Xander turned toward the bright yellow morning sun, finding that it was gone and that he was now in the shade of the large yellow vehicle. He zoned out again, briefly, lost in that solid yellow.
After a moment he took a step back from it, his upper lip curling with fear and disdain.
Cathy turned to him, her hand on the guardrail as she stepped onto the bus. “Xander?” she said finally, not sure of what else to say. There were so many different questions that everything seemed stupid and frivolous.
He took another step away, then turned and started to walk in the other direction. After a few paces he picked up speed. By the time he got to the corner, he was running.
Mike took a single step after him before Cathy stopped him, resting her hand gently on his shoulder. He turned to look at her and when he looked back, Xander was out of sight.
“He’ll come to us on his own time,” she assured him, before heading onto the bus.
Ninety minutes later Xander was staring up at two large wooden doors. They were old and at least three inches thick each. He felt dwarfed by the sheer size and magnitude of it all, the building’s very presence overwhelming him. It reminded him almost instantly of Engen.
The building itself seemed to rise up out of nowhere. He hadn’t really noticed until just now, but the land was perfectly flat for miles in all directions surrounding it. The land sprung up into a grassy hill just to the side of it, with a tall chain-link fence encompassing both the structure and the hill. It was like even the earth was reaching for something.
Twin steeples stabbed at the clouds and had a tendency to melt into the mist on foggy afternoons. Each one was adorned by a brass cross and stain-glass images whose eyes seemed to stare directly into him from their vantage point on the brick wall. He turned and looked at the golden plaque next to the door and read it. The words The Apostle Church were carved into its gold trim.
Deep inside of him, amidst the blood and veins, the true Womb cringed. “Yeah,” Xander said aloud. “You would be intimidated by a Holy place, wouldn’t you, you sick son of a--”
“My son?” came a voice from behind the door. A small peephole opened and soft, caring eyes peered out. “Are you not well?”
Xander stared into those eyes for a moment. “No,” he said finally after a long pause. “I’m... sorry. To disturb you. I thought you were closed this time of day.”
The door opened, revealing a kind-looking balding old man smiling warmly at him. His grin complimented his eyes, both of which were accented with laugh lines. His fingers were clasped together near the centre of his chest, their knuckles thick and swollen with arthritis. A purple sash draped down from either side of his neck, the ends embroidered with golden crosses. He didn’t just look holy, he felt it too. Holy and royal, somehow. His voice was soft and soothing, sending a cold chill through Xander when he spoke. “The doors to the Lord’s house are always open, my son,” the Reverend said, fanning his arms and making his robe dance. “Come.”
Xander stepped inside cautiously, looking from one side of the old church to the other. Every step he made echoed back at him, making him want to cover his ears. There were even more glass people in here, their stares equally as judgmental as the ones outside. Their eyes didn’t just see through him, they sliced through him. Despite that, the creepiest things by far were the pews. For all of the times he had been there, he had never seen all of the seats empty before. It looked barren and wrong and far too still.
The Reverend had walked up to an aged table set up near the back room and was currently pouring up two cups of coffee. He motioned for Xander to sit down.
“Isn’t this traditionally done at a confession booth?” Xander joked, smirking at the old man.
The Reverend’s bushy gray eyebrows lifted. “You have sins to confess?” he asked, almost shocked.
“I’m not what you’d call a religious man.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Xander sat down. He took his coffee cup in one hand and chanced a sip on the hot liquid. It burned his tongue, and he felt the Womb veer up to repair the damage instantly. His eyes darted around the church nervously, always coming back to the visage of the Son of God upon the cross, hanging dead centre in the archway. He could still feel the spikes in his wrists from his own crucifixion, and felt a new empathy for the man on that tilted x. He looked at the kind old Reverend, who was smiling back at him expectantly, patiently waiting for the young man to speak.
“I can see I’ll have to start,” the old man laughed. “Shouldn’t you be in school?”
Xander smiled, but it was a fake smile. The smile that youth give to older people when they ask questions such as those. “That school’s got too many memories. Those old walls talk, y’know?”
“Indeed.” He motioned all around him. “As do these walls. Often, late at night, I can hear the echoes of a thousand spirits.” He paused, staring Xander in the eye. “Recently, the voices of the dead have gotten louder.”
Xander looked down toward his feet. “Yes, they have.” There was a pause then while they both sipped on their respective coffees. “I’m having... problems... telling my friends
