The Loop

July 21st

Father David Brewer stood before the masses—he noted that the ‘masses’ weren’t so massive these days—and, as always, began his homily with some personal observations.

“You know two days ago, on Friday, I passed by a homeless man on my way to the grocery store? It’s sadly not so uncommon these days. I wish that weren’t the case, but times are tough, and seemingly getting tougher. Now this gentleman, he had an old coffee can sitting on the ground next to him and he was asking for money. I told him I didn’t have any cash on me, but I asked if he wouldn’t like to come along with me to the store and I’d buy him something to eat. He said, ‘No, Father. If you don’t mind, I’ll just stay here. My legs don’t work so good and I don’t think I’d make it that far. Not without hurting, anyway.’ And I said that was no problem, I’d bring him something back. He seemed surprised, told me he wasn’t Catholic, asked me why I’d bother stopping to help a non-believer.

“Well, as you all know, charity is virtuous, and God doesn’t just call us to help those like us—those who look like us, those who worship like us—He calls us to help all those in need. If my actions can help someone see the light, all the better, but if not, at least he gets a full stomach for a day. So I went the rest of the way to the store, I got the things I’d gone there for, and I grabbed a couple of sandwiches and a couple bottles of water for the guy. I planned, on my way back by, to sit with him and get to know him, maybe invite him to come to a service—only if he was comfortable with it, of course.

“But when I got back to the place the man had been, there was no sign of him. A couple of teenagers were standing on the corner there, and I could overhear them laughing to themselves. School had just gotten out, and apparently these youths had nowhere to be. I overheard them talking, and what they said appalled me—truly, to my core. They were laughing because they’d scared the homeless man off. One of the boys was showing the other a knife and bragging about how afraid they’d made the man. Here was a man who was doing nothing wrong, who was already being crushed under the weight of a society leaving him behind, who just needed a little compassion, and he’d been treated as less than human. Well I spent some time looking around for him, searched the area as best I could, but I couldn’t find a trace of him. Hopefully he had some safer spot he could hide out and be secure from people who would do him harm just to amuse themselves. I went back to talk to the boys, hopefully set them straight, but alas, when I got back, they too were gone.”

He paused for a few moments, looking down, hoping his look conveyed pensiveness to the congregation. The story was mostly true—the two boys were invented, of course, but the man really had disappeared by the time he’d gotten back from the store. The point was that such a thing could have happened, that things like it did happen every single day.

“Sin,” he said, looking gravely at the faces scattered in the pews before him, rendered nearly inhuman—maybe angelic, maybe demonic—by the strange colored light streaming in through the stained glass windows. “Sin is all around us, and it is tempting. Sin is in what we choose to do after school, or when we leave the office at the end of a hard shift. Sin is in the places we choose to go, the people we choose to associate with, the people we choose to hurt. It’s in the things we choose to put in our bodies and the things we choose to do to our bodies. Sin is in the words we speak. Sin is in our feelings. Sin is in our very souls. Those two boys chose to sin not because they love the devil, or because they hate God. They chose to sin because sinning is easy, sinning is fun, sinning is convenient. It’s inescapable and that’s a simple fact.”

He nodded theatrically. “I know, I know. It all sounds pretty hopeless, doesn’t it?”

If he expected any response from the parishioners, he gave no indication.

“But I tell you now—and if you’ve been coming here long, this shouldn’t come as a shock to you, unless you’ve really been ignoring me—” this at least did earn a little scattered laughter “—because of the Lord, our God in Heaven; because of His Son, Jesus Christ, sin is not enough to hold us back or pull us down. Sin is defeated. Sin is nothing that we cannot overcome and leave behind. We will never be free from sin—that’s the sad truth of it—but through our faith we can find better paths forward, and through our faith we can be forgiven, and we can be healed.

“That’s what Jesus Christ did for us when he died on that cross. It wasn’t about martyrdom. It wasn’t about sacrificing himself to prove his beliefs and convictions to some arbitrary people way back in the day. No, his sacrifice was to bear the weight of our sin, all of our sin, for us. To die with it and go into the land of death with it. Can you imagine? Can you imagine the pain of that; to carry that burden and die with that on your shoulders? And Jesus did that for us. He died with that horrible burden so that we wouldn’t have to. And in that death, all of our sins were forgiven, so long as we believe in him, so long as we follow in his path.

“My friends, this is the greatest gift you’ve ever been given, and it was yours for the taking, right from birth—from before birth, even. From the moment God dreamt you up in the very beginning, he’s had this gift waiting for you. I know no one else has ever given you anything like that. I certainly know no one else has ever given me anything so great. Not even when my parents went to a store forty miles away to get me a Nintendo for Christmas when I was seven.” This earned him a larger laugh. He was almost bitter about that, about how much more invested they were when he was being funny than when he was telling them God’s honest truth. They cared more about the stand-up routine than about their immortal souls.

