The Church

by Wisdom King

“Bring it through.” He opened a small compartment at the foot of the partition and slid the bag through the hole. He sat back and looked back up the crucifix. His cold, blue eyes pierced through the dark eyes of the image.

  “Very good, son. I knew I could count on you.” The man said with a laugh. “Now, let’s just put this all behind us, shall we?”

  “We shall.”

  “Thank you for this beautiful...confession.” The deep voice said. “Give thanks to the Lord for He is good!” The old man said.

  “For His mercy endures forever...” The young man whispered back.

  And I hope it does.

  Chapter 5

  Kane turned on the coffee maker and hopped on the counter. With a sigh, he threw his head back and hit it against the overhead cupboard.

  “God damn it.” He said as he rubbed the sore spot at the back of his head. “I am the luckiest guy today.” With a grunt, he hopped off and walked over the living room. He flipped over the red couch and shut his eyes.

  It has been 20 minutes since he left the message. On a normal occasion, the mystery man would reply within a mere 5 minutes – no more, no less. But as the clock ticked, it’s become clear to him that this is not one of those occasions. When Kane pressed enter, he knew exactly what he was getting himself into, but apparently, the hacker didn’t want to join him in it.

  Disgruntled, he propped himself up on the couch and looked straight at the small flat-screen television in front of him. He picked up the remote from the cluttered coffee table and turned the TV on. After a few minutes of mindless channel surfing, he stumbled upon a weird show. It aired on a painfully low-budget channel with a crappy camera. It featured a red-faced televangelist yelling on a microphone, giving a sermon to a brainwashed audience. He gripped the mic tightly with his hands and sat on the first row of people. Kane turned up the volume and tuned in.

  “...he is the ultimate judge. God IS the ultimate judge. Why should we listen to these men in their fancy blue outfits if the only one we want to please –.” The man raised his free arm in the air and pointed to roof. “- is Him?” Kane, like the audience, stared at the television with a blank, careless stare, only mildly interested in what the preacher man had to say.

  Kane is a Christian – at least, he likes to believe that he is. The last time he went to a church was about half a year ago, and even then he didn’t want to. He never really liked the church. Sermons would last for an hour and the pastor would just repeat the same thing over and over again. Don’t do this, don’t do that. You’re supposed to be this; you’re supposed to be that. And somehow, everything they say becomes justified as long as you add “in the name of God” at the end.

  When he was a boy, his mom would always drag him out of bed every Sunday morning for an early mass in the town’s little chapel. It stood near an arcade so Kane never really complained much about, until one day, dragging him to church simply wasn’t enough for his mother and she decided to sign him up as a chapel boy. True Nigerian mothers don’t joke with church going.

  “You be good, you hear me?” She said as she held his face with two, soft hands.

  “Yeah,momma,” Kane said, pulling away from his mother’s grasp. “I’m not a kid anymore.” The ten-year-old bowed his head and looked at the pavement. He was wearing his fancy new church shoes that gleamed like a diamond. He wore a pressed blue shirt that was tucked in a pair of khakis that fit too loose around the hips. This was Rita Bamidele’s idea of presentable.

  “Now, Father Thomas will take care of you here, okay?” She whispered. “You hear me?”

  “Yeah, I hear you.” He said as he kicked around a few rocks.

  “Head along now. You’ll be late.” She said, grabbing him by the shoulders and twisting him around. “I love you.” She said as she gave him a little push. As Kane neared the church doors, he peeked behind him and saw his mother smiling at him from afar.

  Looking back at the preacher in the TV, Kane remembered the small chapel back at home. He remembered how it always smelled of incense and roses. He remembered all the other kids running around and the sexton chasing after them. Kane would always just sit down quietly in the nave while the other kids would play. Even as a kid, he was always the odd one out. Somehow, he always found a way to do the unspeakable, something chapel kids tend to stay away from. Parents would always point at him and told their kids to stay away. The other members of the church would often whisper to each other as if that would hurt him less. Fearless as he was, Kane Bamidele was as empathetic and emotional as the next human being, yet sadly, the world didn’t acknowledge this.

