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“Let’s wait for the nurse,” said Stephen.
Ed tried to sit up, but he lacked the energy. “Cut the crap and tell me.”
“What do you remember?” The voice came from the spectacled face of Ed’s mom, knitting in the corner. Ed considered this odd because he had no recollection of her ever wearing glasses.
“A man in a ski mask attacked me and threatened to hurt April.”
Ed saw a tear roll down his father’s cheek and guessed bad news was coming.
His throat burned as he spoke. “None of this makes sense. Let me see her.”
Stephen frowned and touched Ed’s leg. “I’m sorry. She’s gone. She’s waiting for you in a better place.”
“No. Alive with me is the better place.” Ed tried to pull the IV out his arm, hoping to die, too, but Stephen held him down with unexpected strength, given their size difference.
Dizzy with confusion, Ed closed his eyes as a group of clinicians arrived. Doctor Baker, a short bug-eyed neurologist, told Ed he “might recover with therapy.”
“I’m cursed.”
In a strange voice, his mom advised him to “be thankful” his “friend, Kenny” saved him. He looked up at the ceiling tiles, fearing the head injury had left him insane for his remaining days. He felt paranoia flair inside him as someone said something he couldn’t hear, and people broke into laughter.
Seeming to move across the room with impossible speed, his mom kissed his cheek. “We love you. God loves you. It will be okay.”
Ed shook away from her, feeling a violent hatred for everyone present. He knew it was crazy to wonder if they were imposters, but he wanted to flee as soon as possible to start his own new life without them.
“If your Lord loved us, He wouldn’t let the innocent suffer. Paradise would be our first life, not our second. We deserve answers. And don’t blame it all on a caveman who ate forbidden fruit, as if we inherited blame for something that happened in an allegory.”
Chapter 3: Burning Bridges
A year later, Ed pedaled his bicycle to the parking lot of the parish church where his brother served as associate pastor. He smelled incense as he entered the high-ceiling building and walked down the aisle, studying square wooden carvings of the Stations of the Cross, hanging on the wall to his left. The artist made Jesus appear so weak and hopeless, falling for a second and third time. Ed couldn’t recall seeing this depressing sight during his previous church attendance with April.
He passed the large marble baptismal fountain, resisting the habit of dipping his right hand in the holy water before making the sign of the cross. Seeing the green light glowing at the confessional, he entered the small, wooden door and sat on a chair facing Stephen.
“I’m here to say, goodbye. You’ll never hear from me again, and you can’t stop me.”
Stephen leaned forward. “Are you planning to try to hurt yourself?”
“No. Nothing like that. I’ve decided to enjoy life, instead of drowning in guilt.”
“Don’t cut off mom and dad. They love you. Maybe, they came on to strong, but they were only trying to help. You aren’t thinking straight because of your head injury.”
Ed buried his face in his hands. “You all treat me like I’m nuts. I’m too old to live in their house like a child or an invalid.”
“Where will you go?”
“I’m not telling anyone.”
“Wait. Please give me a few days. No one’s forcing you to live with mom and dad. I’ll find you an apartment.”
“Nice try.” Ed looked at the religious pamphlets under his brother’s seat in the confessional. “Deep down, do you really believe any of this foolishness?”
“I do.”
Ed wished he could quit trying to search for God altogether. “Your God allows childhood brain cancer.”
“He became one of us and suffered with us.”
“How is He blameless? He decided we had to kill Him so He could forgive us? That’s ridiculous.” Ed imagined lightning somehow striking him dead.
