Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 93412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
“B-but… you know.”
Adam pointed to an open notebook on the coffee table. “You forget the final condition of a good confession. Satisfaction and penance. People need to know what happened here and who caused it. If you refuse, I’ll strike you down to the deepest of pits, and everything you sacrificed will be for nothing,” he roared, startled by the insistent buzz coming from the television.
Its pale light reflected off John’s tears as he glanced at the screen. “The Lord of Locusts has spoken.”
Stiff as a mannequin, he crawled toward the coffee table and the notebook resting in a landscape of empty Coke cans. Beyond his dark silhouette, the screen beckoned Adam’s eyes with a disturbing clicking. Dozens of massive grasshopper-like bugs consumed leaves, swarmed in the sand, traveled in giant clouds of destruction. His stomach sank when in the next shot they flew across the sky, blocking some of its light.
Father John grabbed a pen and scribbled in the open notebook while his raspy sobs filled the air. “I am a sinner,” he mumbled as he wrote those same words at the top of the page. “The world needs to know.”
Adam’s throat went dry, and he looked away from the man who had made him, only to see Gabriel showing him a driver license. Needing to stay in character, he swallowed the shock of seeing his photograph on the document, but his fingers already itched for the information they might find on the little piece of plastic.
Father John presented his writing to Adam like a child would to their teacher, and no matter how vile this man was, Adam found it hard to watch. “Good. Leave it there and lie down. Your sins will be washed away by blood,” Adam said, watching Gabriel from the corner of his eye.
When Father John opened his shirt to expose his chest for the blade. “Do it, Gabriel, I deserve it,” he sobbed, resting prone on the floor, and two fat tears streaked down his temples.
Adam wasn’t sure how Gabriel would take this, but the boy stepped forward, even if on shaky legs, and kneeled next to Father John, squeezing the dagger in both hands. It was the same tool that left the first deep cuts in his flesh years ago, and now it would end the man who had started it all, in a sick twist of fate.
The sharp tip looked stark on the bed of sweaty flesh and gray body hair, but as the noise on TV grew more intrusive, Adam stepped closer and met Gabriel’s eyes, trying to not judge him over wanting this.
Father John’s chest rose and fell as if it craved to be pinned to the floor forever and reached out for it with every breath. Gabriel inhaled, his shoulders tensed, and just as Adam thought the boy was about to stab his past tormentor, he stiffened, growing pale.
Father John flinched as Gabriel made two more such attempts, barely drawing blood as the sharp tip dug into skin, and Adam watched it, paralyzed by uncertainty. He didn’t want to spoil Gabriel’s moment, but he also needed to put an end to this story for good.
Gabriel gave a shuddery sigh and looked up with damp eyes. “Help me?”
Adam’s shoulders softened with relief, because of course his lamb wouldn’t be able to go through with a murder, no matter how just it was. He was pure, and sweet, and gentle, and the only light strong enough to banish Adam’s darkness.
“Pray,” he commanded and kneeled alongside Gabriel to wrap his hands around the boy’s trembling fingers and steady them on the handle. They were so sweaty Adam wanted to take over altogether, but when he met Gabriel’s eyes above the man who’d destroyed their lives, he knew that the boy needed to remain a part of this ritual to feel whole.
As the locusts hit the camera of the documentary crew over and over, Adam pushed, flinching at the dull sound coming from Father John’s breast. The manic prayer died on the man’s dry lips.
“Look only at me,” he whispered when Gabriel’s eyes briefly strayed to the priest’s face.
The dark gaze was back on him, sweet as two pools of warm chocolate. The scent of blood in the air couldn’t distract Adam from the relief obvious in each of Gabriel’s breaths. His fingers didn’t tremble anymore.
“I may not be God’s dagger, but I will always be yours,” Adam said softly as Father John’s soul left his body.
Gabriel exhaled, and his eyes glossed over. “I wouldn’t have been able to do this without you. Thank you.”
Adam took Gabriel’s hands off the knife embedded in the priest’s chest and walked around the sofa without letting go of him. The tang of blood infused the air around them, but he would be there to protect his lamb and make sure he left this room unscathed.