrival, each one asking me how I was doing, why I was here, how the man was holding up, and how I was holding up. A couple of them asked what I knew about the stranger and I don't remember what I would say exactly, but I know I didn't reveal that truth I knew inside. Most however, just left their gifts in one of the few unoccupied spaces around the patient bed and went about their way. All the while and when I wasn't replying robotically to the new arrivals, I continued to stare at that light, watch the bandaged chest rise and fall, and think.

Why I was waiting for so long, I did not know exactly. Part of me believed I could have gone home, enjoyed my light duty, and done some things around the house, but still, I sat. The minutes and eventual hours would continue to pass and there wasn't anything I could do about it than await the answer that part of me that controlled my actions needed to hear. Await the moment I could hear that confession about the man's true identity. Would he deny it, would he play ignorant, would he become angry, remorseful, who knew? Finally, the end of the day was drawing near. What my wife and children were thinking, wondering where I was, or why, I could not even contemplate. I watched the light turn red in the setting sun as the beams from outside faded further away only to be replaced evermore by the glow of the amber lanterns.

It was around this time where the trance that held me captive for so long finally released its grip on me for a moment. The man gave a cough to clear his throat signifying the only unique sound within the cubicle in what I imagined was several hours. My eyes turned from the light of the lantern to the man slowly and ever so painfully sitting his bandaged body up, forcing more of that cough in an apparent effort to clear his throat. He sat himself up further, scanning the length of his body exposed by the cloth blanket and then he turned his head straight at me, his eyes meeting mine and shining at me like I wouldn't have believed. The memory of my dream flashed before me again, this time it was the dream made reality. A face wrapped in tattered white cloth, the burns still visible through the wide eye slit, and those eyes stared into me as blue as the dream.

I must have kept my composure but still felt my heart beating faster than it should have and there I felt a wave of fear wash over me that I couldn't explain. The world slowed in the short moment until the man winced at the adjustment he made to his arm. Then, he spoke to me as if he hadn't spoken or used his voice for anything other than screams in agony for months. Deep, soft, and gritty like audible gravel, the burned man said straight to me;

"… You. You're the man who helped me…" He swallowed painfully before adding, "Last night?"

I saw his eyes turn to the water bottle on the bedside table and reflexively handed it to him, staying silent and nodding as I watched the man look over the various gift baskets and buckets around his bed. He continued to scan the room as he opened the bottle. With his free hand, I watched him hesitate before doing what he knew he needed to do. He lowered the bandage from over his mouth and forced the bottle down his throat. I watched the tears arise and choke him as he tilted the bottle. The tears poured from his eyes just as fast as the liquid went down his throat and the silent struggle told me that every part of that simple act was pure misery. Finally, he squeezed the bottle when it was completely empty and threw it across the room as though he couldn't get rid of it fast enough or as if it had intentionally caused him great pain. The act of drinking that water was so painful that he immediately fell back onto the pillow and breathed heavily as can be for several long moments, collecting himself and suppressing every desire to scream in pain.

He lay there breathing heavily and I continued to watch him in silence before I felt the words leave my lips, "It's that painful for you, is it?"

His chest rose up and down as he stared at the ceiling for a full minute after I spoke. Then, his eyes glanced back down towards me before returning to that spot on the ceiling as he replied softly between the heavy breaths;

"Every minute… Every action… Is far too much…"

Another long silence ensued and the air between us became still as can be. Just as I remembered from the previous night, everything I saw told me the exact same thing his words just said. I could only just watch as the breaths became less and less heavy. The collection of himself was a slow but steady process and still, the light from outside got dimmer and dimmer with the setting sun until he finally managed to sit himself up on the bed again, only wincing slightly at the continued pain of his existence. When he was sitting upright, he looked to the ceiling and muttered something I couldn't discern if I were three feet closer and his mouth wasn't wrapped. It wasn't long before his eyes returned to my own and without any thought, I involuntarily sought another confession about the truth of his experience;

"How did you end up like this? What happened to you?"

His eyes broke from mine and he looked to the stool across the room beside the entryway. He gulped as if preparing for another painful vocal response and all he said was;

"I got what I deserved…." Then his chest began to rise and fall heavily once again.

