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Said picnic was earlier today, and it’s the annual event the church throws to welcome the community into the flock. Or that’s the bullshit Father Brine wants people to think. The picnic is the perfect cover for what can only be described as hunting.
“I was a bit disappointed in the turnout,” Deacon Block responds, and I can picture the way his face pinches tight as he speaks.
I’ll just bet he was. The number of potential kids for him to groom was far less than last year. I guess thoserumorswe started are finally taking hold.
“It’s to be expected,” Father Brine says dismissively. “People aren’t as interested in the eternal resting place of their souls as they used to be.”
“If we want a new crop of children, we need to figure out how to get them interested.”
I clench my fists, and the gas can shakes in my hold, causing the liquid to slosh.
And it’s go time.
Grabbing the knob, I open the door and step inside. Both men whirl around, and their eyes immediately go to the gas can before locking on my face.
“Paul, what are you doing here?” Father Brine asks, a slight shake in his voice. “I don’t recall having an appointment with you.”
“An appointment?” I repeat. “Is that what you’re calling it these days?”
“What do you want?” Deacon Block snarls.
The man was all too friendly when I was younger, but ever since the day my friends caught these two doing what they do, he’s been as angry as a bear.
Or maybe he just needs to get his rocks off.
I cock my head to the side. “I want to ask you both a question,” I tell them.
“What is it, my son?”
“I’m not your goddamn son,Father.”
“What’s your question?” the deacon asks in an authoritative tone. There was a time he intimidated me, but not anymore.
“How sure are you about your soul’s final resting place?”
“Excuse me?”
“How sure are you about your soul’s final resting place?” I repeat, slower this time.
“I have faith that God will accept me into his loving arms when my time comes to enter the Kingdom of Heaven,” Father Brine says even as his face pales.
“What is this about?” Block demands. “You can’t just come in here an—”
“Shut. Up!” I shout, my muscles coiling tighter than they’ve ever been.
“Look, Paul,” the priest begins, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “Whatever this is, whatever has you so upset, we can talk about it.”
“I think I’m done talking.” I turn toward the door. “Gentlemen, if you’ll follow me, I’ll be out of your hair before you know it.”
“We’re not following you anywhere,” Block says, and I can practically feel him bristling.
I grin when Matt and John step into my line of sight.
“He said to follow him,” Matt says, translating for John. “I suggest you listen.”
Silence fills the room, and it’s at this precise moment that I know the priest and deacon are going to make us do this the hard way.
“Do what ya gotta do,” I tell my friends.
