Chapter Text
Thessalonians 4:11 : “…make it your ambition to lead a quiet life: You should mind your own business and work with your hands, just as we told you.”
~*~
It was the same crimson lanterns that haunted him night after night, flickering to life once more.
Broken chants echoed against a claustrophobic ceiling; their insidious source invisible, yet ever-present in this cavern. In the spaces between each overlapping voice, a steady susurration of coursing waters trickled into his senses.
His foot slipped against the lacquered flooring. Unable to find traction, he cried out as he lost his balance, his right ankle hitting the polished stones with a sickening lancenation that shuddered all the way to the crown of his head. On shaking arms he began to lift himself, yet before he could correct his posture, numerous hands were grasping on to him, tugging him towards a shallow pool.
He tried to thrash against them, but the strength of their grip was immeasurable against his own willowy frame. Soon he was thrust under the water, and there were two familiar hands around his neck, preventing him from coming up for air. He held his breath, eyes wide and frightened as the lights around him became obscured-- rippling as they passed through the hallowed water’s surface.
When the grip around his neck tightened, he released a muffled shout, forming a wide bubble which burst through and dispersed a dark ribbon. It coalesced past his vision, the bloodied tendrils connected to an ebbing cut upon his own wrist.
He choked on stale air as he threw himself upright, his heart thumping relentlessly against the confines of his ribcage. Immediately his world grew deathly silent as he shifted beneath abrasive blankets, tucking his knees up to his chest with a hollowed shiver.
The meager window beside his mattress displayed a tranquil evening beyond the confines of these concrete walls. He pressed his forehead against the dusty glass, and revelled in the sensation of his sweat evaporating against its chilled surface. He gazed upward, and was greeted by a wide expanse of unfiltered starlight. This far away from civilization, at least the stars were numerous. He settled into his position, knowing sleep would not find him again.
He needed to get out of here.
~*~
“Nicky, dear! Welcome home!”
“Hi, Mom!” Nick called out as he stepped into their two-bedroom cottage. No matter the length or strain of his days, the sound of his mother’s greeting never failed to make him smile. He turned slightly, leaning his body against the front door to shut it behind him, and unceremoniously tossed a pile of mail on to the wooden entry table. With a dramatic huff of air that sent the fringes of auburn hair drifting across his brow, he bent down to untie his work boots. He could hear his mother’s footsteps approaching from the dining room, so he shrugged off his coat before stepping forward and enveloping her in a tight hug.
“How was work today, sweetheart?” Sarah asked sweetly, pulling back to push her son’s hair out of his eyes.
Nick scoffed at the motion, feigning annoyance as he nudged her hand away from his face. “I’m glad this job’s finally finished. The last of the landscaping rocks needed to be placed-- they were huge, Mom-- and it was raining relentlessly all day. Thank God for these!” He pointed with his foot at one of the boots resting by the door, almost knocking it over.
“God didn’t buy those for you, honey. I did!” The corners of his mother’s hazel eyes crinkled with mirth-- she was clearly pleased with her correction. “I’m in the middle of finishing up dinner, but go ahead and settle in. I know they’ve been working you ragged this week.”
Nick let out a sigh of relief. The local grocer had been working him ragged, as his mother knew well.
Since his highschool graduation two years ago, Nick had been working as a temporary contracted landscaper, moving between different job-sites every few weeks. He enjoyed the meditative nature of working with his hands, and the satisfaction of seeing the property grow and flourish under his care. He also appreciated that it kept him in shape.
He glanced at the stack of mail, deciding to flip through it before changing out of his work clothes. At the top of the stack was the familiar handwriting of Stephane, his father. Nick felt his heart drop, hands shaking ever-so-slightly as he opened the envelope. His eyes glazed over as he scanned the contents of the card: three short, generic sentences written in French. ‘Joyeux anniversaire mon cher Nicolas. J'espère que le rugby se passe bien. Je suis vraiment désolé de ne pas avoir pu venir cette année pour fêter ça, mais j'espère pouvoir te rendre visite bientôt.’
An all-to-familiar surge washed over Nick at the words and the freshly-dated check. I haven’t played rugby in two years, Stephane. He thought to himself, removing the enclosed check and tossing the rest to the side. And my birthday was three weeks ago.