“In our reading today, from the Gospel according to Matthew, we learned that when he prayed in the garden of Gethsemane, and asked God the Father to intercede on his behalf, if he were willing, Jesus found his disciples sleeping. Multiple times, this happened, he went off to pray. He came back, and they were sleeping. He even asked them to stay awake, to keep watch and to pray with him. He warned Peter—Peter, of all people—away from temptation. And what can we learn from this? That even the holiest among us, even those who profess to follow the Gospels day in and day out, and those who really do, can be tempted into sin. One of Jesus’ followers drew a sword and cut the ear off of one of the folks who came to arrest Him, an act of violence that Jesus was quick to condemn because it was sinful. You see? Even those who were closest to Jesus, who knew him and his teachings best, were still prone to fall into the temptation of sin. And so shall we all, from time to time.”

He found his eyes drawn to certain members of the congregation in particular as he said this. He couldn’t help it. He cast his gaze down quickly, hoping those congregants didn’t notice his attention had been on them, and yet hoping too that the ones who were most sinful did notice it. Sometimes their failures caused deep-down rage to surface in him. He knew most of the congregants well enough to know exactly which ones were failing in their faith the worst, and which ones didn’t bother coming to confession because they didn’t see any problem with their behavior. They made him think of snakes, portraying themselves as followers of Christ by coming here every Sunday, but refusing to actually take heed of the message of Christianity.

It was deceptive. It was wrong. And worst of all, it was stubborn. They simply couldn’t accept—truly accept—that God was greater than them; that God knew best. They couldn’t accept that they were beholden to something greater than themselves, or that they owed anyone an explanation or an apology.

But he was a good Christian, and above all, that meant forgiving them.

He collected his thoughts, hoping the momentary anger that flashed across his face had gone unnoticed. “But, again, through our faith in Jesus Christ, we are redeemed, we are healed, we are made whole, and we are forgiven, so that we can join Him, where He is seated at the right hand of the Father, in life everlasting. Let us pray.”

He began the prayer of the faithful and the rest of the Mass went on as usual. His homilies tended to run long, tended to be a little unfocused and scattered, but he knew some of the congregants actually appreciated his rambling, off the cuff style. And if some members of the clergy didn’t? Well, they had their way of practicing the faith, and he had his.

———————

He sat outside on the corner of the stone wall along the front of the church that Sunday afternoon after mass had concluded and watched the birds flit back and forth across the street, occasionally landing to scoop up some particularly tasty looking morsel of discarded food, then dodge out of the way just as a car was about to run them down. It was a chaotic and dangerous way to live. From his vantage point he could stare straight down West 69th Street and see Central Park in the distance, and the birds’ behavior made him wonder: if paradise was so close you could see it, why would you slum around and dive for scraps and nearly get yourself run over?

But then again, if they flew down the street to the park, it wasn’t like they’d be the only birds there; there’d be competition for food, water, mates. Maybe they were better off here where, sure, things weren’t as great, but they also didn’t have to compete quite as hard. But, who was he kidding, these were pigeons in New York City; they probably did nest in the park, at least some of the time, and right now they were just slumming it with the locals for a little time away.

Maybe that’s what life on earth was; the immortal soul slumming it for a bit in between stints in heaven. He’d have to write that observation down.

As he watched the birds, two of his parishioners approached him. A couple. He recognized them but couldn’t put a name to their faces. Not regulars, then. These days there were precious few regulars.

“Hello Father. Lovely day, isn’t it?”

It was. It had been the perfect summer so far in New York; days warm without being stifling, nights cool enough to sleep with the windows open. With what humans were doing to the planet their creator had entrusted to them, he wondered how many more summers like this he had to look forward to.

He took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the sweat from his brow, so dark and shining in the sun that it looked like the smooth, reflective surface of an eight ball. Most people were surprised to see a black Catholic priest, and he had often wondered if the novelty alone was what kept some of his parishioners coming back. Or maybe it was his subtly southern accent that even ten years of living in NYC hadn’t snuffed out completely. If that was what it took to get more butts in seats, he didn’t mind.

He looked up at the couple, nodding at their assessment of the day. “It is indeed. I saw you at service today, did you decide to stick around the area for a while? I hope not to complain about the Mass …” He gave them a wry smile.

“No, no … not at all,” said the woman, laughing. “Actually we quite enjoyed the service. You have that sort of down to earth nature that we found was missing at our last church.”

“Oh, thank you very much. I do appreciate you saying that, Miss …?”

“Mrs. Caitlyn Bryerson, and this is my husband, Paul.” She indicated the man, who had been absently staring at the ground with his hands in his pockets, a troubled look on his face.

“Very pleased to meet you, Caitlyn. Paul. I do hope you’ll come back next Sunday.”

“We will, Father. Of course we will, but in the meantime, maybe we could talk to you. Like, say, now? If you’re not busy of course.” Caitlyn looked troubled too, now, and her voice had taken on a concerned edge, as if she very much feared that he wouldn’t be able to talk to the two of them right away.

