Keep it coming. Enjoying the story.

Chapter 5

Kane turned on the coffee maker and hopped on the counter. With a sigh, he threw his head back and hit it against the overhead cupboard.
“God damn it.” He said as he rubbed the sore spot at the back of his head. “I am the luckiest guy today.” With a grunt, he hopped off and walked over the living room. He flipped over the red couch and shut his eyes.

It has been 20 minutes since he left the message. On a normal occasion, the mystery man would reply within a mere 5 minutes – no more, no less. But as the clock ticked, it’s become clear to him that this is not one of those occasions. When Kane pressed enter, he knew exactly what he was getting himself into, but apparently, the hacker didn’t want to join him in it.

Disgruntled, he propped himself up on the couch and looked straight at the small flat-screen television in front of him. He picked up the remote from the cluttered coffee table and turned the TV on. After a few minutes of mindless channel surfing, he stumbled upon a weird show. It aired on a painfully low-budget channel with a crappy camera. It featured a red-faced televangelist yelling on a microphone, giving a sermon to a brainwashed audience. He gripped the mic tightly with his hands and sat on the first row of people. Kane turned up the volume and tuned in.
“…he is the ultimate judge. God IS the ultimate judge. Why should we listen to these men in their fancy blue outfits if the only one we want to please –.” The man raised his free arm in the air and pointed to roof. “- is Him?” Kane, like the audience, stared at the television with a blank, careless stare, only mildly interested in what the preacher man had to say.

Kane is a Christian – at least, he likes to believe that he is. The last time he went to a church was about half a year ago, and even then he didn’t want to. He never really liked the church. Sermons would last for an hour and the pastor would just repeat the same thing over and over again. Don’t do this, don’t do that. You’re supposed to be this; you’re supposed to be that. And somehow, everything they say becomes justified as long as you add “in the name of God” at the end.

When he was a boy, his mom would always drag him out of bed every Sunday morning for an early mass in the town’s little chapel. It stood near an arcade so Kane never really complained much about, until one day, dragging him to church simply wasn’t enough for his mother and she decided to sign him up as a chapel boy. True Nigerian mothers don’t joke with church going.

“You be good, you hear me?” She said as she held his face with two, soft hands.

“Yeah,momma,” Kane said, pulling away from his mother’s grasp. “I’m not a kid anymore.” The ten-year-old bowed his head and looked at the pavement. He was wearing his fancy new church shoes that gleamed like a diamond. He wore a pressed blue shirt that was tucked in a pair of khakis that fit too loose around the hips. This was Rita Bamidele’s idea of presentable.

“Now, Father Thomas will take care of you here, okay?” She whispered. “You hear me?”

“Yeah, I hear you.” He said as he kicked around a few rocks.

“Head along now. You’ll be late.” She said, grabbing him by the shoulders and twisting him around. “I love you.” She said as she gave him a little push. As Kane neared the church doors, he peeked behind him and saw his mother smiling at him from afar.

Looking back at the preacher in the TV, Kane remembered the small chapel back at home. He remembered how it always smelled of incense and roses. He remembered all the other kids running around and the sexton chasing after them. Kane would always just sit down quietly in the nave while the other kids would play. Even as a kid, he was always the odd one out. Somehow, he always found a way to do the unspeakable, something chapel kids tend to stay away from. Parents would always point at him and told their kids to stay away. The other members of the church would often whisper to each other as if that would hurt him less. Fearless as he was, Kane Bamidele was as empathetic and emotional as the next human being, yet sadly, the world didn’t acknowledge this.

Wow. I can't believe it's been 3 years since I dropped this. I think I'm gonna finally dropped the whole story. Pardon me for the delay, I was busy selling the novel online.

I hope you'll enjoy the rest of the story.

Chapter 6

“Pick up. Come one, man. Fuc.king pick up!” Kane said as he walked frantically all over his office. After the 6th ring, Freddy finally picked up.

“Jesus Christ, where the Bleep were you?” Kane said, agitated as always.

“I went to the bar. I have a life, you know?” Freddy replied sarcastically. From the phone, Kane could hear Freddy fiddling with some glasses around the bar.

“Listen, I found some things in Marisol’s account. To be honest, I don’t know what to make of it.” He walked over to his desk and turned the laptop around to face him. “All I can see is just a bunch unfinished documents and a lot of bullshit. I need your help again.”

“How the fuc.k did you get on her account?”

“You’re missing the point, Fred,” Kane said as he scrolled through file after file, trying to find at least one shred of information worth noting. He heard Freddy sigh from the other side of the line.

“What do you need?”

“I need a plan. A good one.”

“Hungover Freddy isn’t good with plans.” He groaned.