His father’s absence in his life was a decade-old wound. These days, his father’s behavior no longer carried the same pain-- he’d grown to expect it, the way Stephane refused to try to know the man he is now, stubbornly clinging to the memories of a child he used to spend time with.
Nick was only ten when his parents got divorced. His father moved to Sanctaria shortly afterward, leaving two heart-broken sons behind in California, and a wife trying her hardest to heal her family. Sarah had loved California and intended to stay, but when Nick and his brother continued to struggle with the loss of their father, she made the decision to move to Sanctaria so her boys could have their father back in their lives. For the first few years, Stephane spent the occasional weekend with his children. However, as time went on, he grew more and more distant.
Seeing her family continue to break and unable to heal, Sarah had tried to move them back to California, but by that point it was too late-- the borders had closed, and they were trapped in Sanctaria. Nowadays, Nick's brother lives with Stephane in the southern part of the country near the coast, and Nick had rejoiced the day they parted.
Nick pulled in a deep, grounding breath. I like my life. Mom and I are happy here, and safe. While he knew this to be true, every time his father reached out, it still made his skin itch. He rolled his shoulders and tried his best to clear his mind, reaching for the rest of the mail. He set the bills off to the side, intending to cover most of them himself. The rest was mostly junk-- coupons, prayer cards, a government-issued statement requesting recruitments to the Crusaders, and multiple notices that Sanctaria was, apparently, in desperate need of Exorcists.
Nick trudged slowly into his bedroom, taking a moment to change out of his soil-coated clothes before heading back to the kitchen to join his Mom. She was settled at their small dining room table, sipping a fresh tea and reading on her tablet. She looked up and smiled when Nick entered, gesturing towards the kitchen counter.
“Dinner’s in the oven, it should be ready soon. If you want tea, the kettle’s still hot.” She crossed her legs and focused her attention back to her tablet as Nick nodded, eternally grateful for her presence. After fixing his own cup of tea and checking on the oven (lasagna, his favorite), he settled down at the table.
“Did you grab the mail on the way in?” Sarah asked.
“Yeah. Dad sent a birthday card.”
His mother’s nose scrunched up in distaste. “Your birthday was weeks ago! Bâtard.”
“Oh my god, Mom!” Nick’s jaw dropped as he laughed at her casual use of the swear. She would only ever speak French these days when insulting her ex-husband, choosing instead to leave the ‘Bâtard's' heritage behind.
“Pardon my French, dear.”
Nick shook his head in amusement, and the two fell into a comfortable silence as they sipped their tea. Once the oven dinged, Nick got up to cut and serve their dinner. His mouth watered at the comforting aroma as he padded the short distance back to their table, setting each plate down with a question burning in his eyes.
“So, I keep seeing notices in the mail… Apparently Sanctaria doesn’t have enough Exorcists?” He began, looking towards his mother cautiously. Oftentimes, Nick found he’d rather not know when it came to the inner workings of Sanctaria. His hand reached back to stroke the fine hairs at the base of his skull, a nervous habit he’d picked up as a young boy.
“And you’re wondering what they are, am I correct?”
Nick nodded. “It just sounds…well, demons aren’t real, that’s ridiculous. What're they looking to exorcise, then?”
Sarah hesitated for a moment before she sighed, choosing her words carefully. “The Crusaders would have us believe that demons do exist. Not in a literal, physical way, but in people’s souls. It’s…well, Stephane thought this, too. That certain lifestyles and decisions invite the devil.”
Nick hummed, pushing his lasagna across his plate before picking up another bite. He wasn’t sure what to make of his mother’s words, particularly what she'd meant by "certain lifestyles".
“You really don’t have to worry about it, honey.” Sarah continued, sensing her son’s nervous reaction. “We’re quite safe here, up by the northern border. I’ve never heard of any Exorcists in these parts. Honestly, it's best not to dwell on it.” She lifted her eyebrows slightly and gave him a pointed look.
Nick knew that he could probably look up this information, but as always, he opted to trust his mother’s judgment. Nick trusted her with anything.
“Right. Thanks, Mom.” Deciding to change the subject, he continued in a lighter tone. “I start my next contract job tomorrow morning-- it looks like this one’s gonna run for a couple months. But afterwards, my calendar is clear for a whole week! We could travel somewhere, if you want to. Or just stay home and relax.”