My mind was a completely blank slate at this moment. I wasn't able to consider anything, or tell you what I was thinking for the life of me. Like I had been the whole afternoon, my body was acting and my mind was gone. I simply had no idea that I would be talking to this man when I woke up this morning or what I would say. The more I tried to think about what I would say, the more my mind wouldn't let me. Every part of me wanted to just go home and lay with my wife at my side, go to bed and wake up tomorrow morning like this whole day was a dream. But it wasn't, this was the waking world, this was an encounter I wanted no part in, but didn't have the ability to refuse when the spirit took control.

I only shocked myself when I said to the man, "That answer isn't good enough. What happened to you?"

His eyes met mine, and his eyes between the bandages pleaded with me to stop even though he couldn't say so. The words I spoke above echoed in my mind and realizing what they were, I literally felt my face. I was expecting to feel a face creased with lines of seriousness. Instead, my face was completely and unmistakably calm, friendly, concerned, not demanding of anything despite the harshness of the words I spoke. All the while, the man's eyes pleaded with me to put an end to these simple but horrendously painful questions.

Despite the bandage-wrapped face staring back at me, I could picture the face beneath as if the wrapping wasn't there. The man staring and pleading with me was not the Legate of Caesar's Legion. He was not the general and conqueror of the southwest, the black stain on the community of faith, the subject of tribal stories too brutal and vulgar to even describe, or anything. The man staring at me was a mortal man, a man who failed his true Lord just like I myself, and every person who knew the Lord does every day. His sin, despite the number, despite the scale, was no different than mine or anyone's regardless of what the world may say. But here I was, sitting in the seat I was not worthy of sitting upon and demanding his confession on behalf of the Lord I tried my best yet still always failed to serve. Yet my mind, my true mortal mind remained elsewhere in this moment, I, my body, was not my own, it was merely being used like the vessel it was for the purposes of something larger than I could handle.

My mind took off for home, running out of the clinic and through the gates of New Canaan as my mouth demanded again like the tool it was;

"What happened to you?"

The burned and bandaged man clenched his fists in the blanket but didn't dare look away from me. I saw this and again mentally bolted for the exit as he sneered in unbearable pain;

"Why are you so understanding?..." He swallowed, feeling the inferno engulf his body again, "… Why do you ask these things with care on your face?"

"There's care on my face?" I thought to myself. Again, hearing the echoing words like the stern demand they were, I felt my face once more only to feel the muscles completely relaxed. Then I said to him what my mind had been keeping in the background all day before considering the possibility of this and if it could even happen in my normal life. I demanded from the fire-wrapped man on the hospital bed, the reason I had not gone home this day, why I sat with him the whole afternoon, and why everything I did and experienced this day happened in order for me to sit here. I told the man;

"I need to hear you say it…"

At that, he broke from me and fell back onto the pillow. His arms moved like he wanted to cover his face but perhaps it was the pain that prevented him from doing so. His chest began to rise and fall heavily again and his eyes remained locked on the ceiling above. More silence passed, I had already mentally returned home for the seventieth time, but I could not move, and the broken man was all I could see in the glow of the lantern and darkness outside.

I don't know how long the moment was, but the light from outside was almost gone and the amber of the lanterns around us was all there was to illuminate this moment seemingly surrounded by a world so dark. I couldn't tell you how long this short exchange of words was or how long the silence lasted after my previous words. All I know was that I was still very distant from this man and everything I found myself saying when he said to that ceiling;

"… So you know who I am?... You know what happened to me?..."

All I could say was again, "I need to hear you say it."

He looked down from the ceiling, seeing my face had not changed. A part of me knew that the man watching him was not necessarily the same guy who entered the clinic. I believe he knew that it wasn't necessarily me who required these answers. He knew that the one inhabiting my body at this moment was the one who inhabits everyone who knows Him, the one who will take control when we are not needed in particular moments. It's sometimes hard to feel it, but sometimes it is possible to know that certain moments in your life are not being lived by you, and the words of Galatians 2:20 begin to make sense. It was not I who sat before the prodigal needing him to confess himself before a brother, it was Christ who lives in me. And He demanded the confession before Joshua Graham could even begin to repent in the company of his true family.

