"Our Lady of Perpetual Misery. What the hell kind of name is that?" Rhys thought as he pulled the Monte Carlo up in front of the church. It didn't sound very encouraging.
He thought back to the last time he'd been in a church. It had been over a year ago in Albuquerque when he was still on the road trip to Hell. The priest there had encouraged him to continue on, to finish what he'd started, but by the time he got to Flagstaff, everything had changed. New York to Tucson, but he never made it. The demons had taken everything from him, including his own memories, and he'd lost all hope.
Rhys stepped inside the church, pausing a moment in the vestibule to take a look around. If he didn't know better, he'd think he was back on Earth, not in Rhydin. The church was small but ornately decorated with stained glass windows, carved wooden pews, and the usual assortment of statues. Candles flickered, surrounding the altar, a hint of sulfur and incense in the air. A small stoup near the entrance to the nave held a pool of Holy Water into which he dipped his fingers and blessed himself, touching the tips of his fingers to his forehead, each shoulder, and breast, and whispering the names of the Holy Trinity, just as he learned as a boy.
Memories of his childhood flooded Rhys' mind. His parents had been devout Catholics before the demons had killed them. Perhaps faith had saved their souls, but it hadn't saved them from death. For a long time, he'd blamed himself for their deaths. It was only recently he was starting to realize that perhaps their deaths hadn't been in vain. Thinking on the past, debating whether or not to change it, had made him realize that maybe everything really did happen for a reason, even those things that were tragic and difficult to accept.
Lately, he felt as though he was on the very brink of discovery, understanding, enlightenment. Every step along the path had led him to where he was now. He was so very close to accomplishing his task. Once it was finished, what would be next' Would he finally be able to claim his reward and live a normal life, as he'd been promised" He hoped so, otherwise, what was the point of it all"
To save Mankind. The words came to him unbidden, perhaps from somewhere deep within that part of his soul that wasn't human, the part that was still angel, the part he didn't remember or understand. What other reason could there be? He'd chosen this task, or so he'd been told, but he didn't remember doing so.
Rhys made his way down the crimson-carpeted aisle toward the altar, looking up at the figure of the Crucified Christ that hung before him and wondering how He had endured such suffering. He came to a stop in front of the altar, genuflecting once, before going down onto his knees and bowing his head in prayer. Though he hadn't prayed in years, he recalled the words with ease.
Oh, my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended thee...
Tears filled his eyes as he silently recited the words, his heart heavy with anguish and grief, the doomed faces of those he'd had no choice but to kill haunting his memory and his dreams, starting with his own father.
"Please, forgive me," he whispered quietly, lifting his face to the statue before him, tears streaming down his face, his heart aching. "Forgive me and help me," he pleaded quietly, bowing his head and resting it against folded arms while he wept. He wasn't sure how long he knelt there, grief, anguish, guilt, and despair pouring from him, mingled with a heart-felt desire for freedom and redemption. He cried until he could cry no more and then looking up, he felt a hand on his shoulder.
He thought back to the last time he'd been in a church. It had been over a year ago in Albuquerque when he was still on the road trip to Hell. The priest there had encouraged him to continue on, to finish what he'd started, but by the time he got to Flagstaff, everything had changed. New York to Tucson, but he never made it. The demons had taken everything from him, including his own memories, and he'd lost all hope.
Rhys stepped inside the church, pausing a moment in the vestibule to take a look around. If he didn't know better, he'd think he was back on Earth, not in Rhydin. The church was small but ornately decorated with stained glass windows, carved wooden pews, and the usual assortment of statues. Candles flickered, surrounding the altar, a hint of sulfur and incense in the air. A small stoup near the entrance to the nave held a pool of Holy Water into which he dipped his fingers and blessed himself, touching the tips of his fingers to his forehead, each shoulder, and breast, and whispering the names of the Holy Trinity, just as he learned as a boy.
Memories of his childhood flooded Rhys' mind. His parents had been devout Catholics before the demons had killed them. Perhaps faith had saved their souls, but it hadn't saved them from death. For a long time, he'd blamed himself for their deaths. It was only recently he was starting to realize that perhaps their deaths hadn't been in vain. Thinking on the past, debating whether or not to change it, had made him realize that maybe everything really did happen for a reason, even those things that were tragic and difficult to accept.
Lately, he felt as though he was on the very brink of discovery, understanding, enlightenment. Every step along the path had led him to where he was now. He was so very close to accomplishing his task. Once it was finished, what would be next' Would he finally be able to claim his reward and live a normal life, as he'd been promised" He hoped so, otherwise, what was the point of it all"
To save Mankind. The words came to him unbidden, perhaps from somewhere deep within that part of his soul that wasn't human, the part that was still angel, the part he didn't remember or understand. What other reason could there be? He'd chosen this task, or so he'd been told, but he didn't remember doing so.
Rhys made his way down the crimson-carpeted aisle toward the altar, looking up at the figure of the Crucified Christ that hung before him and wondering how He had endured such suffering. He came to a stop in front of the altar, genuflecting once, before going down onto his knees and bowing his head in prayer. Though he hadn't prayed in years, he recalled the words with ease.
Oh, my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended thee...
Tears filled his eyes as he silently recited the words, his heart heavy with anguish and grief, the doomed faces of those he'd had no choice but to kill haunting his memory and his dreams, starting with his own father.
"Please, forgive me," he whispered quietly, lifting his face to the statue before him, tears streaming down his face, his heart aching. "Forgive me and help me," he pleaded quietly, bowing his head and resting it against folded arms while he wept. He wasn't sure how long he knelt there, grief, anguish, guilt, and despair pouring from him, mingled with a heart-felt desire for freedom and redemption. He cried until he could cry no more and then looking up, he felt a hand on his shoulder.