Jessica scoffed."Did that sound as lame to you as it did to me?"
“Yes,” Faith said softly.“Yes, it did.”
The two human agents looked away.Turk whined next to them, watching the sun as it crested in the sky and the day began its slow but inexorable journey back to darkness.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The Apostate looked across the street at the next false prophet to punish.Like the others, this prophetess offered empty words to the dying.She proffered false hope and was lauded a hero for it.Meanwhile, real heroes fought and struggled to save real lives, people, not souls.
And failed.
The Apostate’s eyes lowered to the mug of coffee resting in between two weary, scarred hands.A film floated on top of the rich brew, oils and silt swirling through the liquor in lazy, swooping patterns.A memory surfaced in the Apostate’s mind.
Dust, acrid, sharp, thick, stinging eyes, coating bodies, choking lungs.Screams cutting through the haze, friend and foe indistinguishable.Ground slick with blood and gore, but invisible provided one kept their eyes ahead.
Impossible to keep one’s eyes ahead when one’s job was to wade into the gore in a desperate attempt to save the dying.Impossible not to see the hole with intestines spilling out, dirt and fabric spilling in, festering even as one tried to stifle the blood and preserve the life of the dying warrior.
Above a shadow darkens the light.Self-righteous eyes lift to the blinding sun.A pious voice begs a ghost to embrace the victim.Bloodless hands caress the hopeless.Desperately, the dying cling to that false lifeline while one begs the shadow to move so one can try to save what is real.
Too late.Too late.Always too late.
The Apostate lifted the mug, pushing the memory away.The coffee was bitter now, rancid.The Apostate set the mug on the table and looked at the prophetess.She was praying, standing with her hand on the shoulder of a downcast individual who sought relief for his pain, even if it was false relief.The hopeless grasped at any straw.
The Apostate would show the prophetess hopelessness.She would understand futility in the end.Her dying eyes would implore Heaven, and she would understand finally that she had spent her life shouting into the void.
And dragging others with her.So many others.
The Apostate stood and shuffled to the car.A voice from behind called, “Hey!Hey, you gotta pay for your coffee.”
The Apostate turned and smiled.“Right.Sorry.I got distracted.”
The server calmed a little.This wasn’t a dine-and-dasher, just an ordinary schmuck who needed a little help remembering basic life skills.He smiled, slightly exasperated.“No problem.Four-ninety-nine.”He showed the receipt so the Apostate knew he wasn’t lying.“Don’t worry about a tip.We get paid really well since the Service Workers Act passed.”
The Apostate hesitated for a moment.It was always hard to tell whether servers meant that statement or not.In the end, the Apostate elected to give the waiter the benefit of the doubt.People were generally honest when the subject was inconsequential.It was only when the subject was important that deception became a factor.
The Apostate placed a five-dollar bill in the server’s hand and smiled.“Thank you!”
“Sure thing.Enjoy the rest of your day.”
“Yep!You too.”
The Apostate left the coffee shop, keeping the smile.A smile was the most effective form of deception, as evidenced by its use in both critical and inconsequential circumstances.A smile could be worn when replying, “Good, and you?”to the ubiquitous greeting of “How are you doing?”It could be worn when promising a dying Marine that she would be fixed up good as new meanwhile her liver was pouring blood.It could be worn when shaking hands with a Chaplain in the VA waiting room and telling him that yes, the Rosary and Lord’s Prayer had both been said that day.
It could be worn when throttling the life out of that chaplain the following morning.
The Apostate started the car and waited patiently for traffic to open enough to merge onto the road.Across the street, the prophetess was getting into her own car, an expensive luxury vehicle no doubt paid for by the tithes of the faithful.
The Apostate chuckled.Laughter was like a smile.Deception that could be used in many circumstances.
It was also a tool.It reminded the Apostate to be patient.Recompense would come for the prophetess as it had come for the others.Her eyes, too, would look up to Heaven and understand its absence.She too, would see the swirling darkness that was all that awaited the dead.She too would taste the rancid bitterness of false hope.
And as she slipped into that darkness, the Apostate would laugh.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“Thanks, appreciate it.You too.”
Jessica hung up and breathed a sigh.“Okay.That’s everyone.The Air Force, Navy, and Army Chaplain Corps are notifying all active duty chaplains who served in Tarinkot, the VA office is alerting all the retired ones, the MP units attached to Myer-Henderson Hall, Anacostia-Bolling, and Andrews are going to offer armed escorts to all chaplains on their respective bases, and”—she took a breath—“Metropolitan PD, Arlington PD, and Fairfax County Sheriff’s Office are going to post extra officers at the war memorials in their jurisdictions.We have as much protection as we’re going to get.”
