|Bleed For Me
Author: Jealous Rage PM
It's hard to ignore a request from God, especially when God once personally saved your life. But not everything is always as it seems. /Entry for the Review Game's May 2012 WCC /Not looking for reviews on this piece.Rated: Fiction M - English - Supernatural/Horror - Words: 2,032 - Reviews: 4 - Favs: 2 - Follows: 1 - Published: 05-07-12 - Status: Complete - id: 3020549
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Bleed For Me
There's something I need you to do for me, Brett.
The voice comes out of nowhere, exists only in my head, but I recognize it anyways. Although it's been awhile since I last heard it, it's hard to forget the voice of God.
I put down the book I'm reading and mute the television. "God?"
I told you I'd be back some day. There's something I need done, and you're going to do it.
It's hard to argue with God. Not that I would anyway, for a couple reasons. One, he's God. Two, I owe him my life. I don't think he's the type to break legs to collect on debts, but I'm an honourable man. I owe him, and I'll pay him back however he wants.
"What do you need from me?"
There's a sinner in your town, Brett. He's a terrible man, doomed to Hell. And he plans to drag as many people down with him as he can. He needs to die, Brett. You need to kill him.
Whatever I was expecting, that wasn't it. Killing? I don't know that I'm capable of that. I'm not much for confrontation. I've never been in a fight in my life. I even avoid arguments because they make me uncomfortable, for fuck's sake.
"Uh, God…" I trail off, unsure of what to say. I want to tell him I'll do it; I want to prove how grateful I am for what he's done for me. But there are some things I just can't do. Murder is one of those things.
I understand your reluctance, my son. His voice is soft, understanding. But I need you to do this, Brett. There is nobody as loyal as you in town, and time is running out. He's planning something, something that's going to hurt a lot of people. He needs to be stopped!
I want to argue. I want to tell him I can't do it. I want him to understand that as much as I want to help, I just can't.
Please, my child. Do this for me. Save the souls, the innocent souls, of your fellow humans. Send the sinner to Hell, send him where he belongs. Do this for me and I shall be in your debt.
And despite my reluctance, that is tempting. Even if I never called in a favour, just knowing I could would be the most empowering thing in the world.
I hesitate for several moments. Internally, I'm debating whether or not I'm even physically capable of killing someone. I don't own any guns. I've got about as much skill with a knife as the average second grader. And though I'm in pretty good shape, I don't know how to fight. It wouldn't be much use to anyone if I agreed to do it, then ended up failing and getting my own ass killed instead.
But eventually, I agree. "All right, God. I'll do it."
My heart hurts even as I say the words. I've never considered murder before, and regardless of how much the target deserves it, it pains me to think about taking a life. What if he has a family? What if he has kids? If I kill him, that's on me. God may be the one putting out the hit, but I'll be the doing the deed. Even just picturing it weighs heavy on my conscience.
Thank you, Brett. You're doing the right thing, my son. I will not forget this.
I sigh heavily and rub my eyes. They're burning a little; I think I might be about to cry. "I'm happy to help, God," I eventually say. "Who is this man?"
His name is David Galter.
My eyes widen. "You want me to kill the pastor?"
Yes, Brett. David was once my loyal follower, but he has become twisted by Lucifer. He hides behind the clothing of a religious man, while secretly plotting against me.
That is some fucked up shit right there. I don't know what to say. It disgusts me to learn a good man could be turned to evil, but still use the façade of righteousness to live a lie. And suddenly, killing him doesn't seem so bad.
"How do you want me to do it?"
That is up to you. But it must be done soon; the quicker, the better. His plans are about to come to fruition.
I hesitate for a second. Then, "Do you know where he is right now?" It's still early, and I've got nothing else planned for the day.
At the church. He lives in the apartment at the rear of the building; you know the one of which I speak. He remains there almost every hour he is not conducting church business.
"All right, I'll do it now." I get up and move into my tiny kitchen. There's a knife on the counter beside the sink. I use it to cut open my dinners every night. It's not that sharp, but it's big and I'm certain I'll be able to stab hard enough to kill with it. "What do I do once it's done? I won't be able to stay here."
Head for the woods behind the church. Keep walking north and I will have somebody meet you. Do not worry, my child. God protects his own. No human will punish you for this.
His words reassure me. I stand still for a second, running my thumb along the edge of the blade. It draws a tiny line of blood, but I don't feel it. I just stare at the red fluid for a moment, imagining it belongs to someone else. Then I shake myself, slide the knife through my belt, and head for the door.