Their demeanors finally cutting completely through his reverie and causing him to give them his full attention, David examined them more closely.

Paul was tall and rail thin, but his true height was partly obscured as he held himself in a bent over posture. He had a bone-pale and freckled face, a storm-tossed sea of red hair, and a beard which David couldn’t decide if he intended to have or if he just wasn’t very good at sticking to a regular shaving regimen. He wore thick-rimmed black glasses and his eyesight must have been especially poor because the lenses were thick enough to make his otherwise beady eyes look abnormally large when seen head-on. He dressed in clothes that were well coordinated and looked expensive, but which were worn in a way that conveyed restlessness and indifference; his shirt was coming untucked, his belt buckle was off-center, and his light jacket was fraying at the cuffs, where David noticed he kept rubbing it between his thumb and his palm.

His wife, Caitlyn, by contrast, was a knockout beauty—brown, perhaps Mediterranean, skin; lush and sleek black hair; curves in all the right places—whose stunning looks were only drawn into starker relief by the fact that she dressed neatly but nearly as modestly as a nun. She wore an ankle length dress that was only moderately more fashionable than what you might expect to see in an Amish community, a hat that put her beautiful, angular face in perpetual shadow, closed-toe shoes, and a handbag that was closer to a utilitarian messenger bag than a fashion accessory. She was free of most of the nervousness that radiated off of her husband. By contrast, she seemed almost completely cool and controlled.

“Of course. If you don’t mind my asking, is this a matter of faith?”

“You could say that,” said Paul, speaking for the first time. David became aware at once why Caitlyn had been doing all the talking; Paul spoke with a voice that was a near incomprehensible growl. He smiled sadly as if reading David’s mind. “Sorry, I recently had throat surgery. Cancer. But if we’re really going to talk, let’s go inside.

———————

Entering the church, David was struck as he often was by the inherent beauty of the old stone and wood structure of impeccable craftsmanship which was lit by the mid-afternoon sunlight filtered into kaleidoscopic, multi-colored patterns by the windows. It was a wonder that people didn’t want to come here each week just to bask in the sheer beauty of the place, even if they didn’t believe. Yet the rows upon rows of pews which were now comically excessive for the needs of the congregation reminded him that not even belief—much less beauty—was enough to draw in crowds.

He led them into a small office off the right-hand side of the narthex, where he sat down across from the two of them, with a large wooden desk separating them.

“Well, what is it I can do for you?”

They hesitated, looking at one another, so he added, “whatever it is, I promise I’ll give you the best support and spiritual guidance I can.”

“Well, Father, it’s …”

“We found something. Maybe you follow the news and maybe not?”

“I try to keep myself apprised of what’s going on in the world, yes.”

“Then maybe you’ve seen about the … the things that some people are able to do? That thing with the president …” said Paul in his raspy voice.

Caitlyn was quick to add, “we thought, before that, that it was just rumors and nonsense, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Paul echoed. “And even with what happened on T.V., it still seemed so unlikely …”

“But then … We found something, Father.”

“Yes, you’ve said as much.” David wasn’t normally an impatient man, patience being a virtue as it was, but he couldn’t deny feeling a tinge of frustration at the way these two were circling the point. He had an idea of what they were about to tell him, and the notion fascinated him enough that he was eager for them to spit it out. Still, his priestly nature won out. “Please, take your time,” he said.

“Well, the thing we found, it’s … It’s like this ball, or—” began Caitlyn.

“An orb,” croaked Paul.

“Yes, yes. An orb. And it … Well, it spoke to us. It told us we had to touch it, and I know that it meant that if we did so, we’d become like … like the people in the videos online.”

This statement led to a silence which hung thick in the air, allowing a moment for each of them to ruminate on their separate thoughts, fears, and fantasies.

At last, David spoke. “Did you touch it?”

“You mean … You believe us, Father?”

“Of course.”

In truth, David had been following the developments online as they’d been happening. Even before the government’s disastrous admission of the truth, he’d been looking at the scattered reports connecting the recent meteor shower to strange objects being found around the globe, and to those objects bequeathing immense and inexplicable powers on people.

He didn’t know why people always assumed that priests lived in the stone age. He had a laptop and a smartphone, and he knew how to use them.

He had no doubts about the veracity of their story, only concerns about where it would lead him.

“No, of course we didn’t touch it,” Caitlyn said, looking appalled. “We were concerned that these things are somehow, you know … demonic. In your homily today you talked about how tempting sin is, and this seems like a textbook example of that. Wouldn’t it be a page right out of Satan’s playbook to send these things to earth to promise great power to people, only to lead then into ruin? What greater temptation is there than that?”

“This could very well be the case. On the other hand, God works in mysterious ways. It could just as easily be that The Lord intends for the righteous to find these objects and use them to do great deeds on earth.”

“Which is why we had no idea what to do. What should we do, Father? Should we try to destroy it? Should we touch it? We’re concerned for our safety … for our souls.”