Staring into my eyes, the burned man said in painful resignation, "… I will… All I ask is that you bring me to the heart first…"

I nodded in agreement, even though I had no idea what I was agreeing to, and the burned man broke from his gaze to look back at the ceiling. All at once, I felt completely present, and I looked around the room and back at the burned man about to ask, "Wait… What is it I was going to do for you?"

Just as the first syllable left my lips, a shout from behind said;

"Hi Dad!" Before I could turn around, I felt the arms of Joseph wrap around my neck and the unexpected voice brought me even more to the present. Just as I stood and turned around, I saw my wife and Michelle stepping through the opening to the burned man's little room. I saw the metal pail full of food items and trinkets similar to the other gifts around the room in Michelle's hands and Joseph clung to my neck as my wife said softly;

"Shhh, Joseph. Keep it down, there are other patients resting here."

Joseph immediately began whisper yelling about all the trouble he got himself in before school for the other kids got out and Dani apologized to the burned man as I stood there in slight bewilderment. Dani said;

"I'm so sorry for the disturbance, sir. I'm sure you know how little boys can be."

Dani looked at me and ushered Michelle into the room. "It's alright… Ma'am." Said the burned man.

Michelle's eyes lingered on me for a moment as she placed the pail next to the foot of the bed and returned to her mother's side by the entrance. Joseph broke his grip on me and began whispering at the stranger about how he looked like a mummy. Before I could shoo Joseph away from the burned Legate, prodigal, missionary translator, I was already being pulled towards my wife by her calm demeanor and questioning eyes. She motioned for Michelle to take care of Joseph and offer the stranger anything while she wordlessly pulled me past the divider to the walkway.

I glanced towards the lobby entryway, still seeing Dr. Franklin mulling over papers on the counter, and placed myself against the wall distant from the burned man's patient bay. A brief glance out the foggy windows showed it was dark out and the street lanterns around the market were burning. I could hear whispers going on around the burned man's bed, but I couldn't think about that for long as I felt the eyes on the side of my head. I looked at my wife, seeing her beautiful green eyes and freckles illuminated in the lantern light, and saw the same face as the one I saw last night as I returned home with my torso wrapped in bloody bandages. Meeting her eyes, she asked me softly and full of worry;

"Are you okay, Paul? Joseph said you were just going to pick up some medications but you've been gone for hours… Have you been here the whole time?"

I couldn't look away when I saw my wife's pretty face twisted with worry and grappled to keep my thoughts on focus for a moment before saying to her calmly,

"Yes, I've been here all day. I'm sorry for being so late, I just lost track of time and felt responsible for checking up on the man I helped bring in last night… He seems to be doing alright…"

Her face fell and she nodded understandingly as I felt her arm wrap gently around my torso. She held me tight and looked towards the entryway, hearing the whispers. From where we were standing, she and I could only see the legs of both Michelle and Joseph apparently kneeling before the stranger's bed and the whispers began to make sense as the faint words of prayer were heard in the whispers. I continued to embrace my wife in the silent moment, not sure what she was thinking as my thoughts were split between her arrival and what I promised the burned man.

At last, I felt Dani's head move from its spot on my breast and there she asked in a soft voice,

"… I'm so proud of you, Paul…" I went to kiss her head as we kept our eyes on the feet of our children, but I knew there was more. As soon as my lips left her head, she said to me, "… I didn't want to do this here but I've been worried about you all day and… what you said last night…"

She lifted her head off of me and faced me with that same look of concern on her face. Trying to remember what I said and how I should reply, she asked, "… What did you mean when you said that…" she glanced not towards the entryway to the man's patient bay, but towards the lobby entryway before finishing, "That man in there, was he harmed by the Legion?"

I felt my eyebrow raise, asking, "What do you mean?"

