Page 73 of Drag You Down
“Don’t quote scripture at me,” Father Zachariah spits out. “You don’t know the meaning of the words. ‘And I will punishthe world for its evil, and the wicked for their iniquity.’ Those are God’s words. The only thing you need to do is listen to me.”
God’s words or Jesus’s.
Punishment or mercy.
Empathy or damnation for the wicked.
I don’t know which path to follow.
“I do listen,” I protest.
That’s the problem. I listen, and I learn, and now I’m starting to see where one departs from the other. Scripture should not be used to counter scripture, should it?
Father Zachariah shakes his head. “You’re being impudent. Whatever you think you learned, forget it.Iam the word of God.”
I’m not sure he is.
Maybe Gabriel’s claws have dug into me too deeply, making me doubt, making me question.
“Yes, Father Zachariah,” I whisper, bowing my head.
His eyes narrow at me. “You need penance to remind you of your place here.”
I just took penance.
I’m not sure my back can handle much more.
He’s not going to accept that as an excuse, though, especially not after I had the audacity to quote scripture at him.
Maybe I don’t belong here after all.
Maybe I really have lost my way.
Maybe I do belong with someone like Gabriel.
“Yes, Father Zachariah,” I repeat.
He nods. “Good. Follow me.”
I follow obediently, out my apartment door and down the hall.
But we don’t stop at Apartment 302. Father Zachariah walks right past the door and toward the stairs.
My blood freezes in my veins.
Father Zachariah notices my hesitation. “Well? Don’t dawdle.”
I try to speak, but no words will form. I take a step forward, but it’s like I’m trudging through quicksand. “Please, Father Zachariah,” I say. I don’t even know what I’m pleading for — or against.
“You need this,” Father Zachariah says. He motions down the stairs. “A full day of prayer will cleanse you and remind you of your faith.”
My mouth is dry, and while I try to wet my lips with my tongue, it does nothing. “P-please,” I whimper. “I can… I can pray up here.”
I don’t want to go downstairs.
I don’t want to be plunged into darkness, where my prayers go from pleas for salvation to pleas to escape this.
I can’t escape the bitter irony that the answer to my prayers for help might have come in the form of an avenging angel.
