EPILOGUE
1
On Christmas Eve, Tyler was in the delivery room holding Sasha Karras’s hand as she endured a particularly painful birthing. Large beads of sweat speckled her forehead and her cheeks turned white from grinding her jaw. She squeezed his hand as hard as she could and breathed heavily through clenched teeth with spit rolling down her chin.
He was only doing this because Dad said it was the right thing to do. He wasn’t going to be Sasha’s lover or this baby’s father, but he had an obligation to be here for the product of his making. Dad wanted him to adopt the child, but Tyler talked him out of that, thank God. Tyler would never survive that. He couldn’t take care of a baby. Dad certainly wasn’t in any condition to do so, either.
And definitely not Mom.
When the child was born and first placed in Sasha’s arms, a strange wave of heat filled Tyler’s body and he wondered what it would be like to take responsibility for this baby, to raise him as a son. She asked if he wanted to hold the baby but Tyler declined. Holding the kid would be too much.
Later, in a hospital room of her own, baby still in her arms, Sasha cooed to the newborn and smiled when he gurgled back. “He’s beautiful,” she said.
“Yes,” Tyler agreed.
“I”m going to name him Brendan.”
When Tyler left, he sat in his car in the parking lot until his nerves settled. She wasn’t going to name the baby Brendan, or anything for that matter. The baby was immediately going up for adoption. The paperwork had already been taken care of, but Sasha had forgotten all about it.
She’d forgotten about a lot of things, though the doctors and the police never fully believed her. She needed a lot of treatment, they said. She was seriously deranged and possibly violent. Tyler thought of her smile when the baby reached for her with its chubby arm and then he thought of the restraint straps dangling from her bed and the swollen bruise in the crook of her elbow where the staff had to constantly inject her with sedative. He thought of Sasha’s mother and spells and curses. He thought about all of this and wondered if it meant anything.
2
Anthony had gotten rid of the pills. All the pills. The house now held only one bottle of vitamins and he didn’t even take them. When he suffered headaches, he suffered through them. What was a headache in the grand scheme of things?
Still, Chloe managed to find something, always something. The last time she was released, she drank two bottles of Listerine and stabbed herself in the thigh with a butter knife. He thought that was going to be it for her, but the paramedics arrived and shoved a big tube down her throat, pumped out all the fluid and stopped the gushing wound in her leg.
Now the house was bare. No alcohol. No drugs. No sharp objects. There was nothing she could use to hurt herself, to try to return to her comatose splendor. She would try, Anthony knew that. She’d get creative and maybe even manage to kill herself.
She had been in rehab three times since Easter and even a short stay at the Psychiatric Center. The doctors told him it was his decision. So, he took her back and straight to the bed she went. She refused to eat anything but a piece of bread or two every other day and an occasional sip of water.
He spent most days in bed with her, petting her hair and talking about the time Before Everything Went to Hell. They had once been a happy family, one full of love and noise. Now the house was quiet and cold.
He tried to stay away from the bad memories. When the dark images tried to invade his mind, he pushed them away, mostly. Every now and again, however, they’d grab hold and trap him.
“I hope he’s okay,” Anthony said to her. She had fallen into a restless sleep. Her eyelids twitched as did her arms and legs. She woke with a gasp, grabbed the pillow so hard her knuckles threatened to break through the skin. He petted her. She bit the pillow and screamed until her face turned red and she passed out.
“I hope he’s at least happy and safe. That’s all I want for him. Safety and happiness.”
That wasn’t completely true, of course; what he wanted was to find Dwayne and use pliers to rip out every one of his teeth and then slice off his eyelids and piss on his face and then slowly cut open his chest from neck to crotch until his guts spilled out and he finally died. That’s what he really wanted.
The police had searched the First Church of Jesus Christ the Empowered, taken numerous testimonies, but it added up to nothing. They never even found Dr. Carroll, though Anthony never mentioned him, either.
The world rarely gave you what you wanted and when it did, it was quick to snatch it away. The world was a cruel place filled with cruel people. Most nights, Anthony figured it would be better if everyone just died. Then he would think of his son and hope Brendan was laughing somewhere.
The hope of his son laughing, more than any other thing, kept him alive. Once he let that go, he’d let everything else go, too. Brendan had vanished on Good Friday, the day Jesus was crucified. Easter had brought no ascension.
Christmas eve, Anthony lay in bed next to Chloe and hoped that when he got up in the morning, he’d discover Brendan asleep in his bedroom. If God really existed, if there was any truth to any of that Bible shit at all, Brendan would be there in the morning.
Anthony dreamed of Brendan’s laughter and woke up crying in the dark.
3
The Christmas Eve Mass had been lit completely with candles. It reminded Brendan of The Empowerment Temple. This new church had its own Jesus on the Cross behind the altar but this one wore regal gowns and a golden crown and stared out at the parishioners with hopeful eyes. Brendan would see the Giant Jesus with its huge, sorrowful eyes and soiled rags whenever he went to bed. In the darkness, it would be there, waiting for him.
Dwayne held Brendan’s hand as they exited the church into a chilly night. They were staying in a house with four other people, all members of the old Church of Jesus Christ the Empowered. The one woman was pregnant with Dwayne’s child. Brendan wondered what would happen after the child was born. Would Dwayne still talk to him? Would he still love him?
“You seem sad,” Dwayne said when they were in the car.
“I never knew God would want so much from me.”
Dwayne was nodding.
“I lost my entire family.” Tyler and Dad seemed like distant relatives now and would eventually drift into small memories that were so faded they couldn’t be recalled. He wondered every so often if they missed him. Did they even spend time searching for him? “I’ve done everything God asked.”
“You have.”
“So why does He keep taking from me?”
Dwayne took a moment to respond. “God brought you to me. God has given us a new life here in this town. God wants us to do good. He has a plan for us. We will start a new church, regroup, and continue to do His will. You may feel like He is taking from you, but if you really look at it, you will see that when He takes, He gives back tenfold.”
Lying on an air mattress in a spare bedroom that night, Brendan thought of Dwayne’s words. God had not given him anything tenfold. God had only taken and taken. This was not a new home; this was banishment from his real home. These people were not his new family; they were impostors. God was a thief who would eventually take all Brendan had.
Dwayne crept into the room much later. Brendan pretended to be asleep, as he always did when Dwayne made these night trips. He sat next to Brendan’s bed and breathed slowly. The rhythm of his breathing almost lulled Brendan to sleep.
“You’re such a special boy,” Dwayne said. “It’s so amazing how God has blessed you.”
Brendan pushed his face into the pillow to stop his tears. He had accepted God’s way, but he had never expected it would be so painful.