Fear the Wicked

by Lily White

  "Yes, it damn well is! And if my brother was here, he'd tell you the same." Pointing with his gun, he indicated the cage. "It's things like that that are destroying this small town!"

  Halle-fucking-lujah. Before long I would have complete participation and control of this once sleepy town. Those crosses in the back of my sanctuary were going to see a lot of use.

  "Fine," I said again, "I'll take you to see what I intended to show. But you have to put the gun down. I don't think all those infected with evil have to be killed. I believe a good many can be saved in God's name."

  Our argument was important, the mercy I was pretending to show in my responses. At some point in the future, Gentry will remember back to this moment. He would question whether what he did was right. And instead of suspecting my ulterior motive for showing him what I did, he would remember that I was the one who attempted to save lives. That memory would always be in the back of his mind any time he wanted to question my future plans for this town.

  The gun was still shaking in his hand, but the mention of the Lord drew his attention. After a few tense seconds, he nodded his head and placed the gun on a counter along the wall. Turning back to me, he demanded, "Take me to see whatever it is.

  My head snapped to Richard. "Is Eve still in the adjoining room?"

  He nodded, his mouth pulled in a tight line as he fought against his true feelings about the situation. That big son of a bitch wanted to laugh as much as I did.

  I knew he wanted to get back to the girl, and without openly saying it, I gave him my permission. "Why don't you get back to your duties for the evening? I can take it from here."

  Flashing a snide grin, he schooled his expression before saying goodbye to Gentry and leaving.

  "Eve," Gentry said as I approached, "Is she the woman from last night?"

  "She is."

  "Is she still-?" His voice trailed off before he could finish the thought.

  Crossing the room without answering, I flattened my palm against the cool wood of the door leading to where she was being kept. By now, the poor girl was most likely writhing over the floor. Lack of stimulation, light, sound, touch...in her state, it would have driven her close to the brink of temporary insanity.

  Drugs are such a wonderful thing.

  Twisting to glance over my shoulder at the man who would unknowingly hand me the small town on a silver platter, I forced a frown over my lips, carefully keeping my voice morose on the subject of Eve.

  "It will take time with her. She's not as far gone as the man you-"

  I allowed my words to die before completing that thought, my expression to wrinkle with regret and horror. "She's not as bad as him, so you have no need for concern."

  The crimson tint to his complexion was draining away, his once wide eyes going back to normal. The effects of what I'd given him were deteriorating now that the spike in adrenaline was calming.

  "I'm sorry, Father Hayle. I know you didn't want the man killed." His expression dropped, guilt now rolling behind his focused gaze. I would eventually use that guilt to my advantage. But for now, I'd offer sympathy.

  "I think you may have been right to do what you did, Gentry. Perhaps I'm the one who needs to realize when a person's life is to dire to save."

  He smiled, seemingly appeased by my hesitant agreement.

  "We should keep going. It's getting late and you have a long drive ahead of you."

  Opening the door, I flipped on the light, the illumination flooding the room and highlighting the small woman seated in a single chair positioned in the center of the small space. Her long brown hair was disheveled, her green eyes piercing when they finally opened and flicked to mine. Like Gentry, the pupils were large, two black pools reflecting my image back to me.

  I wasn't sure what it was about her particular features that drew me to her, that reached out and called to me with the pull of something familiar. In many ways I loved her more deeply than I'd loved any other - but that emotion was cut through with hatred and deep-seated anger.

  It irritated me when she wouldn't shut up - and I loathed her when she was so quiet that she wouldn't speak out against anything.

  Why did her silence affect me more? Why did her quiet acceptance of an abusive hand make me want to strangle the life from her body?

  I wanted to possess her and cast her aside, protect her and punish her just the same. My power over her was a power over something buried in my past, something I knew subconsciously, but couldn't bring to the surface.

  The only thing I could state with utter certainty was that now that she'd been used for the purpose of chasing off my brother, no man besides me would ever touch her again.

  Eve trembled against her seat, her teeth chattering and clacking together, her breath still a hissed whisper over her lips. Glancing down at her hands, I saw them clenched at the sides of her seat, letting go only to rub over the skirt covering her thighs.

  Opening her mouth as if to speak, she lost her voice to see Gentry walk in beside me. Fear shot through the green of her eyes, confusion and need dancing in to become a toxic combination.

  "She looks normal to me," Gentry commented as he stepped closer.

  I didn't bother looking at him, my eyes locked on a woman that stole the breath from my lungs. She was so thoroughly compliant, so perfectly created for a man like me. I guess that was only fitting considering I was the God who designed her.

  "Come here, Eve. I'd like to introduce you to a friend of the family."

  Pushing to her feet, her gait was uncoordinated and off balance, but she eventually found her way over, stopping within feet of where we stood watching.

  Gentry looked over the tiny woman, his gaze focused and attentive, his throat working visibly as he studied her behavior and mannerisms that would appear normal to the naked eye - but odd once closely seen.

  "Why is she breathing like that?"

  Clasping my hands behind my back, I shook my head. "I'm unsure. It's better than it was when she first came to us. The treatment has been working."

  "Like what I witnessed last night? The whipping?"