“Oh, I’m sorry you didn’t catch a break between jobs.” She patted his arm in sympathy, knowing he was used to having at least one day to rest before heading to his next assignment. “But that sounds wonderful. I’ll put in a vacation request tomorrow. Heaven knows we both need a break!” Sarah was no stranger to long days. Her job as a pediatrician kept her working twelve, sometimes fourteen-hour shifts on her feet. Thankfully the hospital allowed her to have weekends off; the house would be in complete disarray if both of them worked daily.
Nick finished the rest of his plate, getting up to take their dishes to the sink. “It’s alright, really, you know I love the work.” He said this to assure both of them-- but if he was being honest, he was exhausted. “Hey, I’ll take care of the dishes in the morning, ‘kay?"
Sarah waved her hand in dismissal. “Absolutely not, I'll do them tonight. Sleep in as much as you can, honey.”
Normally Nick would argue with her, but tonight he didn’t have the energy. He knew she was right; his body was already screaming at him for an epsom soak, and some much-needed rest.
“Alright... thank you.” He shuffled back over to her, leaning down awkwardly into the small corner to give her a tight hug. He kissed her cheek, and she ruffled her hand through his hair playfully. “G‘night Mom, enjoy your book.”
“Goodnight Nicky.” She responded earnestly. “Sleep well.”
~*~
When Nick awoke, his mother had already left for work. He grumbled, flailing his arm out from under the covers and patting around blindly until his hand found the offending alarm on his phone. He forced himself to a seated position and ran his hands down his face, returning one to smooth out his sleep-wrecked fringe. His body still ached, but thankfully not as much as last night. He stood, lifting his arms above his wide frame as pale, freckled skin stretched over defined shoulders. His mother would tell him when he was a child that each freckle was a kiss from an angel; and the angels had always adored him, despite how they pulled their affections away in the winter months.
He quickly retrieved fresh work clothes from one of the stacked laundry bins at the foot of his bed before dragging himself into a cramped en-suite bathroom. He gazed at himself in the mirror, honey-brown eyes sunken and exhausted. He made fast work of shaving off the shadow of a beard that had formed overnight, then pulled out his phone to check his email while brushing his teeth.
He opened the job description for the new site. His eyes widened comically as he realized why his company had scheduled the contract over such an extended period. They were requesting almost the entirety of the landscaping services he offered-- and a fucking gazebo?!
Nick considered himself a decent wood-worker, but this wasn’t a task he was typically presented with. He spat into the sink with a newfound sense of urgency.
He continued scrolling through the email while he passed through the kitchen, grabbing an apple from a bronze bowl on the counter. At the bottom was a business name, St. Francis Borgia’s Cathedral and Education Center.
“Hmm. It’s a church.” He murmured into the empty house. Well, the mostly empty house. Were Nellie, his sweet old border collie, not asleep on the couch, she would have tilted her head and thumped her tail softly at his musings.
He shoved his feet into his work boots and laced them, exiting the front door and shutting it quietly behind him so he didn’t disturb Nellie. Once outside, he opened the garage to pull out an old wooden trailer, wheeling it over to the hitch at the back of his dark-blue pickup truck. He pushed his hair off his forehead to feel the breeze, thankful for the crisp morning air.
Nick crossed around the truck and settled into the driver’s seat, mounting his phone to the dashboard and pulling up directions to the job site.
“Shit!” He gasped when he saw his commute time. One hour, 40 minutes. He simply wouldn’t have time to stop for coffee and a proper breakfast if he hoped to arrive on schedule. He sent up a prayer to a God he didn’t believe in that he would survive his shift without caffeine.
He threw the trick into gear, and it wasn’t long before Nick exited his quiet little mountain town, merging on to a single-lane freeway.
~*~
The worn pavement quickly morphed into an unmarked, gravel road with no posted speed limit. I’ll be lucky if I pass a single car today, he thought to himself. He turned up his music and allowed his brain to quiet, settling in for the remainder of the journey. As he continued to head upwards into the Appalachian Mountains, he began to feel a slight pressure in his ears from the elevation.
