It’s taken a long time for me to get to where I am right now. I don’t say that lightly, I mean it’s actually been 37 years, 3 months and 19 days. But who’s counting, right?
I am. Because this is all I have ever thought about since that balmy day in October of 1985.
My family used to come to this church every Sunday without fail. My brother, Mark, and I would stay for Sunday school where they would teach us some bullshit that they didn’t practice themselves.
Mark committed suicide in 1992, aged 13. I was the one who found him hanged in the garage. He has written in his note that he feared for his mortal soul but could not live with what had happened. My parents were devastated but never found out what he had alluded to. I knew.
I knew because the same thing had happened to me seven years before: Father McConnell.
I moved away as soon as I was old enough. Went to college in a different city and barely spoke to my parents, which I regret now that they’re gone too. I think part of me blamed them for what happened.
But now, here I stand at the very same doorway all these years later. Pistol in hand; ready to do what needed to be done.
I swallow hard and enter.
My heart is pounding furiously in my chest, and I feel like I may pass out when I spot him near the altar. He still looks the same, although his face is wrinkled, and his hair greyed.
He turns to me and smiles. I fear I may never forget his crooked grin even if I lived to be a million.
“Come in, my child.” He beams. “All are welcome here.”
“I haven’t come to talk.” I tell him, bluntly.
“You may not need to speak to me, but I am here if you need any guidance. I am but a shepherd.” He pauses. “You look familiar. Have we met before?”
I want to vomit. I can’t decide if it’s better or worse that he doesn’t even remember those disgusting acts of abuse.
“My name is John Doherty. I came here with my brother, Mark, when we were children.”
“Young John!” He cries, throwing his arms up in the air. “How wonderful to see you again! How are your parents?”
“Both dead, I’m afraid. As you soon will be.”
His smile disappears and his eyes widen.
“P-P-Pardon?”
“Don’t play dumb with me.” I tell him. “I’ve never forgotten what you did to me here, in God’s house, and now I’m here to take my revenge.”
I raise the pistol and fire it at point blank. Every shot hits. The ecstasy rises in my body as his crumples to the ground. His dying moans float through the air and I ready myself to make my escape.
“One thing…” he coughs and blood sprays from his mouth. “One thing… you didn’t consider… in your… plan…”
He rises and tattered, burned black wings spread from his shoulders. He flashes me that wicked smile.
“This is not God’s house.”