One Silver Coin For a Pound of Demon

Chapter 22

Draft
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- [B. "As long as you repent sincerely, God will save your soul."]

"As long as you repent sincerely, God will save your soul." You say hurriedly.

Lemuel looks at you fixedly, and doesn't speak for a long time, an ominous foreboding sends chills down your spine. He doesn't yell at you, he's not giving the same crazy laugh he just did. He's also stopped crying, like all the strength he used to support his response had been drained. He looks at you for a while and says, "What if I don't repent?"

You become silent, at a loss. All the people you've met follow down the steps you gave them. They'll say I repent, whether it's sincere or not, as long as they claim they've repented, you'll be able to forgive me. Shouldn't things have gone this way? Wasn't this the routine? You've never met anyone who dares say "no" to the Lord's grace.

You panic, almost begging Lemuel to nod. There's no need to sincerely repent- such a disrespectful thought crosses your mind- all he has to do is nod vaguely, and once he promises to not make any more mistakes, you'll repent for him, forgive him no matter how deep his past guilt. But you can't vocalise your plea, how could a priest guide others to tell lies? You look at Lemuel pleadingly and he looks back at you. Like he had read your mind, Lemuel twitched the corners of his mouth wearily, it wasn't a smile, it was fleeting.

"I won't repent," He says.

That day ended in a daze, the next morning the post-it notes were blank and Lemuel lies on the couch with his eyes closed. He didn't want to talk to you, I didn't matter whether he was awake or not. You hope he'll be fine after a few days, but you can only hope.

You barely finish the morning's work, no one notices any difference, but you lost a pen cap. You search the church for more than ten minutes, but there's no trace of the pen cap. You have to give up, go to the supermarket, and buy the ingredients you bought that past day- you've seen Lemuel cook, you can at least follow through the movements. The supermarket's cash register is broken, shoppers complain, and you mechanically persuade them to stay calm. The ingredients taken out of the refrigerator forms cold water droplets in your hands, your head is pounding, and your heart is restless.

You finally get home, take out the key and open the door. All defenses are safe, the door is open in front of you, the TV and lights in the living room are turned off, and the quilt on the sofa had been folded. You smell traces of gunpowder and blood. You feel sick.

The hallway is empty, the living room is empty, and the bedroom is empty. You open the bathroom door, the smell of blood rushes to your face, the red color rushes into your vision. So bright and dazzling, you almost think that it's your eyes that are bleeding.

Lemuel is sitting in the bathtub, well dressed in shorts and trousers, a shirt and a coat, a formal outfit for going out. Of course, he can't go out now, because his tail, paws, and half of his head is no longer in place. Lemuel is sitting in the bathtub, the gun is at the bottom of the bathtub, and the blood is splattered on the bathroom wall like a torch frozen in time, already dry. He's very thoughtful, the bathroom is fully tiled and can be easy cleaned.

You charge at him, his hands are as cold as all the other corpse you've met. Suicide by the gun, its been more than three hours after death, probably shortly after you left the house. Your pistol is lying at the bottom of the tub, you haven't proofed it enough, you've stopped guarding against Lemuel and you thought... You get up in a daze, walking into the living room and looking around aimlessly, like there'd be a second Lemuel, undamaged, who would walk out of thin air. There's a notepad on the table, it's different from the ones you get when going out, some words were written on it.