  He turned the television off and walked back into the kitchen. He grabbed his favorite mug from the sink and poured himself a hot cup of black coffee. He barely slept a wink last night and his hangover was beginning to make a riot in his head. He took a good sip of his coffee and walked back to his office.

  It was only a small office, but it had everything he needed. There was a desk, a chair, a bookshelf with books he promised himself he would read someday, and of course, his laptop. He sat in front of it and looked at the clock sitting on the desk. It was almost 12:45 PM. He ran a finger across the touchpad and took another sip of his coffee.

  “You have one email.” It said. Kane nearly spat out his coffee when he saw the notification.

  “Joining the dark side, I see.” the message read. From that message alone, Kane knows he’s been locked. “Well, sounds easy enough. Whose account do I have to bust?”

  “I just need the password.” He then forwards him Marisol’s email address and waited. His head felt like breaking and his eyes were bloodshot from the lack of sleep. He took another swig from his mug and stared at the computer screen.

  After a few minutes of waiting, he stood up and walked over to the window behind his desk. He looked at the afternoon sky above his house and down at the children playing around with their bicycles. From where he stood, all of them looked so happy. From behind the window, the world looked like a pristine picture, distant and untouchable. Hardened as he was, he can’t help but smile.

  Ding!.

  He hurriedly sat back down in front of his desk and checked his laptop. He opened 11@darkit212.net’s email and took a deep breath.

  “I got in.”

  “That was fast.” Kane thought to himself. “Then again...it’s his job.”

  “Give it to me then.” Kane typed in. “How much?” Kane took a deep breath as he pressed enter. He wasn’t the richest guy in the world and a deed like this costs a lot.

  “Just two thousand in Btc. That’s with a friendly discount.” After doing a quick search on the recent price of one Bitcoin, Kane was left appalled. One Bitcoin cost nearly 1,500 USD as of that day, something he can’t pay with his real money. Luckily, about 2 years ago, he opened up his own wallet and bought $10 worth of Bitcoins just so he could see where it would take him after all the buzz around the crypto currency. However, the majority of that money went down the drain in his pursuit for the same person he’s talking to right now.

  Nervous, he reopened his Bitcoin wallet and gave a sigh of relief. He had a bit over 3 Bitcoins left in his encrypted account. He nearly wept in joy as he stared at the computer screen. Even after he pays the bastard, he still had one Bitcoin that he could convert into a whopping 1,680 dollars.

  “I’m richer than I thought!”

  “I got the money.” He told the hacker. Underneath his reply, he attached his Bitcoin wallet address and $2000. Kane did the necessary procedure and within a few minutes, he was left with one Bitcoin sitting in his wallet. He waited for a couple more minutes and took a deep breath when he saw his reply.

  “enuj28.”

  “June 28. June fucking 28. How come I never thought of that?” Feeling like a complete idiot, Kane slapped his forehead with both hands. June 28 was Marisol’s birthday.

  He opened up Marisol’s account using the code and scrolled through her journal. All he could see was a bunch of incomplete information ab
out some over-the-top conspiracy theory. The little documents he could find were either cut short halfway through or just a bunch of tin-foil hat theories, none of which captured his fleeting interest.

  Until he opened the last file.

  Attached to the document was a stolen picture of a young man, probably in his early twenties, dressed in black clerical clothing. He was of average height and had neat jet black hair that was combed back and gelled. As far as Kane could tell from the blurry image, the man seemed to be getting out of somewhere – a white building with big brown doors. There was little evidence about his whereabouts when this picture was taken but underneath the photo, written in bold was the name of a man he had never seen nor heard of.

  “Clark Tristen.” Kane read aloud. “Junior minister. PACOG. VIP.”

  “Would you look at that?” Kane thought to himself, smiling. “Looks like Marie’s made a new friend.”

  Chapter 6

  “Pick up. Come one, man. Fucking pick up!” Kane said as he walked frantically all over his office. After the 6th ring, Freddy finally picked up.