She continued to look at me in an almost terrified state and appeared to be slightly trembling, unable to understand my confusion as she explained, "Yesterday evening, Doyle came to our house waiting for you to return, saying something about a scouting report he was to go over with you. Then Mr. Schmitt barges in to haul him away saying they were getting the constable and that the night guard needed them. Next thing I know, you're coming home long after your shift and you end the night saying that Joshua Graham's returned or something…"

I couldn't say anything. She knew this and when her words didn't garner a single sound, she grabbed me with both arms and said, "Paul… I know you have your duties for the guard, but if the Legion is marching this way, you need to tell me. We have a family to think about. You need to tell the others, we need to reach out to our allies, and… Oh God…"

She bit her hand, unable to go on out of sheer panic about such an idea. Once all her words had registered in my brain, I replied. I really didn't want to, but my first response to her concerns was to snort in laughter. Thankfully, I was able to catch it, but not before the amusement on my face made hers twist into a look of anger I'd only seen two or three times since marrying her. She was about to demand what was so funny when I had collected myself and asked her with a straight face, "Who's that man in there?"

She threw her hands up, still recovering from the short burst of anger. I could see her mind was still swarming with all kinds of thoughts, none making any less sense than the thoughts I'd been considering all day. She answered with a puff, "I don't know? Someone the Legion maimed on the march?"

I snorted again and swatted myself because I again didn't want to do that. She glared at me and I remembered exactly what I said last night. I was still trying to figure out how she could take those words "Joshua Graham's returned" as "Graham's leading forces here," I could not imagine. I again was still trying to figure out this connection she made and didn't even consider the repercussions when my mouth said to her a reminder of what I really happened,

"I said, 'Joshua Graham's returned' last night. Not, 'his Legion is coming.'"

I would have slapped my hand over my mouth if the instant effect of my words on her face didn't leave me in paralysis. I watched that beautiful slightly frustrated and unnerved face twist into the coldest and most terrified expression I'd ever seen inhabit her countenance. Her trembling from earlier had ceased and she was too petrified in fright as my words hit her. I watched her slowly turn towards the patient bay where our children were still kneeling before the legate in prayer. I felt her grip on my abdomen tighten like a death grip without any regard for my wound and knew she was too stunned to run in there and rush her babies out of that room or ask me to say it wasn't so.

As ridiculous as it may sound, I still had that faint doubt inside that the burned stranger in there really was Joshua Graham, even though every fiber of my being and the spirit of the Lord that inhabited me earlier said it was so. You can call it denial. Still, it was at this moment that I checked myself out mentally and walked home with my wife saying, "You got it from here, Lord. I can't handle this," when I actually said to my wife,

"Keep calm. I'm going to help him tonight."

She turned to me whiter than a sheet, stammering, "but wh- what should I?- what are you? How can he?-"

I embraced her tighter and said with her head pressed to my chest, "Don't worry about it, just take Michelle home, I'll be home later tonight, and have no fear. Everything will make sense soon, I promise."

I again had no idea what I was going to do, why I promised that, or anything, but I felt her release her grip, look at me, and wipe something from her eye before asking "You're taking Joseph with you?"

"Yes… We'll be home together once I've finished with Joshua…" I immediately asked myself internally, "Why was I keeping Joseph around?... and what am I going to do with Joshua?"

Before my internal bewilderment could show on my face, my wife nodded at me and said, "Ok, honey… I trust you."

Still not knowing exactly what I promised my wife, I could only watch from the sidelines as my wife entered the patient bay of the burned man and I maneuvered over to the entryway just in time to see my eldest daughter and my youngest child laughing and giggling beside the burned man's bed. I had no idea what they were laughing or talking about but even seeing the burned body of Joshua Graham sitting up as if the pain were nothing and joining them in the amusement almost gave me the urge to vomit for some inexplicable reason. I was too astonished to say or even hear anything but I could watch as my wife broke up the little gathering around the bedside by taking Michelle by the shoulder and walking her out of the room.

Joseph got up to run out the door with his mom and sister but Dani told him to stay put and come home with his father. I took another step into the cubicle and just before Dani gave me a peck on the cheek with the words "see you tonight" I saw the face of my beautiful daughter apparently blushing and leaving the wrapped man with the sweet words, "We hope to see you again soon, sir."