“Well, maybe Hungover Freddy is good in reading,” Kane said as he forwarded documents and PDF files from Marisol’s email to Freddy’s. “Check your email.”

“Hold on.” While he waited for Freddy, Kane got up from his chair and shoved his hand down his pocket. He felt small beads brushing against his fingers and took out a rosary.

“What the fuc.k?”

He held the cross in between his thumb and index finger and stared straight at it. With its simplistic design, the rosary was very beautiful with its intricate markings and smooth texture. He had seen about a million rosaries but none that would equal the beauty of this one.

“Dude…” He heard Freddy say from the other side.

“Yeah?”

“Who’s this dude?”

“What?”

“Clarke Tristen?”

“I know as much you do. He works for that Church. He’s kind of a big thing I don’t know.” Frustrated, Kane threw the rosary onto the table and sunk low in his chair.

“What church? You mean the one she talked about here?”

“Yeah. That one.”

“They operate behind closed doors. They show a friendly front to the people but when nobody’s looking, evil thrives within them…” Kane listened intently as Freddy read through one of the documents. At that point, he had already memorized every short document.

“I’ve read that already, Fred,” Kane mumbled through the phone.

“Well…damn.”

“I know.” With a heavy hand, he tried to rub the sleep from his eyes.

“You think she might be onto something?”

“I don’t know…I don’t know for sure. What I do know is that she’s dead and I still got no idea why.”

“Maybe you could ask one of her friends?” Kane groaned at the proposal. Marisol mainly only had journalist friends, and frankly, Kane isn’t very keen on getting in touch with them, regardless if they’re basically the people throwing him jobs every month or two.

“Yeah, how about no? And besides, she’s been M.I.A for the past couple of weeks. Not even her co-workers knew where she was. I checked all of her emails and for the past two weeks she’s been bombarded with messages from her friends and colleagues.” Frustrated, he gave out a loud sigh and ran a hand down his face.

“Yeah, you’re right. I just checked. Have you contacted the hospital yet?”

“No, they said they’d contact me. It’s only been a few hours.”

“Well, you’re left without a choice, bud.” Exhausted, Kane shut his eyes and threw his head back. Nothing adds up…

“It’s Sunday, tomorrow, yes?”

“Yeah…”

“I’m going to head over to the church. I’ll try to see how much I can find.”

“Do you have a plan?”

“That’s exactly what I called you for.”

Then, as if struck by some sort of miracle, Freddy mapped out an elaborate plan for his friend. The conversation lasted for a little over an hour before Kane finally agreed to it. After the extensive exchange, he walked over to his bedroom and let himself fall back into a deep slumber and waited for the nightmares to come.

***

It was 1:54 AM.

Clarke Tristen looked straight at the digital clock sitting on his bedside table. The blue light shone against his pale skin, casting a ghostly shadow across his face. It’s been 4 hours since he lay down on his cold bed yet sleep never paid him a visit. His eyes found themselves wandering all over the small the room. The walls were painted white and lined with a dark brown crown moulding. From the ceiling, hung a small white lamp with rusted brass chains. By the foot of his bed, a crucifix hung near the ceiling. Across the room, the moon shone through the curtains, illuminating the small quarters assigned to him.

Frustrated, he sat up from his bed and walked towards the window. He drew back the thin white curtains and looked down at the backyard of the compound. Through the foggy window, he saw 3 men stumbling towards the backdoor. One of them was holding a bottle of liquor in his hands, and the other two were struggling to carry each other.

Clarke opened his window halfway and struggled to listen to the drunks’ intoxicated exchange. From the third floor, all he could hear were incoherent slurs and distant laughter. He looked down at the men tripping over themselves as they struggled to make their way into the backdoor.

He stepped away from the window and grabbed his robe from the chair next to his bed. He let it hung over his naked torso as he walked out of his room, quietly shutting the door behind, careful not to wake anyone in the floor. He silently ran through the dimly lit hallways and down the stairs. When he finally reached the back door, he found it wide open and the whole area dead quiet. He stood there wide awake with his hands against his hips. He stared at the green grass outside of the door with blank eyes.

“Why does the grass always look greener on the other side?” He thought as he took timid steps towards the doorway. He ran his bare feet over the grass and grabbed it with his toes. He shut his eyes and took a deep breath. Even with his eyes shut, he saw how beautiful the world looked that night. With the grass in between his toes and the moon hanging above him, the moment felt all too perfect to be real.

“What are you doing up?” Clarke snapped his eyes open with a jolt. Startled, he turned around and looked at the dark hall behind him. From the shadows emerged a tall man with skin as white as snow. He had a receding hairline, with wisps of light blond hair poking from the top of his head. He had the greenest eyes Clarke had ever seen, and those green orbs were staring right into his blue ones, sending chills down his spine.