  “Jesus Christ, where the fuck were you?” Kane said, agitated as always.

  “I went to the bar. I have a life, you know?” Freddy replied sarcastically. From the phone, Kane could hear Freddy fiddling with some glasses around the bar.

  “Listen, I found some things in Marisol’s account. To be honest, I don’t know what to make of it.” He walked over to his desk and turned the laptop around to face him. “All I can see is just a bunch unfinished documents and a lot of bullshit. I need your help again.”

  “How the fuck did you get on her account?”

  “You’re missing the point, Fred,” Kane said as he scrolled through file after file, trying to find at least one shred of information worth noting. He heard Freddy sigh from the other side of the line.

  “What do you need?”

  “I need a plan. A good one.”

  “Hungover Freddy isn’t good with plans.” He groaned.

  “Well, maybe Hungover Freddy is good in reading,” Kane said as he forwarded documents and PDF files from Marisol’s email to Freddy’s. “Check your email.”

  “Hold on.” While he waited for Freddy, Kane got up from his chair and shoved his hand down his pocket. He felt small beads brushing against his fingers and took out a rosary.

  “What the fuck?”

  He held the cross in between his thumb and index finger and stared straight at it. With its simplistic design, the rosary was very beautiful with its intricate markings and smooth texture. He had seen about a million rosaries but none that would equal the beauty of this one.

  “Dude...” He heard Freddy say from the other side.

  “Yeah?”

  “Who’s this dude?”

  “What?”

  “Clarke Tristen?”

  “I know as much you do. He works for that Church. He’s kind of a big thing I don’t know.” Frustrated, Kane threw the rosary onto the table and sunk low in his chair.

  “What church? You mean the one she talked about here?”

  “Yeah. That one.”

  “They operate behind closed doors. They show a friendly front to the people but when nobody’s looking, evil thrives within them...” Kane listened intently as Freddy read through one of the documents. At that point, he had already memorized every short document.

  “I’ve read that already, Fred,” Kane mumbled through the phone.

  “Well...damn.”

  “I know.” With a heavy hand, he tried to rub the sleep from his eyes.

  “You think she might be onto something?”

  “I don’t know...I don’t know for sure. What I do know is that she’s dead and I still got no idea why.”

  “Maybe you could ask one of her friends?” Kane groaned at the proposal. Marisol mainly only had journalist friends, and frankly, Kane isn’t very keen on getting in touch with them, regardless if they’re basically the people throwing him jobs every month or two.

  “Yeah, how about no? And besides, she’s been M.I.A for the past couple of weeks. Not even her co-workers knew where she was. I checked all of her emails and for the past two weeks she’s been bombarded with messages from her friends and colleagues.” Frustrated, he gave out a loud sigh and ran a hand down his face.

  “Yeah, you’re right. I just checked. Have you contacted the hospital yet?”

  “No, they said they’d contact me. It’s only been a few hours.”

  “Well, you’re left without a choice, bud.” Exhausted, Kane shut his eyes and threw his head back. Nothing adds up...

  “It’s Sunday, tomorrow, yes?”

  “Yeah...”

  “I’m going to head over to the church. I’ll try to see how much I can find.”

  “Do you have a plan?”

  “That’s exactly what I called you for.”

  Then, as if struck by some sort of miracle, Freddy mapped out an elaborate plan for his friend. The conversation lasted for a little over an hour before Kane finally agreed to it. After the extensive exchange, he walked over to his bedroom and let himself fall back into a deep slumber and waited for the nightmares to come.

  IT WAS 1:54 AM.

  Clarke Tristen looked straight at the digital clock sitting on his bedside table. The blue light shone against his pale skin, casting a ghostly shadow across his face. It’s been 4 hours since he lay down on his cold bed yet sleep never paid him a visit. His eyes found themselves wandering all over the small the room. The walls were painted white and lined with a dark brown crown moulding. From the ceiling, hung a small white lamp with rusted brass chains. By the foot of his bed, a crucifix hung near the ceiling. Across the room, the moon shone through the curtains, illuminating the small quarters assigned to him.