Every fiber of my being wanted to ask what on earth my daughter and son were talking about with the Legion's former Legate, but I couldn't as my wife and daughter disappeared out of the room leaving me with Joseph and the burned man. My eyes returned to the young boy hopping up and down in the middle of the room beside the bed and even though Joshua remained motionless, I could see underneath the bandages and the smile on his face. As soon as we met eyes again, the weight of the air in the room was enough to crush someone, and it apparently did so as evidenced by Joseph who cut what he was saying to the man short by turning to me, making that smile on his face instantly disappear. I stepped closer, Joseph became less hyper and I took my place on the chair I occupied the whole afternoon. Joseph hovered by my side as the silence lingered between the man and I. After a long moment, Joseph took a seat on the floor beside my feet and began playing with that string from earlier when the burned man said to me calmly with that pain still a whisper behind the words;

"You have a lovely family, Paul…" He paused, apparently seeing something on my face as he added, "Don't look too surprised, your children told me your name."

I couldn't think of what to say, still wondering what my children were talking and laughing about with him and trying to remember what I was apparently supposed to do for him or with him. Something involving Joseph for some reason, I thought, as I still tried to figure out why I told my wife I wanted my young son with me for it. As I was trying to figure out what that was exactly, Joseph said from the floor;

"What's your name mister? I think Michelle has a crush on you."

Wherever my mind was, it returned in a flash at that and the words made the man actually chuckle as thoughts of my blushing daughter made me sick, puzzled, horrified, and amused at the same time. The sound of this man laughing at Joseph's suggestion would have been funny if I didn't know internally who he was, what happened to him, and see the pain rushing from his eyes at the laugh. Joseph's eyes went to me, mentally asking if he should apologize after seeing how much pain his boyish words put his new friend in. Joshua collected himself as the momentary silence lingered and the boy expectedly never apologized. Once Joshua was collected, I'd all but forgotten Michelle's seeming infatuation with the scorched man and added onto Joseph's question;

"I too am curious about your name… I don't believe we'd gotten that far in our introductions."

I remained waiting for an answer, but part of me knew it wouldn't come as Joseph asked the man a different question;

"Do you have kids, mister?"

I would have reprimanded the boy since I still required an answer to the question I asked, but the burned man's eyes focused on me even more as he decided he would answer the new one. With his gaze on me, he said to the boy;

"No, son. I don't have any children…" He paused, clearly pained by the words. Then he said, "… But there were many who relied on me in the past.. Many with child-like minds. Many who could hardly be blamed for what they do…"

Joseph went on saying how he was blamed for many things he does and doesn't do all the time but his words seemed to vanish in the background as the burned man and I locked eyes. As Joseph went on more to himself than anything, I found myself saying to the man;

"I still need to hear you say your name."

The boy went on and the man cringed in pain. He knew what he had to do, and so did I, even when he answered;

"You already know it, Paul…" The boy continued talking, more to himself now that he realized there was something happening between his father and this stranger. The man said after a short silence, "… Forgive me, but..." He paused again and Joseph went completely quiet as the silence consumed the world around us three. Then the burned stranger reminded me of what I promised earlier, "... Take me inside, and I promise I will tell you what you need to know."

Just then, out of the corner of my eyes, I could see Joseph's eyes going to me, then to the burned man, back and forth wondering what was happening.

Without any more words, Joshua held out his arms, and I still didn't know what I was promising to do as I stood myself up, grabbed his arms, and hoisted him up off the bed till he was on his feet. The burned man let out another cry in pain, Joseph shook in fear, asking what was happening, where we were going, and why.

I wanted to explain to the boy but I didn't have the words or the idea of what I was doing myself. As I had done the whole day, I was acting autonomously, even as Dr. Franklin and her helpers came into the room asking what we were doing. The orderlies tried to tell him and I that he wasn't in a condition to move around. That was evident by the amount of pain I could feel emanating from his body as I propped him out of the room, down the hall, and towards the door. Doctor Franklin and her assistants tried to get him and I to stop as Joseph followed along, and I don't know what I told them to make them back off, but I did hear it when the burned man said through the screaming sobs;

"Don't you dare put me back!"