  "It's a part of it, yes. The punishment. But what I'm finding with this particular problem is that no matter what I do, no matter who I introduce to her, she's oversexualized, ready and willing if you know what I mean."

  His eyes snapped to her again, and if I weren't mistaken, Gentry was considering what she would be willing to do for him.

  "Let's test my theory, shall we?"

  He nodded his head, swallowing deep again. His eyes were unblinking, his body tense.

  "Take off your clothes, Eve," I instructed.

  She didn't hesitate to unbutton the dress she wore, didn't care who stood in the room watching. A grin slid across her full lips promising everything I could want and more.

  The dress slid from her shoulders, lower until it was a pool of cloth at her feet.

  Stepping forward, I was careful not to touch her skin with my body, careful not to give any indication that she would do this for no other man but me. "Do you feel no shame for being naked in front of a stranger? Doesn't it bother you that a man looks at you with lust in his eyes?"

  She trembled at my closeness, her eyes closing as my breath brushed over her cheek. Standing behind her where Gentry couldn't see, I trailed my finger down her spine, stopping when I'd reached the small of her back. She bucked against my touch, greedy for any small sensation.

  "Would you allow any man to touch you? Any man at all?"

  Tears welled in her eyes, glistening against the green. But still, she played her part well, knew not to question me, talk back, or even use my name. I'd instructed her earlier to be compliant, to allow Gentry to fuck her if that's what he wished to do. It was just one more way to drag him in, to lock him in place under my control. His guilt over his own actions would render him obliged to every future request I made of him.

  "Yes."

  Flicking my gaze up at the man standing before her, I welcomed him closer. "Would
you like to see for yourself how deep her lust has infected her?"

  Nodding his head, he stepped closer, his eyes roaming her body with obvious want, his hand reaching out to run a finger over her exposed breast. Eve didn't move away, didn't flinch or act with shame as he palmed the weight of her breast, his lips parting and his body tensing more with the carnal need he was feeling.

  Anger erupted inside me. Anger and a overriding need to push him away. It had been my intent all along to allow his lust to take over, to tempt him into acting in a manner a good Catholic husband would never abide, to then blame her demon as the cause when his guilt set in. I would have claimed it had infected him due to her proximity, to illustrate how easy it was for the madness to spread through the town, but I found the sight of someone else touching her maddening.

  Not just maddening...I wanted to wrench his hand off his damn body, stick it in a blender, and feed it to him as a lesson of what happens when you touch something that's mine.

  Why hadn't I had the same reaction when the hand touching her body had been Jacob's?

  Regardless of the question, I decided against the show, decided that his ease in murdering another person was enough for one night. Snatching at his wrist, I yanked his fingers away from her skin, pulling back so hard, that he had to move with me just to keep his shoulder from being pulled from the socket.

  "Careful, Gentry. You are a married man are you not? Her lust is infecting you and you’re allowing it without question. This is what I mean when I’ve said how easily the evil spreads." With an ominous whisper I reminded him just how far he'd stepped out of line. It would have to be enough. If he'd done anything else to her, I would have killed him.

  He winced at the remark.

  Even that small contact had been enough for him to consider himself a sinner. Even more than pulling a trigger and ending a man's life, he would regret his desire to fuck her. It was a central theme through all religions, I'd long ago realized: that the desire for sex was somehow more of a crime than taking another human's life.

  "We should leave," I suggested, struggling to maintain my composure.

  After clearing his throat, he agreed with a clipped nod.

  Turning to lead him from the room, I only looked back at Eve as he stepped through the doorway. My eyes scanned down her body, coming up to meet her eyes and I wondered about the odd emotions I was feeling.

  JACOB

  Running up the steps of the parish at exactly nine in the morning, I had a metal box tucked beneath my arm and a feral determination to find answers to my questions. Anger coursed through my veins, only deepening with every passing hour, my body tense and energetic despite my lack of sleep. I'd spent the entire night reading over my father's confession, damning the man that raised me and staring at several pictures that sickened me.

  Bursting through the door, I found Father Timothy standing at the stoup just inside the doors, his hand moving to bless the water.

  "How long have you known?" My voice boomed against the vaulted ceilings and thick walls.

  He didn't so much as flinch in response to my anger. Calmly finishing his prayer, he lifted his knowing eyes to pin mine with understanding. "Perhaps we should go somewhere private to have this conversation."

  I ignored the calm tone of his voice, refused to let it soothe me. "How long?"

  Glancing back to ensure we were alone in the immediate area, he returned his gaze to me. "Since before your father died. But I won't have this conversation out here." Turning he took a few steps before saying, "Follow me."

  My jaw ticked with frustration, but I quietly followed nonetheless. It didn't matter where and how he gave me my answers, just that he gave them at all. Barely able to control the fury coursing through my body, I walked with him past the large stained glass windows, gold crosses and statues of Mary, finally breathing out a steady breath when we reached his office down the long hall.

  He led me inside, turning to stare back at me once I'd walked fully inside.

  "Close the door," he requested. My hand hit the knob at the same time someone called for him from the opposite side of the hall. His annoyed expression matched my own. Stepping past me, he spoke low. "Wait here. I'll see who it is and take care of their issue quickly."

