Page 1 of Unbound
1
JESSE
God hates sin. God hates wickedness. God hates abomination.
These were the truths I'd been taught since before I could read. The same truths I now repeated silently as I stood with my sign held high against the darkening sky. Six hours we'd maintained our righteous vigil, six hours of bearing witness before these lost souls. My shoulders ached, and the cardboard edges of my sign dug into my palms, but I couldn't allow myself to focus on the discomfort. Physical pain was trivial compared to the eternal suffering that awaited the unrepentant.
"GOD HATES F—" The words blazed in neon orange against black, the final word spelled out in full on my sign, though my mind still flinched from completing it even in thought. Father had painted it himself. The letters were perfect, precise. Like everything Father did.
"Jesse." My mother's voice cut through our chanting. Sheappeared at my side, face pinched with concern. "You look pale. Are you drinking enough water?"
"I'm fine, Mother." I straightened my shoulders, lifting the sign higher. A proper soldier for Christ doesn't complain of weariness. Father had taught me that lesson when I was nine.
"Make sure Rebecca has enough too." She patted my arm and returned to her position.
I glanced to my right where Rebecca stood, her blonde hair catching the streetlight. She held her sign with both hands, her delicate wrists surely aching by now, though she'd never admit it. Her sign read "REPENT OR PERISH," the E in "REPENT" slightly crooked. Rebecca wasn't precise like Father.
"Do you need some water?" I asked, leaning toward her.
She looked up, startled, as if pulled from deep thought. "Oh—no, I'm okay." Her smile didn't reach her eyes. "Thank you for asking."
We'd been officially courting for three years, two months, and seventeen days. Our families approved. She was modest, obedient, and possessed a gentle spirit that would make her an exemplary mother to our future children. These were the qualities a godly man should seek. This was the path laid before me by my father.
So why did it sometimes feel like we were both acting in a play, reciting lines neither of us had written?
I pushed away the disloyal thought and returned my attention to the establishment across the street. The Harbour. Such a misleading name, as if it offered safe refuge rather than spiritual destruction. Bass pounded through its walls, a rhythmic mockery of a heartbeat. Men entered—young men, old men—some dressed modestly, others in garments that displayed their bodies in ways that made me quickly avert my eyes.
Yet sometimes, before I looked away, I noticed something. They were smiling. Really smiling—not the practiced Sundaymorning greetings we exchanged at church. What did they have to smile about? Didn't they know what awaited them?
"They choose eternal damnation," Father had explained when I was twelve, the first time he brought me to witness. "We stand as the final warning before they cross the threshold to sin."
The memory of his voice strengthened my resolve. I raised my sign higher and joined the renewed chant.
"GOD HATES THE WICKED! REPENT BEFORE JUDGMENT!"
My voice merged with the others—twenty-three members of Topeka Covenant Church, standing as a wall of truth against depravity. This was our Wednesday night ritual when school permitted. A reminder to the community that God's standards hadn't changed, even as the world embraced darkness.
Yet as the night deepened, another truth became increasingly difficult to ignore. My bladder throbbed with urgent discomfort. We'd been here since four o'clock. It was now past ten. The hot chocolate I'd consumed during my study session before the protest now demanded release with an insistence that was becoming painful.
I shifted my weight, pressing my thighs together in a manner I prayed appeared casual. Perhaps I could endure until we departed. Pastor Caldwell had said we'd maintain our position until eleven. Surely I could withstand another forty-seven minutes.
But as another wave of pressure assaulted me, I knew the situation was becoming desperate. I scanned the area. The surrounding businesses—the bookshop, the café, the hardware store—all stood dark. Nothing remained open at this hour in this part of town.
Nothing except The Harbour.
No. Absolutely not. I'd rather suffer physical discomfort than cross that threshold.
Another surge of pressure caused me to inhale sharply. The possibility of public embarrassment suddenly seemed very real.
"Jesse?" Rebecca's voice was soft with concern. "Are you okay?"
I couldn't bring myself to explain my predicament to her. Certain bodily functions weren't appropriate topics of discussion with a young woman, even one I intended to marry eventually.
"I need to step away for a moment," I managed.
Her eyes widened slightly. "Oh. Would you like me to come with you? We could take a short walk."
"That's not necessary. Please stay here. I'll be back soon."