“I understand your concerns. I think it would be best if you allowed me to examine this object more closely before doing anything. It may be the case that something akin to an exorcism is required, or a blessing. We may need to get church assessors involved. One thing is for certain; you were right to bring this to my attention.”

Underneath his measured response, he felt a curious tugging sensation, an excitement that he could hardly credit and, in spite of his own teachings and warnings, he found the seeds of temptation taking root in his heart.

———————

When he pulled up to the building on Lafayette Street, he was only moderately surprised to find a luxurious condo complex. By their appearance, he might not have guessed they were wealthy enough to live in luxury in SoHo, but he wouldn’t have said they were struggling to make ends meet, either.

Paul met him outside of the building and gave him the impression of a nervous man trying to hold court without his wife present.

“Just so you know,” he croaked, “Caitlyn was really considering touching it. She kept talking about how much good we could do. I told her not to. I told her we should consult a priest first. But you should also know, Father, that this thing is hard to ignore. Hard to say no to.”

David felt a chill go up his spine, and he wasn’t sure if it was from excitement or fear. Maybe a bit of both, he decided.

“There are a lot of priests in Manhattan … How’d you come to choose me?”

“Picked your name out of a hat,” said Paul, as he led the way to the bank of elevators at the back of the lobby.

“You’re joking.”

“I’m dead serious, Father. We’ve only recently moved to Manhattan and hadn’t found a parish yet. We chose your church out of a hat with a few others that aren’t too far. That was before we even knew about this … this thing.”

David had been hoping for an answer that painted him in a more positive light. Perhaps they’d heard good things about his Masses, his homilies, his volunteer work. Maybe they appreciated his down-to-earth nature, or his ability to relate Biblical messages to modern life.

But a hat?

He satisfied himself with the idea that God works in mysterious ways, and that nothing happened that wasn’t a part of His divine plan. Caitlyn and Paul might not have chosen him for any particular reason, but The Lord had.

Paul entered a code into a panel next to the buttons for the various floors, then hit the button for the penthouse. Very wealthy, then.

“What is it that you and Caitlyn do for a living, if you don’t mind my asking?”

It was a comment designed to seem like small talk, but it was hard to mask it as anything but blatant curiosity about their wealth as the opulently decorated elevator car took them up thirty stories to the penthouse.

“Law. We’re both lawyers. And I know what you’re thinking, but … no. Caitlyn’s mother left us this place.”

“And what did she do?”

“Had rich parents, who had rich parents, who—well, you get the idea.”

Paul smiled and David laughed.

At last they exited the elevator and stepped out into the most magnificent living space David had ever seen in his years in the city. In a way, it was a testament to human artistic and architectural genius. In another way, it was a testament to simple human greed.

He was led down a short hallway, adorned on both sides with tasteful portraits of older people David could only assume were Caitlyn’s ancestors. They came out into a large, open living space with luxuriant couches and divans to the left, and a large and professionally appointed kitchen to the right. The two spaces were separated by a breakfast bar, and it was against this that Caitlyn was leaning, looking tense and aggravated.

Without preamble, she said, “if Paul told you I was planning on touching it without talking to you first, I want to make it clear that that was never my intention.”

“Good afternoon,” said David.

“Hi,” she said. “But again, I did not want that. It’s just that, when you’re near it, it’s hard to know which thoughts are yours and which are its.”

While David had heard enough of the rumors about these objects and he had seen convincing video of what people were able to do after they touched them, Paul and Caitlyn’s account of the objects having some sort of intelligence and ability to communicate was new to him. It almost strained his credulity, but then he remembered what they’d said about demonic forces, and he reconsidered his stance. Hadn’t Satan used inanimate objects to speak to humanity? And hadn’t God appeared to Moses in the form of a burning bush?

And David did believe those things had happened, so he was forced to accept that this might have, too.

“I can see you’re in no mood for small talk, so let’s get right to the issue. Where is the object?”

“The roof,” said Caitlyn, pointing toward the ceiling. “A little rooftop courtyard only we have access to. Must have landed there.”

Paul led the way to a door leading to the balcony on the other side of the living room. There was a staircase there that ascended toward the roof.

As they climbed, David was unable to enjoy either the view or the beautiful summer weather. Both were tainted by the tension that was radiating off Caitlyn and Paul.

They came up to a small square courtyard, maybe twenty feet across, closed off from the rest of the roof by a wooden fence overgrown with ivy that obscured the view from any neighbors who might be on their part of the rooftop. It seemed like needless opulence and ostentatiousness, to close one’s private domain off from one’s neighbors. He might even have commented on it if the object hadn’t caught his eye at just that moment.

A metal orb. At least, it seemed metal in appearance, but it was so polished, so smooth, so perfect that he could hardly believe it was any material that any human had ever come across before. It sat on a table directly in the middle of the courtyard, having fallen from the heavens and left everything unscathed. Given its immense power, he had almost expected it to be bigger, but seeing it now he understood that he had been foolish to think so. Its small size spoke of hidden power and secret strength.