  He was gone before I could stop him. I considered rushing after him, demanding his time over whatever issue that other person had in mind, but I knew doing so would only work against me in the end. Father Timothy hadn't done anything to warrant my level of aggression, except for keeping his mouth shut on a secret that could tear his parish apart.

  I found myself pacing as one minute bled into another, whispers running through my mind that led to memories that led to pain. The questions were endless, the betrayal suffocating, but allowing the weight of my father's confession to crush me would only weaken me and knock me off course.

  My jaw ached from clenching my teeth, my hair messy from constantly running my fingers through it. And when I came to a point where I felt like I would start screaming, I turned towards the far wall of Timothy's office and froze in the face of the cross.

  Not just a cross, the large wood and metal symbol was an ornate crucifix, the detail stunning right down to the nails that held Jesus in place. My heart felt heavy to realize how evil and painful this symbol had become.

  The door opened and closed behind me, soft footsteps approaching before stopping at my back. I didn't turn to Timothy when I finally said, "It's such a morbid symbol, isn't it? The image of a man tortured and killed. Of all the ways Jesus could be remembered, this is the one we hold most dearly. Like we're still celebrating the destruction of a good man."

  Seconds passed before he finally answered, "I guess that all depends on how you look at it."

  "When I look at this, I see the torture and destruction of purity. The proof that even when faced with God and the power of his hand, humans are still evil enough to turn their backs on it. To use it in order to feed their own selfishness and greed. When I was young, this symbol was the ultimate bearer of my guilt. It became so much more when I was ordained as a priest. Hope, maybe, or a promise. But now...now all I see is another means by which human beings hurt each other on a daily basis."

  A moment of silence beat between us. I assumed Timothy was absorbing my words and considering how he could respond to them. Softly, he answered, "What I see is a symbol of ultimate sacrifice. A pure being enduring the worst forms of suffering and torture just to save us all."

  Pivoting on my heel, I met his gaze. "Tell me then how everything he stood for so easily fell to shit. How the men who stand as symbols of His goodness and His sacrifice are sometimes the most evil."

  He winced at the accusation, at the lack of emotion in my voice, at the truth in the words I'd spoken.

  Elijah's words echoed in my head, his insistence that after Jesus had risen from the dead, man was left to fall again. I understood what he was implying, and now that I'd read my father's confession, I felt guilty for not seeing what had clearly driven him mad.

  "You've known for several years what happened under the roof of this parish. And yet nothing, not a damn thing, has been done about it."

  Shadows crossed over his eyes, guilt and regret lining his brow in deep wrinkles. There was no conviction to his voice when he answered, "You know how it is, Jacob. You've been a priest long enough to understand."

  I could feel the beat of my pulse just beneath my skin, could feel my blood pressure rising until it was a steady drum pounding inside my head. "Actually, Father Timothy, I don't know. I've come to you so that you can enlighten me."

  It was impossible for him to miss the threat in my tone, the menace, the barely controlled violence that flooded me. His throat worked visibly to swallow down the fear he felt. "We should sit down, I think. Take some time to discuss this in detail."

  I smiled, the expression not quite reaching my eyes. Timothy moved quickly to take a seat behind his desk, no doubt praying that the large and heavy oak furniture would act as a bar
rier between his body and mine.

  Stalking closer, I didn't sit down before carefully setting the metal box on the desk, its bottom clicking softly against the wood. Somehow that quiet sound carried more guilt and accusation than anything I'd ever known. Timothy moved as if to reach for it, but I splayed my hand over the top.

  "I want to know what he told you, first. Then I'll let you see what's contained inside this box."

  My father’s confession contained a lot of sins. I wanted to know if Timothy had heard them all.

  Pulling at his clerical collar, Timothy settled as much as he could against his seat.

  I jutted my chin in his direction. "It strangles you, doesn't it? The small strip of white cloth that has become a symbol of your faith."

  A bark of laughter shook his thin shoulders. "It definitely has a way of silencing me. Of making me question things."

  I knew what he meant. That collar had made me question my entire existence when I was faced with Eve. Slowly taking my seat, I thought back to her. Saw the complacency in her green eyes staring back at me. Just like another set of green eyes I'd known. Two sets actually, now that I was beginning to understand my obsession.

  Leveling my gaze on Timothy, I sat silent, not-so-patiently waiting for his explanation.

  He spoke carefully, his words more political than heartfelt. "I'm sorry, Jacob, that nothing has been done. And that nothing had been said. But this is a delicate situation."

  Delicate, my ass. He just didn't want to risk losing his job. "I'm not here to talk about what kind of situation we're dealing with. I'm fucking familiar with that. What I want to know is where are the two sons of bitches who thought they had the right to touch my brother?"

  Did he know they were dead?

  Timothy went completely still as the words left my mouth, the room sinking into silence once the reverberation of my voice died off leaving the question to linger between us. Slowly, he sat forward in his seat, the wood creaking beneath his weight. Crossing one forearm over the other on the surface of his desk, he kept his eyes trained on me, sympathy swirling beneath the deep shadows of guilt. "I don't know."