Read Online Red Rain: Lightning Strikes: Red Rain Series #2 by David Beers - Free Book Online
Authors: David Beers
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though, looking down at the pavement instead of up at Harry. They both walked inside, Harry not waiting, but walking to a pew and sitting down, staring forward as angry as John had ever seen him.
“John?” Father Charles called from his office.
“Yes, Father, it’s me.”
John walked past Harry, down the aisle and toward the statue of Jesus dying for all sins—even those that John had committed. He looked to his right and saw the priest coming out from the hallway, dressed in black and wearing his collar as if it wasn’t the middle of the night, as if he was about to give a sermon.
“Thanks for coming,” Father Charles said. He joined John’s side, both looking up at the dead God they worshipped.
“How long have we known each other, Father?”
“How long ago did you first come here?”
John shook his head. That had been such a long time ago. It felt like a different person walked in here originally, looking for answers that he hadn’t been able to find anywhere else. “Maybe twenty-three?” he said.
“And your first had been by done then?”
John said nothing, knowing that anything outside the confessional booth could be used against him.
“What am I going to do?” John asked.
“Will you take the sacrament with me?”
“Of course,” John said.
* * *
J ohn had been twenty-three when he first walked through Charles Rapport’s cathedral doors. It took ten years from the point at which he watched Harry drown in the ocean until he realized that his life was, as the twelve-steppers would say, unmanageable.
When he arrived, he was close to suicide. The world was closing in on him, ready to suffocate him, and he saw no way to make everything stop. He couldn’t even slow it down.
He went in on a Saturday, hoping that the church would be empty, hoping that he might be able to pray. He had never done it before, not even by accident. His parents weren’t religious and that influenced John’s life as well. But, after what happened two weeks before, he didn’t see much choice. He would be in jail soon, and after that? Strapped to a chair just before electricity surged through his body, not stopping until he sat dead, his skin smoking.
The church had been empty and John felt relief as the door closed behind him. He didn’t know how he would explain himself if people started asking him questions; why was he here? Did he believe in God? Plus any other number of things that John couldn’t imagine.
He took a seat and looked up at the dimly lit platform in front of him. The place looked somewhat creepy, a suffering man hanging from a cross and shadows cast every which way.
How was he supposed to begin? John hadn’t ever asked himself many questions about the afterlife. Whether God existed or you simply decomposed in the ground when this life ended. He still wasn’t too concerned with that question; John came to this place because he didn’t know what other choice he had.
He bowed his head but didn’t close his eyes.
“I don’t know how to make it stop,” he said aloud. “What I did, what I’ve done … I’m going to hurt everyone I love, one way or another.”
He paused for a few minutes, hearing nothing but the creaks of a shifting building. No God. No alerts from the sky.
“Hi,” someone called from across the room.
John’s head jerked up, surprised at the sudden sound in the silence surrounding him.
“I’m Father Charles,” the priest said.
* * *
J ohn stood in front of the priest, Father Charles, who stood slightly higher on the platform. He held a chalice of wine in one hand and an unleavened wafer in his right.
“Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name…” Father Charles said. John heard the words, the same ones he had listened to so many other times standing in this same position. He bowed his head, focusing on the prayer to his Lord and Savior.
“Thine is the Kingdom, the Power, and the Glory, forever and ever. Amen.” Father Charles brought his
“John?” Father Charles called from his office.
“Yes, Father, it’s me.”
John walked past Harry, down the aisle and toward the statue of Jesus dying for all sins—even those that John had committed. He looked to his right and saw the priest coming out from the hallway, dressed in black and wearing his collar as if it wasn’t the middle of the night, as if he was about to give a sermon.
“Thanks for coming,” Father Charles said. He joined John’s side, both looking up at the dead God they worshipped.
“How long have we known each other, Father?”
“How long ago did you first come here?”
John shook his head. That had been such a long time ago. It felt like a different person walked in here originally, looking for answers that he hadn’t been able to find anywhere else. “Maybe twenty-three?” he said.
“And your first had been by done then?”
John said nothing, knowing that anything outside the confessional booth could be used against him.
“What am I going to do?” John asked.
“Will you take the sacrament with me?”
“Of course,” John said.
* * *
J ohn had been twenty-three when he first walked through Charles Rapport’s cathedral doors. It took ten years from the point at which he watched Harry drown in the ocean until he realized that his life was, as the twelve-steppers would say, unmanageable.
When he arrived, he was close to suicide. The world was closing in on him, ready to suffocate him, and he saw no way to make everything stop. He couldn’t even slow it down.
He went in on a Saturday, hoping that the church would be empty, hoping that he might be able to pray. He had never done it before, not even by accident. His parents weren’t religious and that influenced John’s life as well. But, after what happened two weeks before, he didn’t see much choice. He would be in jail soon, and after that? Strapped to a chair just before electricity surged through his body, not stopping until he sat dead, his skin smoking.
The church had been empty and John felt relief as the door closed behind him. He didn’t know how he would explain himself if people started asking him questions; why was he here? Did he believe in God? Plus any other number of things that John couldn’t imagine.
He took a seat and looked up at the dimly lit platform in front of him. The place looked somewhat creepy, a suffering man hanging from a cross and shadows cast every which way.
How was he supposed to begin? John hadn’t ever asked himself many questions about the afterlife. Whether God existed or you simply decomposed in the ground when this life ended. He still wasn’t too concerned with that question; John came to this place because he didn’t know what other choice he had.
He bowed his head but didn’t close his eyes.
“I don’t know how to make it stop,” he said aloud. “What I did, what I’ve done … I’m going to hurt everyone I love, one way or another.”
He paused for a few minutes, hearing nothing but the creaks of a shifting building. No God. No alerts from the sky.
“Hi,” someone called from across the room.
John’s head jerked up, surprised at the sudden sound in the silence surrounding him.
“I’m Father Charles,” the priest said.
* * *
J ohn stood in front of the priest, Father Charles, who stood slightly higher on the platform. He held a chalice of wine in one hand and an unleavened wafer in his right.
“Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name…” Father Charles said. John heard the words, the same ones he had listened to so many other times standing in this same position. He bowed his head, focusing on the prayer to his Lord and Savior.
“Thine is the Kingdom, the Power, and the Glory, forever and ever. Amen.” Father Charles brought his
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