Grabbing a piece of gum, he noted the first splatters of yellow and orange hues within the lush forests. The terrain under his wheels was starting to become rough and nerve-wracking, even in his off-road capable truck. Tree branches dipped down and broke across his windshield, and sizable rocks littered the road. If you could even call this a ‘road’ - it's more like a “death trap”. He gripped his steering wheel a bit tighter and clenched his jaw, intently focused as he was jostled around. He wondered how other less-equipped cars could even access this property.
Finally, he saw a faded stone marker on the side of the road: ‘Saint Francis Borgia's Cathedral and Education Center’.
He was relieved to see it; his anxious mind had begun to spiral miles ago, worrying that the GPS was sending him down an abandoned service road. Golden hues graced the dusty dawn skies as the sun entered the horizon, causing a faint shimmer atop the fog resting within the valleys in the mountains. The path took him through a narrow ravine alongside deep cuts in the terrain, exposing towering rock-faces containing centuries worth of history pressed between each layer of dark sediment.
The sun was rising in earnest as he finally spotted the church beyond the very first fork in the road. He saw the spires above the trees first, the ashen fingers of an ancient giant reaching towards the heavens. The terrain flattened and the trees thinned as he approached the cathedral.
It was sprawling, and made entirely of a light concrete material. The front entrance crouched close to the ground, a single white arch marking the front door. Beyond the lobby and front doors, the angle exploded sharply upward towards dozens of massive spires, carved with intricate black patterns along their sides. He could make out a black steel bell enclosed amongst concrete at the top. The appearance, while imposing and certainly grand, would have been relatively uninspired were it not for the thin strips of stained glass trailing heavenward like indented cuts along the wall;, numerous at the cathedral’s base, with some ascending almost to the tips of the spires. Polished black steel bordered the lengthy windows, alight in every color Nick could imagine glass was able to be stained. He observed that these were not just the most striking and unique stained glass he had ever seen, but they were also the only windows he could see across the whole cathedral.
Nick couldn’t help but let out a low, breathy whistle at the sight as he pulled into the gravel lot. He had never felt drawn to a church before, but this one had a certain gravity to it.
As he put the truck into park, his eyes finally allowed him to scan the rest of the grounds surrounding the cathedral. There was a small chapel in the same well-decorated style across a chattering stream, and poorly-paved footpaths which connected numerous, single-story concrete buildings from a sprawling network towards the main church. These buildings bore the same concrete as the chapel and cathedral, with none of the decoration. The whole property kind of struck Nick as more like a neo-gothic college campus than a church.
He opened his email app and scanned the job notes again; there were less than he typically received, but the instructions in all their brevity were there regardless. ‘Deacon Simon will meet you in the cathedral vestibule at 8:30 am.’
Nick glanced at his clock, happy to note that he was early. He idled in the car for a moment longer, trying to scroll through his socials but finding none of the apps able to load this far away from civilization. Instead he turned off his engine and pocketed the keys, grabbing a manilla folder from the passenger seat before heading into the cathedral.
He pushed open the doors with five minutes to spare, and immediately felt an electric sensation pulse from his feet to the top of his spine. It made the fine hairs on his body stand up, and goose bumps climbed steadily up his arms. It was dark in, and there was no light source aside from rows of candles lining the near-black, wooden walls.
The vestibule was intimately small, yet somehow made Nick feel even smaller. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he noticed the single source of color in the lobby. An impressively sized oil painting greeted him in the center of his vision, framed by golden borders and dozens of flickering flames. The artwork depicted a man in black robes standing over a bed, upon which sprawled a pale man, mouth agape. Three dark, demonic creatures loomed over the pale one, surrounded by an orange light resembling flames. Following the fire to its source, he saw a man in black robes holding up a crucifix, his eyes focused on the demons, and a halo of light surrounding his head.
The golden flecks in Nick’s eyes glowed with the pulsing candlelight as his gaze tracked back to the demonic figures. He remembered the conversation with his mother last night about the Exorcists, and the rich unease that accompanies a lack of understanding seeped back into his mind. The hair on his body remained upright.
Nick didn’t know how long he was standing there-- he’d had every intention of finding a place to sit and wait for Simon when he entered, yet he found himself frozen. His mind didn’t even process when a door opened to his right until a voice sang softly to him, breaking the spell.
“It is almost romantic. Would you agree?” The man stepped beside Nick, joining him in his reverie. He looked small beside Nick, barely reaching the height of his shoulders. He spoke with a rich tone; all honey and birdsong, and Nick couldn’t tell if his eyes or his ears were more hypnotized.