The town is small; it takes me twenty minutes to walk to the church. I pause across the street from the building and stare. I can feel the hard plastic handle of the knife resting heavy against my stomach. It almost seems like it's heavier than it was when I set out.
Probably just my conscience acting up.
Shaking myself again, I hurry across the street and make my way around the side of the church. It's a Friday afternoon, so there's nobody around to see me. Unimpeded, I reach the small wooden structure that houses my target.
For a brief second, I consider knocking on the door and trying to fake my way inside. I can't imagine he'd turn me aside; not if he was interested in keeping up his reputation as a good man. But I discard the idea. I want to get this over with now.
Moving as quietly as possible, I creep up to one of the windows and peer inside. David is sitting with his back to me, at a small desk. He's writing something on a single sheet of paper—maybe a letter. I can't tell from my position.
Stepping back from the window, I move to the door. Slowly, I lift the hem of my shirt and slide the knife out of my belt. I stare at the door for a moment and try to psyche myself up. I tell myself I can do it, I have to do it. He's evil. God wants him dead. I owe God. I have to do this. Then I take a deep breath and throw myself forward.
The door isn't very solid. I hit it hard and it flies open. There's a loud bang as it hits the wall, and the pastor jumps to his feet. I'm on him before he can fully turn around.
Immediately, I realize I have no idea what I'm doing. My first attempt at stabbing ends up with the knife glancing off his shoulder. I lose my grip on it. He shouts in pain and shock, but he's not seriously injured.
Of course I have to try to kill the one priest in the world who's built like a linebacker. He charges me like a bull and plants his uninjured shoulder directly into my gut. All the air goes out of me and I hit the floor hard. He tries to kick me, but in his rage, he misses and stumbles. I manage to get to my feet and throw myself at his back.
My momentum carries us both to the floor. Unfortunately, he lands near my fallen blade. Somehow, he manages to flip us over and the knife is digging into my shoulder. I scream and shove him off me. He drops the knife when his elbow hits the edge of a table and I leap on it.
Yelling loudly, like some kind of primal war cry, I throw myself on his fallen form and begin to stab wildly. All I see is red, all I hear is blood pounding in my ears. I feel nothing. Eventually, I realize the man under me isn't moving. I draw back and the knife falls from my hand. It takes a moment for my vision to clear, and when it does, I vomit. David's face is a bloody mess. It no longer resembles a human face; just a twisted mass of blood, brain, and bone.
After I've emptied the contents of my stomach on the floor beside me, I drag myself to my feet. I leave the knife where it lies. I'm covered in blood and brains. My shirt is ripped in half; I've no idea how. I let the tattered halves fall to the ground. There's no point in trying to wash myself. There's just too much blood and I need to leave before anyone shows up.
Out the door I go, heading towards the woods behind the church. The sky is overcast and it gets even darker once I'm under the dense cover of the trees. I break out into a jog as I follow the narrow path ever farther north.
"It's done!" I shout. "He's dead! What now?"
I look up to the heavens, and as I do, it begins to rain. I pause, let the rain fall on me. I hope it washes away the blood. But it doesn't. It sticks to my skin. A second later, I realize it isn't rain; it's ash.
"What the fuck?"
A dark chuckle sounds in my head then. Brett! Thanks, my child. His voice is different now; cold, mocking. How are you enjoying the rain?
"What's going on? This ash—"
Ah, yes. When God is sad, his tears fall from the sky. But when he's angry, his wrath comes down like ash. Guess you've pissed him off.
I'm more confused than I've ever been. "What? But I thought—"
What? You thought you were talking to God? Come on, man. God wouldn't ask you to kill anyone. Lucifer, on the other hand… Let's just say I'm fond of using God's precious humans to do my dirty work. A little life-saving here and there and I've got people who will do whatever I ask of them.
I feel sick to my stomach. Dropping to my knees, I bow my head and tears begin to fall. "He wasn't evil, was he?"
No. The voice—Lucifer's voice—sounds amused. He was a loyal servant of God. And you killed him. Good for you. And now I have to be going. It was a pleasure. But we'll see each other again someday. You're sure as fuck not getting into Heaven now.
Then he's gone.
I don't move. All of me hurts; body, mind, and heart. I just kneel there, as the tears drip from my eyes and the ash slowly covers me.