I remember the doctor retreating behind the counter telling her assistants to let me go, then I pushed open the door to the clinic, and with the burned, wrapped, and broken body of Joshua Graham propped up by me and me alone, we entered the streets outside the wall as that little boy followed us unsure what else to do.

I don't remember much more. We passed so many people, all of them likely asking me what I was doing, or saying that the clinic was in the opposite direction. I don't know what I said to the gate crews or night guard, but the gates into town were opened before us and down the dusty streets we went. The man continued to screams in pain, muffling his cries into my arm when he could, and even though his pain seemed loud enough to wake the whole town, the streets remained vacant this time of night. I remember seeing the occasional lights turn on in some of the buildings we passed but could not hear anything other than the muffled shouts and deep heavy breathing of the suffering man I carried along. Inching further and further down the main street, straight towards the town square we went, and the strain of carrying him with his arm around my neck sent my mind again elsewhere until it at last returned just as I pushed open the heavy doors to the Temple.

We entered the place I unknowingly promised to take him and the doors shut behind us with a crash. The man fell from my grip onto the large rug in the center of the reception area, and Joseph stood by the door still confused, worried, and wondering what was happening as I took the moment to catch my breath and collect myself. I would have immediately helped the man up, but the view around me had taken me off guard and captured my attention as my breathing slowed from having carried him for so far. I had never seen the inside of the Temple after nighttime or at least when all the lights were off. The rows and rows of pews sat vacant beyond the archway into the congregation and I nearly jumped when I thought I heard someone else inside, but I realized the noise was only the echoing sound of the doors shutting, the sound travelling through the tall halls and disappearing into the black ceiling. I followed the sound up and up above the great open room but stopped upon seeing the stained glass on the far end high above the organ pipes. I looked beyond the dark church halls and straight into that mass of blue, yellow, red, and green glass, the only thing that made the inside of this place illuminated. Staring up at the glass on the far wall, the light came in as one singular color despite the variation and there I could see the vaguest outline of the moon beyond the glass, shining into this place and emphasizing the black cross in the center of those glass colors that surrounded it.

My attention fell from the moonlit stained glass when the man huffed and puffed there on the floor beside me and said painfully, "Thank you… Paul."

I felt the emptiness of the room, glanced at my son still standing by the door, and then at the burned and wrapped man on his hands and knees atop a woven rug. I don't know where the words came from but my only response to the burned man was, "Don't thank me, thank Christ…"

I stopped, hearing the distant noise outside. I couldn't discern what it was exactly, but my eyes went to the group of communion stands on the lefthand side of the entryway. Despite the occasion, I inexplicably thought, "so that's where they keep them before service?" An idle thought that didn't mean anything other than the fact that mentally I was still somewhere else. But my view of the familiar objects ended when the man rose to his feet, giving a pained groan and my eyes followed him as he stumbled further into the building, under the large archway, and straight down the central rug between the long rows of so many pews. I found myself placed right under the archway, standing motionless as I watched him stumble even further towards the pulpit and stained glass on the far wall bearing the moonlit cross staring down at us.

Watching Joshua proceed further and further, I saw the white cross emblazoned on the podium reflecting what little light there was in this grand hall, watching him pass more and more rows of pews, limping, groaning, and stumbling as if each step were beyond agonizing. Halfway there, I felt Joseph beside me and then felt it as he wrapped his arms around my leg, silently taking in the same view as me. There was nothing either of us could say as Joshua limped his way closer and closer toward that cross, but just before he reached the short steps up to the podium, my senses returned for a single second just to realize the sound from earlier was the sound of a crowd outside the heavy doors behind us.

I took several steps further into the building, past a few rows with my boy beside me, and just when we stopped, Joshua collapsed onto the steps before the podium.

