Page 15 of Love is Strange
I saw red, and when I regained myself I was lying on top of him, crushing him with my weight as he flailed beneath me. I thought of his last sermon I’d attended, the one about the angel of death sweeping through and killing all the first born of the non-believers. I no longer believed in him, in our friendship, in the woman who possessed my heart. The time for cleansing was upon me.
The last vestiges of life left his eyes as I squeezed. I regarded him distantly, though my eyes were just inches from his. The sounds he made were curious, like a beast rutting for food. I wondered if that was what he sounded like on top of her right before he spilled his putrid seed. He was trying to say something, and mildly curious, I eased up a moment.
“What’s that?”
“G-god,” he managed.
“No.” I hardly recognized my expressionless, calm response. “Just one of his avenging angels.”
“E-eve,” he choked out. “She wanted enough to take you with her.”
I pressed on his pulsing throat with such force my hand cramped. I smiled into his vacant gray eyes. I wouldn’t have believed him if he told me the hills were green.
“Don’t worry about her. She’ll pay for her sins too.”
Eve’s muffled shrieks clear my foggy nostalgia, and following her wide eyed gaze, I realize she’s just spotted McDougal, sprawled in an awkward, unnatural position on the other side of the altar. The communion goblet is upturned between his eyes, sanguineous liquid covering and surrounding his pale face like a sticky halo. He has hunks of bread over both eyes and pieces spill out of his mouth. I still may not have given him enough of the sacraments to get him into the kingdom of heaven, but it won’t be for lack of trying.
“I firmly resolve, with the help of Thy grace, to sin no more…” I say, hefting Eve, who is now wise enough to kick and scream, a wild animal caught in a noose who knows they have everything to lose. Still, her slim build is no match for my raw strength, and I have little trouble getting her to the baptismal font. The very same one where I welcomed her daughter into the family of God.
She makes quite a ruckus, trying to communicate, so I rip her gag away.
“Henry, my love…” she sobs. “I did thisallfor us. Please…you don’t have to do this. I love you, and I know you love me too!”
“You don’t know love, Eve. But you will very, very soon. All know love in the kingdom of heaven.”
She’s sobbing soundlessly now, and the silence is a relief to my weary soul.
“Fear not, my beautiful sinner. I’ll wash you clean,” I tell her, and raking my hands into her wanton curls, I thrust her head under the Holy water…and hold her there. Our eyes meet, and a single tear escapes me as I watch her eyes, wondering if the events of her life are flashing before them.
The splashing is significant. Between all this and the splattered wine I’m already wearing, I’ll have to change.
When her thrashing finally ceases and she’s limp in my arms, I gingerly lay her on the stones, my fingers closing her lids with the utmost care. I look down at my clothes, covered in vomit, and wine, and tainted Holy water, and realize there’s no point in changing. I’ll simply go back to the Lord in the manner in which he placed me on this earth. I kick off my boots and unfasten my trousers on my way to the candles.
“…and to avoid the near occasions of sin.”
With a candle in each hand, I approach the tapestry. Shepherds are watching their flocks at night, and they stare up at a magnificent star in exultation. I light the canvas on fire, watching the star radiate, wondering who this candle was lit for, and if that poor soul was worthy of someone else’s prayers.
The other candle works to set McDougal on fire. He melts like wax, and I watch, satisfied.
I unbutton my shirt the rest of the way, and I retrieve two more candles. Smoke has already consumed the confessional and the crucifix at the altar, which isn’t far from the vanishing canvas. As the cross catches fire, Christ looks more like an avenging angel than himself, and I find the messiah more relatable than ever before. My eyes begin to burn due to the ashes and smoke, but I can see the stained glass bubbling in the heat, and it crackles as it buckles.
Eve is now on fire, and I barely recall setting her ablaze. I’m surprised to see her burn so efficiently, considering how wet her death had been.
As the heat of the flames from the last candle singe my beard, I throw my head back, my face raised to the heavens in exaltation. I can already feel the laborious weight of my countless sins lifting from my weary shoulders. It’ll be over soon, and we’ll all be together again.
“Amen,” I whisper, seconds before my own screams begin.
Blood Brothers
MURPHY WALLACE
Prologue
GRAHAM
They saytwins create their own language when they’re babies or toddlers. When one gets hurt the other one feels pain. They exhibit strong mental connections. Since the day we were born my twin brother, Griffin, and I have had a deep connection, both mentally and physically. We have been inseparable.
I’ve known I was gay since the time I was eleven years old. No, my favorite color wasn’t pink and I didn’t want to wear dresses or play with dolls.