He was immediately enraptured.

And yes, he heard a voice, and that voice was familiar. He realized as soon as it started whispering to him that he’d been hearing its voice, or voices very much like it ever since the news had reported on the meteor showers. How long have these things been talking to us? he wondered. And what have they been saying?

At first the voice spoke in a language he didn’t understand, but could have sworn he once did. Slowly, though, its words became ones that made sense to him.

Hello, David, it spoke in his voice, in his mind.

“Hello,” he said aloud, feeling not the least bit foolish.

“Be careful, Father,” warned Paul.

David drew out his vial of holy water, and held it aloft in his right hand while in his left he brandished his cross.

“What sort of thing are you? Be you demon or angel?”

Must I choose? I am nothing that fits into your view of the world. And yet, I am whatever you want me to be.

Speaking in riddles was behavior common to both angels and demons in the bible, so its comments revealed nothing of its nature so far, and David suspected it was aware of this. Was it toying with him, then?

“Speak plainly. What are you? What is your name? Why have you come here?”

Plainly, yes. I am a messenger from a great civilization, long gone. My name is … It paused for what felt like minutes as if it were not remembering its name but choosing it. Angela, it said at last. David’s mother’s name. It wasn’t lost on him that the name contained the word ‘angel’. As it spoke, its voice in his head became less like his own and more like a woman’s—a familiar woman’s.

“Is this a trick?” he asked, and he did feel foolish now, because what trickster demon would admit to playing tricks? Whatever answer it gave, it couldn’t be trusted.

No. It’s false in the sense that my name wasn’t Angela, but it’s true in the sense that my name is Angela.

It was tailoring its words to David. He understood this intrinsically; anyone else discovering it might be having a very different conversation right now.

I do not lie. I speak the truth as I understand it. And to answer the question of what I want? I only want to give power. It is my only purpose. What you choose to do with those powers would, I suppose, determine whether my nature is demonic or angelic. At least, within your worldview.

“What’s it saying to you, Father?” asked Caitlyn.

“Is it talking about us?” asked Paul.

David didn’t miss the angry look that Caitlyn shot at Paul as he said this.

“You can’t hear it?” he asked them.

“We can’t be sure it’s saying the same thing to all of us. In fact, it probably isn’t,” said Caitlyn.

Of course. Whatever its nature and wherever it slotted into the divine landscape of the universe as David understood it, it was clear that it was immensely powerful and intelligent. That it could carry on three conversations at once was hardly surprising.

Each time the others spoke, David found it was almost like waking from a dream, and each time he found himself slightly closer to the orb, having moved without ever being aware of it.

They want your permission, David. They want you to tell them it’s okay. And it is, but there’s a catch. Some of my family have many charges within them; I possess only one.

Charges? David asked. What do you mean by that?

I mean I can only grant power to a single person. It doesn’t really matter to me which of you it is. But once one of you touches me I’ll be locked in to that person forever.

Do they know that?

I’ve told each of them, individually, yes. Neither knows that I told the other, though.

The sort of things it was admitting to him seemed oddly forthcoming, and they were helping to ease his mind. But by admitting that it was being deceitful and manipulative with the others, it was admitting that it could be doing the same thing to him.

You claim that you only wish to grant powers—that you are not by nature either good or evil, yet you play these intentionally deceptive games. You try to play them off of one another. And then you bring me into it?

It struck him that he wasn’t sure exactly when he had stopped speaking to it out loud and started communicating with it through thought alone, but it felt natural.

“Father, look out!”

David drew his hand back, although he’d hardly been aware that he was reaching out in the first place. Whatever he was dealing with, he realized, it was probably above his ability to handle alone.

Thankfully, he thought, a man who believes in Christ is never alone.

He took the stopper off his vial of holy water and started sprinkling the orb with it. In his other hand he clutched the crucifix tighter, holding it up and saying, “in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, I command you to reveal your true name. The Lord God compels you to reveal your nature, vile spirit!”

The orb said nothing, thought nothing, but he had a sense that it was amused, somehow.

“Our Father, Who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy Name. Thy Kingdom come. Thy Will be done—”

“Paul, no!” shouted Caitlyn, as Paul made a mad dash for the orb. She swatted his hand away and half tackled, half pulled him to the ground.

Paul was writhing on the ground, fighting Caitlyn but losing steam quickly. He was gasping for breath and making startling choking sounds.

“Paul? Paul, are you okay?” Caitlyn asked him.

“Our Father, Who art in heaven,” David began again. He was deeply disturbed by what he was seeing. Was this thing causing Paul to have some sort of a fit?

“It’s his cancer,” Caitlyn explained, cutting into his prayer and his thoughts. “His surgery only bought him some time, but it’s back. He’s not going to get better. Not unless …”

The implication was clear. A deal with the devil, thought David. But why did she want to touch the orb?