I don't know if it was the silence of the dark temple at night, the acoustics of the room, or if I was simply just meant to hear it, but even the distant noise from outside vanished when I heard the burned man begin to sob in the most painful sounding way I had ever heard. The sounds of pain I heard today and the night before were nothing when he was kneeling before the cross of the podium and illuminated by the cross in the stained glass high above. The piercing wail echoed through the halls, I felt Joseph cling to me tighter, and on the other end of the room, I heard almost like a pleading and desperate whisper;

"I am so sorry, Lord… I never should have left you… please forgive me…"

Almost every word was punctuated by a burst of such painful sobs and I had no idea what to think or do. Hearing those wails and seeing the man collapsed on the stairs beneath the crosses, my mind did not know what to say or do even if I didn't feel that strange paralysis come over me again at the sight. My mind ran through every word of those letters I read, and images of what I imagined Legion conquests to be like flashed before my mind. I saw the fires, the blood, the vicious battles, slaughters, the horrors of occupation and enslavement I could only imagine when I met refugees who told me their stories out in the wastes with tears in their eyes. The sounds of battle and the screams of the suffering from so many went through my ears as the image before me in the present day showed me how real my imaginings truly were when I heard the pain in those sobs from the man now kneeling before the cross. The images slowly vanished into what I was looking at now, and the sufferings of that man 50 feet away continued to enter my ears, leaving me still with no idea what to do.

Fortunately, nothing this day was really up to me. I blinked and in an instant, I was kneeling beside the broken man on the steps. I placed my hand upon his back, feeling him shrink away either in pain or surprise before accepting my hand as his wailing steadied. I glanced back the way I had come, seeing my son right where I was before, and caught a glimpse of the large doors beginning to crack open beyond the archway. I turned back to the burned and broken man, he wiped his eyes between the bandages and collected himself. There, with a mind still flashing with pictures of each and every one of the terrible stories I'd heard growing up and during my time in the Guard, my hand rested on his back and I knew exactly what the man had gone through over so many years of running. I thought of the words I read and understood perfectly how far he tried to run just to end up right where he was supposed to be. There, I looked up from the broken runaway, and with my eyes on the cross above in the center of that stained glass, said to the man;

"Welcome home."

In an instant, I felt my hand leave his back as he stood himself up and climbed the remainder of the steps. I looked up at him standing before the podium, seeing that glass cross on the wall above as he slowly turned around. His eyes scanned the darkness and emptiness of the room before his eyes fell to me, and there he said straight to my face, the answer to that long overdue question:

The blue in his eyes was bright between the bandages, almost as bright as the ones in my dream, and seeing this, he gave his confession that sounded like thunder as it echoed through the Temple's halls;

"I am Joshua Graham. Former Legate of Caesar's Legion and son of New Canaan. I am, a sinner."

He stood towering beneath the cross, almost as if he had been completely restored just by that admission. But the moment didn't last long, for the pain slowly returned, making him curl into himself as he stood, and another painful groan came from beneath the wrapping without the echo of moments earlier.

I turned towards the entrance, felt my son grab my leg, and shifting his focus between the burned man and the crowd of silent onlookers now entering through the archway. With my eyes on the crowd now pouring in and trying to figure out what was happening, I saw Joshua curl even further into himself at the returning pain out of the corner of my eye. I heard distant voices echo towards me from different places in the crowd saying, "Paul? is that you?", "What did he say?", "My God. Did he say his name was-?", "It can't be him?" The voices all became one indistinct sound that faded into the background of my own little world. I watched some of the people slowly step towards us and despite everything happening around me, knowing who was behind me, and through all the chatter, the only thing I heard was when I felt the grip on my leg tighten and my son's voice came up from below;

"Why did that man need to come here so late?"

I knew my son meant "Late" as in "at night" but reflecting on all I heard of Joshua Graham over the years, now knowing all he went through, and seeing firsthand what that road had done to him, I heard my boy's question as: "Why did he spend so long being wicked, survive the impossible, trek through the blistering heat for weeks or months straight to a place he had no right to believe he would belong, and push himself through even more pain just to give his confession to a man he didn't know this night and in this Holy place? ... Why did Joshua crawl his way to this place covered in burns after spending so much of his life in such a dark place?"

Watching the first man who left the crowd step up to Joshua Graham, I answered my son the answer to both questions, "Because Christ is worth it."

The world around me returned, and even though the chatter remained incoherent with more of my brothers and sisters entering the Temple, I didn't need to hear anything else this night. The man before Joshua threw his arms around him while more people stepped forward to welcome him home and Joshua endured the pain of every embrace gladly.