“The bible that you read?” Sarah asked.
“Word for word.” The priest stopped halfway through the book and pressed his finger against the page. “It was around the fifteenth century that a group of monks decided to add their own books to the bible. They had a different idea of the teachings of Satan along with a different version of the book of Revelations.”
“Revelations,” Sarah said, a few more memories of her childhood Sunday school resurfacing. “That’s when the rapture is supposed to happen.”
The priest leaned forward, resting his left forearm on the back of the pew. “The bible speaks of the second coming of God as an apocalyptic event, and that only those that are true to God and have followed His word will be rescued from the earth, and the rest will be forced to suffer after God takes His children to heaven and the devil takes control of the earth. The monks from the medieval ages had a different take that it would be Satan who returns in Revelations, rescuing humans of earth from the wrath of God.”
“So people just wrote the sides they wanted to win.” Sarah lowered her eyes to the book between them. “That’s the way it always is.” She stood and walked closer to the pulpit and glanced up at Christ. “Everyone has their own version of what they want to happen, and the people pulling the strings at the top don’t care so long as they win, and everyone else is an afterthought.”
“Is that what happened to you?” the priest asked.
Sarah chuckled, the laughter hopeless and exhausted. She turned toward the priest. “You want to know what happened to me? You want to know the story of my life?” She reached for the collar of her shirt and exposed the scars on her back to the priest. “And that’s just the ones that left a mark.” She let go of her shirt. “Do you know how many kids I knew that never made it out of the system alive? I lost count. And all you can do is sit there and tell me that it has nothing to do with your boss or his enemy? You’re going to sit here, in this place, in a fucking church, and tell me that God can’t do anything? Why?” Desperation rose with her anger, and her cheeks flushed red. “I want to know! Why? WHY!” She screamed, her voice echoing off the walls, and the shriek burned her throat as the priest only stared at her while she caught her breath and wiped the saliva dripping off of her chin.
“God wants to help,” the priest said. “So does the devil. But the moment they choose to decide for us, what’s left?” He stood and walked toward her, his movements steady and calm. “I believe in heaven, and I believe in hell, and I also believe that God gives us strength to handle whatever life throws at us, and if we can’t?” He shrugs. “Then we get to meet Him at the gates of heaven, and our struggle is no more.”
Helplessness flooded through Sarah’s veins. She wanted to hit him, she wanted to scream, but instead she only returned to the pew and sat down, where she buried her face in her hands. There was no grief, no tears, only emptiness.
“It never changes, does it?” Sarah asked, staring at the floor. “It’s the same people on top, and the same people at the bottom, every time. And hope just teases and tricks us into thinking that it will change one day.” She looked up at the priest. “But it doesn’t.”
The priest’s stoic expression softened, and then he walked to Sarah and knelt on one knee. He placed his hand on her leg, and it was the first time in her life where a stranger had touched her and she didn’t flinch. She wasn’t sure what that meant.
“It does,” the priest said. “Because of people like you.”
“You don’t know who I am,” Sarah said.
“Yes, I do.” The priest smiled and then picked up the book she’d brought and placed it in her lap. “You’re the girl who’s going to stop the end of the world. Not because you were chosen, or it’s your destiny, but because you want to help save people.”
“But how?” Sarah asked.
The priest opened the book and turned to the pages toward the end. He searched for a minute, pinpointing the exact page that he was looking for, and then tapped it when he found it. “In order for the devil to return, it was said that he would need a portal. Some powerful object that would act as the gateway to hell so his demons could escape and he could bring the fires of hell to the earth.”
Sarah nodded, reading the same scripture that the priest had pointed to. It was the orb. That’s what the witch was going to use now that she had the souls she needed to accomplish it. “So if I destroy the gate, then they won’t be able to get through.”
“In theory, yes,” the priest said. “But it will take a powerful force.” He found another line and read. “Blood is the beginning. Blood is the end.”
Sarah looked at the line, then at the priest. “What the hell does that mean?”
“I’m not sure.” The priest kept his attention on the text. “But it is in the same section as the portal.”
“Right,” Sarah said, exhaling a sigh. “Which of course makes everything crystal clear now.”
The priest smiled. “Come with me.”
Sarah followed the priest back behind the wall where Jesus was nailed to the cross and they stepped into a small office, each of the walls lined from floor to ceiling with books, and at the center was a small desk that the priest stepped behind.
“There are a few things that can help you with demons.” The priest opened the drawer and removed a wooden