“And she wants to touch it because her law partners found out she’s been embezzling money. She’s losing her job and she’ll lose this place, too,” wheezed Paul. It was like he had read David’s mind, and maybe he had, indirectly at least. Maybe the orb was subtly passing thoughts between them. Maybe it didn’t even mean to, but couldn’t help itself.

It wanted one of them to touch it, and it would play them off of one another until that happened.

I can’t allow one of them to touch it, can I? David asked himself.

Caitlyn suddenly gained her feet and lunged toward the table. Without thinking, David reached out and shoved her toward the fence at the other side of the courtyard. He wasn’t a particularly strong man, but he’d caught her off guard and she stumbled her way over to the fence and tripped over a planter box, failing to catch herself before taking a hard landing.

She stared up at him in disbelief.

“Our Father,” he began again, but it was too late; his hand was mere inches from the orb, and closing the distance again. “Please forgive me,” he finished.

In his mind, it seemed less like he touched the orb, and more like the orb reached out to touch him. And as it did, he found himself sinking into a place which was neither heaven nor hell nor anywhere else that man had ever imagined might exist in any cosmology that humans had ever dreamt up.

———————

David had made them forget. It was better that way. Better for them, better for him.

Maybe ‘forget’ was the wrong term. When he’d awoken and found himself changed, Caitlyn had been in the corner of the courtyard, hugging the orb to her chest and weeping. Paul had been kneeling over him and shaking his shoulder saying, “Father, Father. Please wake up.”

The orb had looked immediately different; mundane and inert somehow. He could still hear it whispering in his head, but it no longer seemed to have any intent behind its words; its mission had been accomplished.

He’d seen into their minds, in a way. It wasn’t thoughts that he could hear like he could hear his own internal monologue, but rather sensations and feelings. Guilt, mainly. He could see what they were sorry for.

“Be still, my children,” he’d said to them, and they were still. And soon he could see the world as they saw it, not through their eyes, but through the lens of their minds. He’d seen himself, bathed in golden light and yet wrong somehow. They saw him at once as both angelic and demonic, and immensely dangerous either way. A true force of nature.

They weren’t wrong.

He’d experimented. He’d imagined a tree growing up out of the asphalt in the middle of the courtyard, and they’d seen a tree spring up. He’d imagined a giant eagle landing on the side of the roof and they’d seen that too. Their eyes were wide with astonishment. They couldn’t understand that what they were seeing wasn’t real.

He’d spoken and as he did he imagined his voice as a booming, echoing voice, a composite of many. And this godly voice was what they heard coming from his lips.

“What you have seen here today, my children, is a miracle. God has shown you this miracle because He loves you and wants you to become better. Heed my words: turn away from evil and sin. Do not steal. Do not covet power. Pray to Him for your good health. Your good deeds will be rewarded in this life and the next.”

They’d cowered in fear and awe as he imagined himself growing, growing—eight feet, ten feet, more.

He’d imagined the orb disappearing, and then, in a mental feat more difficult than all the others, he imagined it had never existed at all. And they forgot that it ever had.

He’d left them that way, confused and amazed and, hopefully, rethinking their lives. He rode the elevator to the street alone, and found himself almost as in awe of his power as they had been.

Now he stared out at the darkening pink and gold summer sky and wondered. He hadn’t meant to touch the orb, not really, but nor had he resisted as hard as he probably should have. In dealing with something like it, he should have contacted the bishop. He shouldn’t have attempted to handle the situation alone, and he knew that part of the reason why he had done so was because in some secret, dark part of his soul that he did not acknowledge or accept, he’d wanted this outcome. He’d longed for it.

Regardless of how he’d come to the power—through sinful temptation or divine intervention—it was true and undeniable that he had it. And it was true that it was his burden to decide what to do with it. In his one use of his power so far, he’d come dangerously close to impersonating God, a mortal sin if ever there was one. On the other hand, that use may well have contributed to two potentially lapsed Catholics coming back to Christ. Could turning souls toward God and a righteous path to heaven be sinful? He didn’t think so.

So the obvious answer, then, was to do what he had done, but more. On his way back to the church grounds, he’d been bombarded with the mental and emotional onslaught of feeling every bit of guilt of every person he’d passed had felt. He’d seen what they’d done wrong. He’d grappled with their regrets. And this was New York City; you couldn’t walk far without encountering guilt, regret, and sin.

Could he help free people from the burden of their indiscretions, their misdeeds, their sins?

Yes, he thought. And moreover, it was what he was meant to do.

———————

Jamie Merchant—a truly troubled soul. He’d been coming to St. Anthony’s for longer than David had been the priest there. In that time he’d come to confession more times than David could count, and each time he’d confessed to the same few sins—sleeping with prostitutes, gambling, watching pornography, masturbation.