I don’t know if ‘romantic’ is the word I’d choose. Nick opened his mouth with the intention of voicing this thought out loud before thinking better of it. Instead he shook his head in rapid, subtle motions, trying to clear his mind and pull himself back into his body. “Who is he?” His voice was barely above a whisper as he pointed to the man in black robes.
“Ah, that is Saint Francis Borgia. You may recognize his name from the signs along your journey here.”
Sign, Nick wanted to correct the man. One inconspicuous sign. He made a mental note to add more along the entering road to his projects. He had almost three whole months, after all.
The man turned to face him, extending a hand in greeting. “And I am Deacon Simon. You must be Nicholas?”
“Oh… yes, that’s me! Uhm-- it’s a pleasure to meet you, Deacon.” Nick faced Simon, taking his proffered hand. He internally berated himself for asking questions about a painting before introducing himself to his employer.
“Welcome, Brother Nicholas. I appreciate your timely arrival, and have prayed for your safe travels. I take it our Lord answered?”
The way Simon spoke was strange to him. The Deacon’s pristine, white robes stood in stark contrast to richly tanned, olive skin. Dark eyes gazed intently upon Nick, wide and expectant; in the dimly lit chapel, they appeared black and entirely devoid of light. Simon didn’t waver in his eye contact, which left Nick feeling unsettled, almost exposed in front of the man. Strange.
Nick nodded. “Yeah, the drive was alright. Me and my equipment made it in one piece… thank you.” He looked down to the folder in his hand, desperate to break his gaze away from the Deacon's. He pulled out a form and set it on top of the folder, handing both to Simon along with a pen from the breast pocket of his shirt. “Sorry. My boss asked me to have you sign this-- usually the form is received online, but it looks like we never got a copy? We need it before I can start working.”
“That is because we do not have computers here. They are not prohibited, with the exception of our Proselytes." Proselytes? “The rest of us merely choose not to use such technology.” Simon took the form and signed it with a few languid flicks of his wrist, returning it along with a folder of his own. “Here you will find a map of the grounds, and details for our vision. Nicholas, I must thank you for coming to bless these holy grounds with your labor. I can sense that you have an appreciation for the beautiful.” He glanced at the painting. “I have faith that you will do well.”
Nick felt himself smile, touched by the praise. After all, he did pride himself in his work.
The Deacon ran his fingers through long, chestnut waves, which formed loose curls as they tapered off. The gesture humanized him, releasing some of the spell-like grip he’d held. “There are two more things which we shall need to discuss before I must leave to prepare for today’s service.” He produced a key from his robes, heavy in Nick’s hand and lightly rusted with age. “This will allow you entrance to the Doorkeeper’s house. It is circled in red on your map.”
Nick opened the folder and pulled out a hand-drawn map, easily spotting the circle towards the edge of the property. It was more secluded than the rest, only coming close to one other building.
“I understand that you have a long drive, Brother Nicholas. You may stay here, and come and go as you please. This house has been used in the past for additional staff, on such occasions that we had received a large amount of new Proselytes, and required extra staff.” There’s that word again. “But we are at full capacity now, and have not needed that room for quite some time. The quarters are small, but you will have a bed and a place to cleanse.”
Nick was relieved to be able to avoid the long commute. Until the main road was cleared, he felt anxious about driving home in the evenings. Especially now that the sun was beginning to set earlier in the day. “You mentioned there was a second thing?”
“Ah, yes.” Simon responded. His eyes became impossibly blacker as his voice lowered. “While you are welcomed and encouraged to join us for services, I must prohibit your entry to any other buildings. It is quite simple; do you see the two doors on each side of this room?” He pointed behind himself, then behind Nick. Once Nick nodded, the Deacon continued. “This door behind me leads into the Nave. This is where you may join for services, but do not venture further. Behind you leads into our Fellowship. It is an open community room with fresh meals and beverages available to all, at any hour of the day. These, and the room we have granted you, are the only indoor spaces which you are allowed. Is this understood, Brother Nicholas?”
“Yeah. The Nave, the Fellowship room, here in the vestibule, and the Doorkeeper’s house.” Nick counted off each space on his fingers. “And nowhere else. Got it.”