  Frustrated, he sat up from his bed and walked towards the window. He drew back the thin white curtains and looked down at the backyard of the compound. Through the foggy window, he saw 3 men stumbling towards the backdoor. One of them was holding a bottle of liquor in his hands, and the other two were struggling to carry each other.

  Clarke opened his window halfway and struggled to listen to the drunks’ intoxicated exchange. From the third floor, all he could hear were incoherent slurs and distant laughter. He looked down at the men tripping over themselves as they struggled to make their way into the backdoor.

  He stepped away from the window and grabbed his robe from the chair next to his bed. He let it hung over his naked torso as he walked out of his room, quietly shutting the door behind, careful not to wake anyone in the floor. He silently ran through the dimly lit hallways and down the stairs. When he finally reached the back door, he found it wide open and the whole area dead quiet. He stood there wide awake with his hands against his hips. He stared at the green grass outside of the door with blank eyes.

  “Why does the grass always look greener on the other side?” He thought as he took timid steps towards the doorway. He ran his bare feet over the grass and grabbed it with his toes. He shut his eyes and took a deep breath. Even with his eyes shut, he saw how beautiful the world looked that night. With the grass in between his toes and the moon hanging above him, the moment felt all too perfect to be real.

  “What are you doing up?” Clarke snapped his eyes open with a jolt. Startled, he turned around and looked at the dark hall behind him. From the shadows emerged a tall man with skin as white as snow. He had a receding hairline, with wisps of light blond hair poking from the top of his head. He had the greenest eyes Clarke had ever seen, and those green orbs were staring right into his blue ones, sending chills down his spine.

  “It’s 2 AM, Clarke. You should have been asleep.” Father Dennis said as he walked towards the young man. With shaky fingers, Clarke hurriedly tied up his robe to cover his chest. “You’re on duty tomorrow...you should be getting some rest, my boy.” The priest said as he slowly walked over to the young man standing in the doorway. He raised a warm hand and placed it on Clarke’s shoulder, shocking him
.

  “I couldn’t sleep...then I heard some guys running around the backyard...” Clarke mumbled as he pulled away from his grasp. “I just wanted to take a look, that’s all.” Clarke Tristen was a handsome young man, with a smile that could melt anyone’s heart and cold blue eyes that will send chills down your spine. He flashed the priest his infamous tight-lipped smile.

  The priest did not smile back.

  The compound has a few basic house rules. One of them was that when the clock strikes 10 PM, its lights out or you get punished. The punishment varies from community service to extra time spent on certain tasks assigned to that person. However, this rule only applies to the working members of the church, including Clarke.

  “These men...where are they?”

  “I don’t know. I came down here and I just found this open and I...” His sentence was abruptly cut short by the sound of breaking glass. Both men turned their heads to the right. A few doors down, they saw light peeking from under the door to the kitchen. Father Dennis walked over to the door, gesturing for Clarke to follow suit.

  “After you Tristen.” After a brief moment, Clarke pushed open the kitchen door to find three security guards passed out on the kitchen counter. On the floor lay a broken bottle of cheap Jack Daniels and an empty pack of cigarettes. By habit, Clarke knelt down in front of the mess and started picking up the shards with his bare hands. Meanwhile, the priest gracefully walked into the kitchen and observed the men snoring loudly. He wore a nasty snarl on his face as he looked down at the intoxicated group. Clarke tried his best to keep his head down and his hands busy.

  “This doesn’t look good.”

  An uncomfortable silence enveloped the room, suffocating Clarke as he cleaned up the mess the three men made on the floor. He looked up at the tall white man standing by the counter and saw his pale face burn bright red as he took in the chaos of the room.

  “WHY AREN’T YOU IDIOTS AWAKE?” He suddenly yelled from the top of his lungs, ripping through the silence like a bullet. Two of the men in uniforms started up and looked at the priest looming over them. Clarke flinched at the sound of his voice. Looking up, he saw the faces of the two men turn pale as they stared into Father Dennis’s glaring eyes.