Page 8 of Heartless Heathens
“I think Arlan is going to make us sort through and read every little piece of shit we uncover up there before he lets us come home. You assholes fucked me good here.” He tossed the box cutter at me as he began to pull the contents out of the box, unveiling the pieces of the new couch that would soon fill up the giant empty space we stood in.
“At least we’re all fucked together,” Corvin mused from behind.
“Fucked together,” Sonny mumbled.
“Whatareyoudoing?”I asked Corvin, who was practically power walking back to the chapel.
“Heading back to the house.” He turned quickly as if to cut the conversation short.
“Yeah he’s going home to shower after gym now.” Felix laughed, poking fun at his twin’s weird antics.
“Wait, is it getting bad? You told me you’d tell me if it did.” I stepped up to him, trying to show more concern than assertiveness in my tone but probably failing. “Is it happening again?” I put my hand to his chest to stop him from walking off.
“No, I just don’t like to be caught in places where I’d be vulnerable if it did.” He gritted out through his teeth pushing me off.
I didn’t fight it, understanding that he didn’t like feeling out of control. We were alike in that, but the difference between the two of us was that I demanded control. Corvin became a prisoner to it. Out here we had none. We were all at the mercy of other men.
Arlan.
Frollo.
“Well, regardless, that’s not sustainable. You can’t be walking a mile from campus everytime you feel funny.” Felix chimed in behind his brother.
“We won’t be here that long.” I corrected him.
“You’re so sure we’re going to find what he’s looking for here?” Corvin crossed his arms over his chest, while I opened the door to the chapel.
“Claüde Frollo is a bad liar. He’s hiding something, most likely up in that bell tower.” I told him what had been running through my mind the last couple of days.
“You think there’s really something up there we can use?” He tilted his chin towards the ceiling, “How do we get up there?”
“I haven’t figured that out yet. You didn’t see his face when we told him he couldn’t clear the place out first. I doubt he was so worried about salvaging old pews and beds. Whatever Arlan is searching for, I think we start by looking there,” I told both of them.
“If that’s the case, I’ll climb up that wall tomorrow.” Corvin volunteered.
It was the second day of the term and I’d spent most of yesterday in disbelief of what they considered educational material.
“Where are you going?” I asked Felix, who was already changed into green gym shorts, knee-high socks, and was slipping on a jersey.
“Soccer tryouts,” he said without giving it much energy.
“What the fuck? What part of, we won’t be here long, are you not getting?” I fisted his jersey in my hands, bringing him closer to me, but he just pushed me away like he wasn’t scared of me.
He wasn’t, and he was one of three people alive who could say that. When you grew up with someone you learned all their flaws and their fears. You knew exactly what their weaknesses were, and you knew how to bring them down. That’s why we were raised together.
Arlan manipulated our friendship from the very start. Our bond. He brought us together because he knew our undying loyalty towards each other would either make us a powerful force or it would be our undoing. He wanted us to be a weapon against the church, to tear down the control they had over how people lived.
Something he’d been unable to do in his own lifetime.
His pockets were so deep that the church couldn’t avoid his influence. But he thought his money’s growth correlated directly to the public's ignorance of his beliefs. Because of that, he was too afraid of his connection to the Satanic Shrine being revealed to the public. He feared how that would impact his shareholders and his finances with the current state of politics.
An amusing concept because there was no politics, there was just the church now.
But Arlan wasn’t just connected to the Satanic Shrine, hewasthe Satanic Shrine. What he said was law and what was left of its following bowed their heads and said ‘thank you sir.’ And for some reason they’d do the same for me once he died.
He however,wasdesperate to put me through the gauntlet in order to give me what was already mine. I didn’t give a fuck about what was his, I wasn’t his flesh and blood. Besides, my mother had left me plenty. He just refused to let me have it. Like a goddamn child throwing a tantrum, he couldn’t come to terms with his own mortality. Dangling what was promised to us like a carrot, manipulating us for his needs. He would force us all to bend to his whims to make sure he could orchestrate as much as possible until he took his very last breath.
Maybe my control issues weren’t so much hereditary as they were ingrained into me by the man who raised me.