“That is correct.” Simon dipped his head down in a subtle motion, before turning towards the Nave. “I thank you for your understanding. We have traditions to protect here, and many of the staff can be unfriendly at best to outsiders. I look forward to working with you.”
Nick watched Simon leave, glancing back to the map in his hands and studying it while he processed the Deacon’s words. He supposed he shouldn’t find it strange to be denied access to much of the property. For most of his jobs, he’d never once set foot inside the buildings; he had no need to, the employer would set up an outhouse, and Nick would return home at the end of each day. Perhaps it was the way Simon had said it-- the intensity of the warning, that left him so unnerved.
He rubbed his fingers into his temples, trying to assuage the beginnings of a headache, and set his stride towards the Fellowship, praying they served coffee there.
~*~
Nick left the Cathedral clutching a steaming mug, the ghostly wisps drifting upwards into crisp air. Fog still clung near the ground, and the sky had become dreary and overcast. Shivering against a sudden wind, he hurried back to his truck and grabbed his work gloves and a thick hoodie from the back seat. Nick tended to run warm, and knew that he would eventually ditch the hoodie once he got moving, but for now he needed the extra layer.
He situated himself in the driver’s seat and turned on the ignition, cranking up the heat. He unlocked his phone to do a quick bit of research ; the word Simon had used continued to circle in his thoughts. Proselytes.
It took him a few tries to mentally sound it out and take an educated guess at the spelling. His leg bounced as he waited for the page to load. Much to his dismay, it appeared he had no internet connection here-- no cell signal, either. He left the tab with his search open and pocketed his phone, intending to try again once he was back amongst civilization.
Shifting his attention to the folder Simon had given him, he scanned through the papers with his tasks. They seemed to jump around in an illogical manner; the Deacon didn’t have any expected timelines listed for any of the projects, but had underlined the hedge trimming surrounding the cathedral with a request to begin there. Nick set the folder down and clapped his hands together, satisfied to begin at the borders around the cathedral. He looked forward to making his way slowly around the towering building and admiring each of her walls. Even if he couldn’t see most of the inside, he could still appreciate the stunning architecture from the outside.
He left the truck and slid his calloused hands into his gloves, noting the withering state of a dying rose bush beside the vestibule doors. He decided to bring a bag of fertilizer over along with his hedge trimmer to amend the soil. Roses were hardy-- perhaps it could flourish again, come spring.
Nick stood on to the steel bar between the trailer and his flatbed, grabbing a heavy sack of fertilizer and dropping it to the gravel below. He picked up his shears and made to jump back down to the ground, almost losing his footing as the massive bell atop the cathedral released a deafening ring. The sound bounced and echoed through the valleys and mountain sides in the distance, no doubt signaling the beginning of the hour.
As Nick slung the bag with ease over his shoulder, bracing it with one strong arm and lifting the hedge trimmer with the other, his eyes caught movement in the distance.
He watched as dozens of robed figures began to travel the footpaths towards the cathedral in small groups, approaching from every direction. Most of them wore gray robes, but he noticed a handful of other colored garments amongst the drab ensemble.
Deep emerald greens and a spot of royal blue peeked out amongst the small crowds, but most distinctive were the bright reds. While the rest of the jewel tones were mixed amongst the others, the cerise figures traveled in a tight group led by a single man in black robes with blood-red trimming. The leader was the only one with his head uncovered; the rest wore the same red head coverings with dark veils obscuring their faces.
Nick couldn’t explain it, but he felt an instant sour taste in his mouth at the sight. He began his short trek to the hedges, arriving well before the others. He began working just around the corner from the vestibule’s entrance, wanting to observe the members entering the cathedral without drawing too much attention to himself. He kept his gaze focused primarily on his task, occasionally glancing up to watch as people approached the doors.
A jovial middle-aged woman with a short, graying bob and rich green robes reached the cathedral first, holding the door open and smiling as the others entered into the lobby. She reminded Nick of his mother.
“Thank you, Martha.” A young woman in gray, likely a teenager, spoke softly to her as she passed through.
Martha dipped her head politely and wished her a good morning. The rest continued to pass by Nick and into the threshold, while Martha never once dropped her kind smile or ceased her hold on the door. It wasn’t an incredibly large number of people: perhaps two dozen or so, the vast majority wearing gray. Aside from the girl that came through and greeted Martha, they all kept eerily silent, their heads turned downwards and making minimal eye contact with the others.
