Two Idiots and a Priest

chapter 7

"John, are you okay?" Mark asked after a deafening silence.

John looked at his friend, nodding. He reached up to feel his face, feeling the small dents in his skin where Amy's nails dug into his flesh, small specks of blood trickling down. The other two men appeared to grimace at the injuries.

"We better get outta here an' get that treated." Seán said, "Tonight's been a lil much."

"Couldn't agree more." Mark said with a nod.

John also nodded. He attempted to stand, but found his legs weak, leaving him almost falling on his face. The two men walked over to him, Mark helping him stand and allowing him to lean against the him. Seán picked up their flashlights and led the way back to the second floor, then the first floor.

Upon making it to the first floor, Seán stopped at the last step. Mark, confused, called to him.

"What's up?" He asked.

John looked up, then looked at where the Irishman was pointing. By the front door was a shotgun, wood worn and metal rusting. Seán finished his descent, the other two men following. He walked over to the shotgun, turning off his flashlight and stuffing it into his pocket and picking up the weapon. He checked the chamber where the bullets were held, finding only one shell. As his friends approached him, he turned, lowering the barrel of the weapon to point at the ground.

"It's a shotgun with one shell." He said.

"Just one?" Mark asked.

"Yes, that's what I jus' said." Seán said, deadpanned, "How the hell did this get here? Wasn't here when we walked inside."

John looked at the shotgun, an urge tugging at his body. He needed to do something, he could feel it. Like God commanded it.

It was telling him to KILL HER.

The priest stopped leaning against Mark. The two men looked at him, confused. After he could stand steady on his legs, he looked at Seán.

"Give me the gun." He said, trying to keep the urgency from his voice.

The Irishman's brows furrowed, suspicious. "Why?" He asked.

He was already growing impatient. If he was going to do this, he had to do it before Amy was gone. She could run away at any moment. He didn't give an immediate answer, racking his brain for a lie or an excuse. None came to him. He was always a terrible liar, anyways.

"I need to finish what I started." He stated.

"Isn't what you started the...?" Mark started, but trailed off.

His eyes were wide with realization. Seán looked at his black-haired friend, confused, then at the priest. He kept the shotgun close to his chest, grip tight on the weapon.

"I dunno what that means, but judging by the look Mark's givin' ya, I'm not lettin' you have it." He said sternly.

"Seán, just give it to me." John snapped, "I don't want to use force, but I will if I have to."

Seán gave a short laugh. "Two of us here ain't gonna let you have this. There's no way you--"

He was cut off as John threw his crucifix at the Irishman's face. He yelled in pain, grip loosening on the shotgun. John rushed forward and grabbed the gun, kneeing Seán in the gut when he didn't immediately let go. When the shotgun was in his hands, he pointed the barrel at Mark and Seán. They both froze, eyes wide as they looked at the priest. John knew that he must look like a madman -- holding his friends at gunpoint, simply because they wouldn't give him the shotgun. His angry expression softened to regret, his breathing labored and tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.