Not all churches were in the Sanctuary. There were underground churches on Earth that were usually run and managed by hiding Missionaries.
*****************
Whilst the charioteer pioneered the horses, two people sat in the chariot.
Daniel's eyes were drawn to the passer-bys that travelled through the busy setting. Father Azrael sat at the other side, imitating his gesture.
For a while, the two Crusaders did not speak to each other. Until Father Azrael broke the silence.
"When did it happen?"
Daniel replied immediately. "A few weeks ago."
"Cause?"
"Information was leaked."
"An insider?"
"Yes."
The exchange was calm, and there was no trace of sentimentality despite the weight of Daniel's emotions. The two of them did not look even once at each other. Yet, as if tuned in on the same frequency, they perfectly understood themselves. And individual emotions could be shared in assurance of empathetic reception from the other person.
Father Azrael did not speak any further. But Daniel did.
"Father Tony knew about him from the beginning. But he was hopeful."
"For a change?"
"For repentance. Just like he always says…"
It was never a seed. Just a once passionate Christian who fell into a deplorable state, and blamed the church for it. He was no spy, but he served as a catalyst….for the evil that transpired after.
"I heard of it." Father Azrael's eyes softened. "It was the entire church, wasn't it?"
"Even the children were not spared."
"....."
"57 members of that underground church in Florida. The reporter was only jailed for 3 months, while the remaining 56 were killed."
Father Azrael let out a melancholic sigh. For a moment, even the clamour of some conflicting passer-bys seemed to reduce to a still, as if touched by his feelings.
Daniel's grief began to bleed into his words.
"I pity him."
The charioteer once hummed, but now he made no sound. Only the steady clacking of hooves beating the ground could be heard. Animals which were of course, oblivious to such complex, human emotions.
"He must be miserable." Daniel continued.
Father Azrael turned, his eyes settling on him, and his mouth in perfect unison with his mind. He had an idea, but he asked. One word. One question.
"Why?"
Daniel paused for a while, before answering.
"The church went down in blood. That was never his intention."
"I see…" He lowered his head.
Daniel's face could not be observed, because he jutted his head outside the chariot. Father Azrael's gaze harboured several feelings, and they would occasionally shift from Daniel to the outside world and back.
The horses continued to ride peacefully.
"Was he…" Father Azrael asked. "....hoping to be caught alone?"
"Yes." Daniel replied. "He thought of it as 'worst case scenario'."
"...."
"He must be blaming himself now for his actions. Especially because…." His voice wavered. "...the kids.."
But Father Azrael was quick to retort. "There is no pain.." he consoled. "Nor regret, nor misery…in the Lord's bosom."
Eyelids fell, and darkness embraced his sight. The gravity of the situation bore down on him, nevertheless, he focused on the light ahead. Not the one he could see, for there was none, but the one he hoped to see.
Hope, itself.
For a better tomorrow. For perfect peace to the bereaved. For joy to the saddened. And for eternal life to the dead.
"….Both for Father Tony." He said. "The brethren. And the kids."
...…
There was a print sticking out of a letterbox next to my door upon arrival. I pulled it out with no effort and glanced through it, as I twisted the doorknob. My eyes ran through the lines of the letter, as I pushed the door into my room. However, no sooner than I entered, did I step back out.
"What was that just now?"
Strange. A strange 'thing'.
I had lifted my head to survey the room upon entrance, only to find a foreign thing. Or rather, a creature.
That wasn't supposed to be there.
"Was that a demon?"
There was no room, or reason for me to question my own sight. Not after everything that had happened to me just a few hours earlier. Swiftly, I pulled out my cross, alongside my rosary, and prepared to reopen the door that I had slammed shut. Seeing no cause for alarm, I bursted into my dorm.
"Who's there?"
A demon. No doubt.
But an unusual one.
Writers and poets construct light at odds with darkness. Hence with good, there was always evil.
For me. This one was familiar evil.
Was it because of my position as a Crusader that I could now see it? Or was it linked to the series of abnormalities that transpired around me?
It sat on my study desk—my own study desk, with a demeanor that was as calm as a still lake. It did not have the cliche shadowy appearance, but rather the skin, and visual identity of a roommate—Matthew. If not for the horns jutting out of its head, and the odd sense of familiar knowing that brought me to its identification in the very first place, I might have questioned my eyes even a second time.
But this demon wasn't just sitting, neither did it observe me. It was reading.
It had my bible in its hand. And it read, with an unheard diligence that screamed foul against its very nature.
No words were required for me to know what sort of entity this was. Perhaps, it was my knowledge of him that stopped me from recoiling in shock, which, unsurprisingly, was nothing but a penultimate predecessor to fear. Inevitable fear.
It's not everyday you see a demon reading the bible. After all, it consisted of the very words that when weaponised, spelt an inescapable end for it. The sight before me could be likened to a rat chugging down a bottle of rat's poison—its very own kryptonite.
The Tempter raised its head to look at me, who stood still, staring back.
"Urmm…." It had Matthew's voice. "Should I say 'welcome'?"
Why could I see him?
"Be gone!" I declared instantly, making a decision that was fueled by years of prior encounters, and varieties of experience—some rich, some poor.
"Hey chill out!" It remarked in a playful voice. "I came to ask a question."
"And I have no ears to lend." My response was sharp. "Once again, be gone!"
The Tempter stood up, red mist oozing through layers of blurred space wrapped amidst its crimson horns. It smiled, revealing fangs which had no semblance with Matthew's very human teeth.
"Fine. I'll be on my way." He concluded. "But you should check on your friend. Matthew, isn't it?"
I despised his appearance, as I thought it deprecating of the value I attached to the original owner of that form. Therefore, I wanted it out of my sight.
However, if there was another reason, it was the worry I felt. Or maybe it was longing. I did feel subtly lonely without Matthew, and this creature had decided to embody those emotions.
"I will. And he's fine."
"I didn't say he wasn't.." It chuckled. "You know me. I'm a bluffer."
It walked towards the window, resting its hand on the windowsill. "But it's interesting that you're worried."
Then the Tempter turned back with a grin. "I wonder why…."
And with those words, it vanished.
"....."
I let out a sigh, feeling pent up tension fade away at lightspeed. After which I decided to look through the print that I once took.
But there was none.
"..How..?"
A huge myriad of emotions spawned in my heart, as bewilderment and unexplained paranoia took form, summoning that multitude of feelings. The most prominent one was my utter confusion.
It wasn't over some print this time, but over my sudden change in location.
I was outside my room, somehow, with my fingers hovering over my letterbox. A few inches beneath, the print stood. And the door beyond me didn't seem to have once been unlocked. Not since my departure with Daniel.
What happened here?
Another emotion took over. Paranoia.
Worse, I was too paranoid to understand why I was paranoid. A semblance of a cruel twist, or maybe a never ending loop of disoriented feelings, centered around what seemed like an uncaused cause.
Something wasn't right.
No, nothing is. Obviously.
So, what was I so distrustful of?
I slid the key into the keyhole, turned twice, and with the shifting of the doorknob, repeated the same actions that I made a few minutes ago.
Or did I not make them?
...
My room did not have a horned Matthew this time. Neither was there any other thing out of place. Rather, it felt just the way it should—or maybe not.
Lonely.
More lonely than it should seem.
Why?
...
Didn't this emptiness die a few years ago?
...
Why?