Every so often one would step away from the others, standing off to the side across from the hedges where Nick was working. They all wore deep charcoal clothing, but they were not in robes. Instead they wore outfits resembling that of a security guard, complete with tactical belts carrying various items for personal defense. A few looked over to Nick briefly, but they would quickly shift their focus back to the doors, watching the congregants in silence. Even as the groups tapered off, they remained in the yard.
When the last, a blue-robed, elderly man approached the door, he waved to Martha. “Come, Sister. The last group of Proselytes has a long journey, there’s no reason to wait.”
Martha hummed in affirmation and followed behind the man, allowing the door to click shut behind them.
The grounds grew silent for a moment as Nick chewed on the inside of his cheek-- Proselytes. Are those the ones in gray? He was grasping at context clues, and decided that was likely the case, seeing as they’d all been travelling in small clusters together.
Flashes of red pulled Nick’s attention away from the hedges as the crimson-robed individuals approached. He watched as they took the footpath away from the cathedral, heading towards the small chapel across the stream. The mysterious figures, twelve in total, separated into groups of two to cross the narrow bridge, their steps perfectly timed and almost mechanical. The one leading them, a man with chestnut locks pushed elegantly back from his exposed face didn’t follow them, instead stopping near the front of the bridge and looking across the field expectantly.
A self-righteous kind of smirk planted itself across his face and he crossed his arms, and Nick felt his stomach roll at the expression; he did not know this man, but immediately decided he was not trustworthy.
Eventually, the last group of Proselytes appeared over the horizon, tailed closely by one of the guards. When they neared the man waiting beside the chapel, he uncrossed his arms and paced towards the group. Each of the Proselytes froze, collectively holding their breaths as they watched the man approach.
He stopped in front of the group and pointed to a short young man with round features, gesturing for him to follow. Nick watched the smirk on the black-robed man morph into a predatory grin as he clutched the arm of the Proselyte he had chosen and tugged him away from the others, leading him across the bridge and into the chapel. The Proselyte went with no argument, sparing a glance back towards the man he had been standing next to, offering a reassuring smile before the chapel doors shut with a sharp click.
The man Proselyte he’d smiled at brought a hand across his chest to scratch his arm, fist clenched and head pointed downward with a defeated posture. His motions spoke of a deep-seated anxiety, one that Nick was all too familiar with; he felt a surge of sympathy for the man.
Nick hadn't noticed him until now, his willowy frame obscuring him from view behind another Proselyte. He kept his eyes low to the ground, raven black curls veiling his face and cascading to his shoulders, continuing to grip and fidget as the guard ordered the group towards the cathedral.
One particular gust of wind coursed through the valley, causing a spattering of fallen leaves to suddenly ascend back into the air, dancing between Nick and the most beautiful human he’d ever seen. The sudden motion caught the ethereal Proselyte’s attention and he looked upwards, his eyes immediately finding Nick’s.
Black waves parted in the breeze, and the entire world ground to a halt.
The Proselyte stopped in his tracks the instant they discovered each other. The first thing Nick noticed about the man were his eyes, a piercing cerulean that appeared flat and distant until they locked with his own. In an instant they snapped into focus, shining with the intensity of a burning star. He was all sharp lines and carved features, with a long, delicate neck and flawless light-olive skin.
Before Nick could take in a breath to greet the hypnotic man, the guard placed his hand to the Proselyte’s shoulder and pushed him forward. “Move, Charles.”
Charles’ eyes immediately dulled and lost focus again as his lithe frame was sent into motion. Nick never pulled his gaze away until the last group had entered the cathedral, followed by the guards who’d remained outside. The spell broke when the doors shut for the final time that morning. He blinked for what felt like the first time in years as the haunting melody of an organ drifted towards him from the Nave.
A sudden screeching cry from across the stream caused him to jump, snapping him back to reality.
Jesus Christ. He took a deep breath to slow his racing heart before resuming his trimming, his mind easily supplying an explanation for the noise. Nick had spent the last decade surrounded by wilderness, and had heard all manner of disturbing wildlife calls. Must have been a fox.
~*~
Exodus 2:23: “The Israelites groaned in their slavery and cried out, and their cry for help because of their slavery went up to God.”