Every time he’d seemed genuinely contrite. Every time he’d promised that he would do better, he’d change his ways, he’d turn to God for guidance. Each time David had told him he was forgiven, gave him a few Hail Marys and Our Fathers, and sent him on his way. Many times he hadn’t wanted to, but it wasn’t for him to decide who was worthy of forgiveness; that could only come from God. His only job was to act as an intermediary. As long as Jamie really was sorry, then he really was forgiven. For the same things. Countless times.

Many times David had thought about the fact that Jamie was going to die—not soon he hoped, as Jamie was still a relatively healthy, young man—but someday. And when he did, it was as likely as not that he would die with sins still burdening his soul. In truth, David believed that Jamie was truly sorry for his actions each and every time he came to confession, but the lie was that he planned on changing. He saw confession as a way of clearing out the past sins to make room for more. Why? Because like most people he didn’t really believe in the reality of death. Oh, he knew it was coming, but it was so far off in his mind that there was no point changing just yet. And it would always seem that way, right up until it didn’t.

And many times David had thought that if he could just see, really see what the path he was on would lead him to, he’d turn his life around in a heartbeat. Who could be presented immediately with the far off yet horrific consequences of their actions and not want to avoid them?

As he stood on Jamie’s front lawn, he ran through all this in his mind, finding it increasingly easy to justify what he was planning on doing as not just right but inevitable. A part of God’s plan.

He approached the front door and reached out with his mind. He felt Jamie’s guilt like a giant, pulsing, oozing tumor, burning hot and slick and malformed and blotting out the purity of his soul. And he felt someone else in there with Jamie, someone whose regrets could fill an ocean, but whose guilt had been worn for so long that it was a part of them they didn’t even dream about removing anymore.

David imagined an angel standing in Jamie’s front yard—typical human conception of an angel, giant, beautiful, wings and flaming sword; nothing like what was really described in the bible. In his mind, the angel spoke. “Come, Jamie Merchant. Come, child of Christ. See what I have to show you.”

Inside the house, Jamie heard the voice, and knew its source to be something beautiful and terrible and unfathomably powerful. David could feel Jamie’s terror moving through the house, descending the stairs, coming to the front door. The other one trailed behind him, feeling confusion and little else.

David imagined himself clothed in robes of blue flame, with brilliant white light pouring out from his eyes. And when Jamie opened his front door, that was what he saw.

“Come, child. It’s time to see where the path you’re on will lead you.”

Jamie stood stock still, trembling. His eyes took in the scene before him: his priest, this ordinary man he thought he knew, bathed in flame and light, and behind him, standing twelve feet tall, an angel cut and pasted straight from his childhood dreams. He didn’t move an inch beyond his door.

David saw behind Jamie a woman was standing, half naked. A prostitute, he thought. She looked at the scene in front of her with wary eyes, confused but not altogether concerned. Her pupils were huge and her gaze never fixed on anything for long. Drugs, David thought. Hell, maybe she’s so used to hallucinations that this is a walk in the park for her. But she wasn’t who he’d come to save. He looked at Jamie, constantly repeating his mistakes, and wanted to scream at him in rage, but he restrained himself. His power would do more than his words ever could.

“If you won’t come outside to see the fruits of your sin, then you’ll see them where you stand.”

Hell. Fire and brimstone. Horrible mutated creatures delighting in the physical and mental torture of human bodies and souls. People everywhere writhing in pain, with unending terror and misery in their eyes. It was a cliché, but it was imagery that worked because it was familiar. As the imagined scene unfolded around them, making the real, solid things like the house disappear behind it, David himself had to suppress a shiver, even though he knew the images weren’t real. He couldn’t imagine the effect they were having on Jamie.

But he could guess. Jamie opened his mouth wide and let out a scream that cut straight through to David’s soul. It was a cry of such visceral terror that David almost turned down the intensity of the visions. He felt almost enough pity to stop completely. But no, half measures wouldn’t work, not for someone like Jamie.

“What is this? What are you doing to me? Why are you showing me these things?” Jamie was on his knees now, his cheeks slick with tears that reflected the brilliance of the hellfire. He shook uncontrollably. Behind him, the prostitute shrugged and went back upstairs.

She can’t see it, David thought. Or at least, she knows it’s not real. Something she’s on is affecting how my power works on her.

“This is where you’re headed, child.” He spoke in a gentler voice, still much too large and full of power to belong to a human, but not quite so violent. He thought it was a voice befitting a benevolent God. Of course, he didn’t consider himself God, only His messenger.

Jamie was rocking back and forth now, in such a state of shock that he could no longer form words. He had shut his eyes against the visual onslaught, but David’s power ensured he could still see the hellscape clearly.

“Fear not, my child. As long as you still draw breath, you have a chance to turn to Christ.”

David made the imaginary hell fade away. In its place, he imagined his conception of heaven, replete with clouds and golden towers, fields of many-colored flowers, joyous angels and human souls singing endless hymns in praise of God.

