Church buildings have a very distinct smell. One that Alex enjoyed. The cloying odor of burnt incense, its sweet smell lulling you. And the scent of something old and moist, a wet fear creeping inside your marrow. For him it was an old fear, the memory of being afraid. Alex lifted the head from his lap and the man awoke.
“Are you leaving? W’time is it?” his eyes still glazed with sleep.
“Yeah, it’s late enough, father. You’ll do what I asked you, won’t you? I won’t have to ask again?”
“N-no, no, I’ll do it. I just wish you’d tell me why. I don’t want to commit any more sins than I—”
“With all due respect, father. You don’t know sins. What you do against God, what you do means nothing… I need this, God needs this. I have seen too many would-be-Gods damn mankind for too long. It needs to stop. I can and so I will.”
“Azaezel, I scoured scripture for your name. I only know we were to give you your proper due, in goats. This is going far beyond livestock.”
“I prefer, Alex and I don’t need food, I need an army.”
“Twelve children do not an army make.”
“You’re right, I alone constitute an army. I need servants.”
Alex found his pants and buckled up. He slipped into his shoes and grabbed his ever present black jacket. He rubbed at his chin, smoothing the hair there.
“If it’s servants you need, why didn’t you tell me? You know I’d serve you loyally,” his eyes filled, “Why don’t you want me to go?”
Alex lifted the man’s face brushed his tears away and kissed his eyelids, savoring the salt, the smell. He looked into the lean priest’s face with something akin to pity. Father Scolliogne was a handsome, almost man. He was soft, pliant, and innocent. Alex loved him for these qualities, but was equally repulsed by them. To be human is to be lost, he reasoned. The temptations of mortality were great but the rewards few, petty he felt. Yet he knew as they may never understand him fully, he would never really know them. Gods, not matter how deluded, can never be human.
“You can’t come with me, Anthony. Your time is not yet. You don’t want to share their fate, trust me.”
“How do you know? How do you know what’s in my soul? Only the one true God knows. Take me. Please.”
“You’re right. I don’t know, but I won’t curse you either. Tomorrow night.”
He disappeared in silence. One moment he was there, the next, gone. No whoosh of wind, no crack of static, no pop of space time. There was only silence. Father Scolliogne swept up loose strands of hair back onto his head. He was slick with sweat. He’d obey Azaezel. He’d deliver the twelve to the home of his earthly master. He didn’t dare refuse him and only wished he could serve him more.
* * * *
The following night the church van crept up the long drive-way. The young would-be missionaries sang in preparation for the vigil. It was important to pray and worship on behalf of a needy soul. Father Scolliogne drove with sad eyes and a smiling mouth. He parked the van in the underground garage. The teens looked on in awe at the palatial estate spread out before them. They barely noticed how dark it was.