“It’s 2 AM, Clarke. You should have been asleep.” Father Dennis said as he walked towards the young man. With shaky fingers, Clarke hurriedly tied up his robe to cover his chest. “You’re on duty tomorrow…you should be getting some rest, my boy.” The priest said as he slowly walked over to the young man standing in the doorway. He raised a warm hand and placed it on Clarke’s shoulder, shocking him.

“I couldn’t sleep…then I heard some guys running around the backyard…” Clarke mumbled as he pulled away from his grasp. “I just wanted to take a look, that’s all.” Clarke Tristen was a handsome young man, with a smile that could melt anyone’s heart and cold blue eyes that will send chills down your spine. He flashed the priest his infamous tight-lipped smile.

The priest did not smile back.

The compound has a few basic house rules. One of them was that when the clock strikes 10 PM, its lights out or you get punished. The punishment varies from community service to extra time spent on certain tasks assigned to that person. However, this rule only applies to the working members of the church, including Clarke.

“These men…where are they?”

“I don’t know. I came down here and I just found this open and I...” His sentence was abruptly cut short by the sound of breaking glass. Both men turned their heads to the right. A few doors down, they saw light peeking from under the door to the kitchen. Father Dennis walked over to the door, gesturing for Clarke to follow suit.

“After you Tristen.” After a brief moment, Clarke pushed open the kitchen door to find three security guards passed out on the kitchen counter. On the floor lay a broken bottle of cheap Jack Daniels and an empty pack of cigarettes. By habit, Clarke knelt down in front of the mess and started picking up the shards with his bare hands. Meanwhile, the priest gracefully walked into the kitchen and observed the men snoring loudly. He wore a nasty snarl on his face as he looked down at the intoxicated group. Clarke tried his best to keep his head down and his hands busy.

“This doesn’t look good.”

An uncomfortable silence enveloped the room, suffocating Clarke as he cleaned up the mess the three men made on the floor. He looked up at the tall white man standing by the counter and saw his pale face burn bright red as he took in the chaos of the room.

“WHY AREN’T YOU IDIOTS AWAKE?” He suddenly yelled from the top of his lungs, ripping through the silence like a bullet. Two of the men in uniforms started up and looked at the priest looming over them. Clarke flinched at the sound of his voice. Looking up, he saw the faces of the two men turn pale as they stared into Father Dennis’s glaring eyes.

“Perhaps I wasn’t so clear.” He added, more calmly this time. “Why aren’t you doing your job?” He raised two blond eyebrows and clasped his hands together as he stared at the two security guards.

“I…sir…we…it was his…” The brown haired one stuttered.

“It was his birthday…and we decided to celebrate…” The other man filled in for him as he pointed at the sleeping man sitting directly in front of the priest.

“I see. It’s...” Father Dennis then yanked the hair of the man in front him and looked at his name tag. The man didn’t even flinch. “Mr. Henry’s birthday today.” He said as he hit the drunken man’s head against the counter. Cussing like a sailor, the man finally woke up and grabbed his nose.

“What the actual fu...” Before he could even finish his sentence, a hand hit him across the face, causing him to fall from the high chair and into the remaining pieces of broken glass on the floor in front of Clarke. The other two abruptly stood up from their chairs and helped out their friend to his feet. A glaring red mark was beginning to form at the side of his left cheek and blood was dripping from his nose.

“Care to explain why there’s a broken bottle of gin on the floor right now, Mr. Henry?” Father Dennis said in a low, calm voice.

“Tis’ me birthday, sir. The boys and I thought we could celebrate…and maybe go out for a couple of drinks.” He said in a thick English accent. Clarke knew Henry Abner. In fact, he interviewed him himself when Henry applied for the job. According to his story, Henry’s a father of two from Birmingham. He came to America in hopes of finding a better job than the one he had back in England. As far Clarke knows, Henry didn’t have any near relatives in this country.

“It was just a bottle, that’s all.” He mumbled as he wiped the blood from his nose.

“Of course. It was just a bottle. There’s no harm in that, son.” Dennis said as he put both his hands on either side of Henry’s face. “But have you forgotten where you are?”

“Sir?”

Without even a hint of hesitation, the priest drove his knee against the drunken man’s crotch. He wheezed as he knelt down on the floor in front of him. As the two men made an advance towards the priest, Clarke dropped the shards and grabbed both by the shoulders.

“Trust me; you don’t want to get into this.” He whispered loud enough for both of them to hear. In front of them, Father Dennis kicked and hit the birthday boy with an intense fury, reciting a soft prayer for him with every punch.

“Are you fuc.king kidding me?” The brown haired man said as he turned to face Clarke.

“No, I’m not.” He deadpanned.

“The guy’s a priest!” The other man said, flinching at every blow Henry took.

“Exactly.”