Sunday, November 22, 2009

Chapter Twenty Six

If there wasn’t death I think you couldn’t go on. - Stevie Smith






Chapter Twenty Six


A group of twenty men, and six women, sat in a circle of metal folding chairs in the recreation room at the Church of Peace of Christ. Only half the flourescent lights were on. The pastor couldn’t afford the electricity to keep the lights on. In the far corner of the room, ignored and dusty, was a foosball table, and a freestanding basketball hoop. Next to the wall was a table with a coffee maker and a plate with cookies. The table was a few steps away from the circle of chairs.


Some of the people present wore their ceremonial garb, while others were dressed in conservative street clothing. There were monks, priests, pastors, preachers, rabbis, nuns, clerics, and others.


The one thing every member of this group had in common was that no one had been in their churches since the news that death had ceased.


Many religious leaders had indeed formed thuggish street gangs, going out and “converting” individuals foolish enough to walk through those parts of town at night.


This group, however, considered themselves above such religious hooliganism. They were looking at the big picture. They wanted the big prize, not a momentary rush and small amount of cash.


One of the men spoke, “I think we’ve exhausted our peaceful options.”


A woman, with silver hair and a rough voice, asked, “What do you have in mind?”


“I think we need to restore the order of death.”


Another man spoke then, “And how, exactly, do you propose we do so? You may have noticed that the militaries have been doing a terrible job of killing one another recently. Why would we have any more success than them? They’re trained to kill people and they can’t pull it off.”


“I think we will succeed because we have God on our side.”


“I think if God was on our side, people would still be coming to church and we wouldn’t be in this mess.”


“Well, perhaps we could get a different god on our side.”


“You don’t mean?”


“Yes. I expect Satan would be most pleased if he had a fresh flow of souls coming in to Hell again.”


“That’s heresy! It’s traitorous! It’s...”

“It’s business.”


One of the women stood. “I want nothing to do with this.”


She walked out of the room. Two more members of the group, a monk in his robes and a woman in her priestly garb, also stood and left. The rest of the group watched them go in silence. The sound of the door shutting behind them seemed quite loud.


Father Adamson cleared his throat then.


“Can I assume the rest of you believe this is the best course of action, then?”


There were murmurs of assent.


“Excellent.”


Father Adamson stood. “If you’ll excuse me, I believe I have some research to do. Summoning Satan is not one of the topics I studied in seminary. Until next week?”


The rest of the group stood, and made small talk on their way out of the recreation room. Father Adamson and Pastor Brown, the head pastor of The Church of Peace of Christ, who stayed behind to lock up, were alone then.


“Well, that was easy,” Pastor Brown said.


“Quite,” Father Adamson said. “Have a good day, Pastor.”


Father Adamson left the church then and walked out to his car, an old, black Ford Crown Victoria. He was friends with a university librarian. He hoped she might be able to help him find the information they needed. Satan could be a powerful ally, but also a tricky business partner. There was much to learn.


As he drove away, he waved to Pastor Brown, who had just locked up the main doors of the church and was walking to his own car.


Father Adamson drove directly from the Church of Peace of Christ to his home. The most direct path was along surface streets through downtown. As he drove, he saw a group of men in black suits harassing a pair of young women.


“Morticians” he muttered, disgusted. “Good for nothing bums.”

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