“This can be the end of your path, instead, if you want it to be,” he said. He let his voice become his own in Jamie’s head, no longer modified to be grander or more terrible than it was.

Jamie still shook, still sobbed. David placed his hand on Jamie’s shoulder as he allowed all the imagery to fade away, leaving only reality in its wake.

“Be still, my child,” he said.

Jamie did not stop crying, but as he heaved huge lungfuls of air, his shaking became less pronounced.

David left him there, knowing that he needed to process what he’d seen and come to his own conclusions for it to mean anything. Please make the right decision, Jamie, he thought.

———————

The next Sunday, he noticed several absences at Mass. Neither Jamie Merchant nor the Bryersons were present. Their absences made him feel uneasy deep down in his gut, but he pushed his misgivings aside and proceeded as normal. His homily was about forgiveness.

In the fourth row, where Jamie ordinarily sat, there was a woman David had never seen before, but he kept glancing at her without meaning to. Her face was familiar. She didn’t take communion, or come up for a blessing as members of other denominations or religions sometimes did. She looked at David with eyes full of sadness. Sadness and anger.

When the mass concluded, the woman waited while he spoke with the rest of the parishioners on their way out of the church. Then she approached him, and before she even said a word he wanted to turn away, to flee.

“Hello,” she said. “I’m Susan Merchant. My son used to come to this church.”

“Your son? Used to?”

“My son, Jamie. He … You won’t be seeing him anymore.”

“Has he … moved away? Found another church?” David spoke past the lump forming in his throat, wanting very badly to look away from this woman’s face but feeling himself unable to move.

“He’s moved on,” she said. “Last night. Painkillers.” Her voice broke on the last word, but she kept her composure. She didn’t cry in front of him.

“I’m so sorry. I … I knew Jamie was struggling, but I never thought—”

“Not struggling, Father. He was fine. I know some of the things he got into, sure, and he wasn’t proud of those things, and neither was I. But he wasn’t struggling. His mind was healthy. His body was healthy. I spoke to him daily and he was happy. Loved his family, his sister, his nieces and nephews. Loved me. And we all loved him.”

She paused, clearly struggling not to break down. It was obvious to David that she wanted to appear strong to him specifically.

“What do you think changed, Father? You think my son’s demons just all of a sudden caught up with him?” She wore a sick, strange half smile and between that and the way she stressed the word ‘demons’, David was feeling distinctly uncomfortable.

“I’m not sure I know what to say. He was a good man, from what I knew of him. When I say he was struggling, I only mean that, like all of us, he struggled in his attempts to steer clear of the temptations of sin, and like all of us, he failed from time to time. But—”

“You know he talked about you. Quite a lot, actually. He said that the way you preached the good word made him feel like there was still hope for him, no matter what he did. My husband and I haven’t been to church since the kids were young. Lapsed Catholics, I know, I know. But Jamie decided out of the blue one day that he was going to come to Mass at your church. Maybe it was nostalgia—I don’t know. But he came, and then he came again, and for I don’t know how many years, he kept coming back week after week. I think you helped Jamie more than you realize.”

David felt a sense of relief. He’d anticipated the conversation going in a very different direction. He almost had time to express his gratitude at her kind words before she spoke again.

“And he talked about you last night, too. On the phone. I think he’d already taken the pills—some of them, anyway—because he wasn’t making a whole lot of sense. Kept telling me he was sorry, you know. Kept telling me that he didn’t believe God would ever forgive him anymore. Said that you put that idea in his head. Oh, and if that wasn’t bad enough, he started talking about visions. Said he saw you with your body and eyes on fire. Said you showed him hell and told him he was going there.”

David took a step back, as if struck.

“I don’t know what he said to you, but I would never—”

“Lying is sinful, Father. You should know that.”

David turned and fled, wanting only to put distance between himself and the feelings her words engendered.

She shouted after him. “I know what you did, Father! You can run from me, but you can’t run from God!”

———————

David could have used his power on her. He could have made her forget about him. He could have made her dead son appear to her and tell her it wasn’t David’s fault.

And, he understood now, it wasn’t his fault. All he’d done was show Jamie the truth. If he decided to resist God’s forgiveness and love with one last affront to Him, that decision belonged to him alone. And, anyway, David’s actions couldn’t be anything but what God wanted. Nothing could happen that wasn’t a part of his plan. Everything was preordained. Everything was fate.

David understood what he was meant to do. He saw the simple beauty of his task. Showing sinners the truth would force them to confront it, to confront themselves. If they used the opportunity to turn themselves toward the light of Christ, then he’d have helped save their souls, and if the vision was too much for them—as it had been for Jamie Merchant—then he’d have sent someone incapable of redemption to hell a few years earlier than they would have gotten there on their own.

He looked over his things. He left the robes, took the rosary, his bible, and the vial of holy water. He shut the door of the rectory tight. He locked it and left the key on the window ledge. He wouldn’t need it anymore.

He wasn’t coming back.