Dead Moon Chapel

nineteen

DOWN THE STREET, IN A calmer part of the borough, a small church sat between a grocery store and a shoemaker's shop. The lawn around it was turning brown, and the garden was full of wilting flowers. When Abel opened the iron gate, it squealed in protest. The church looked like it could fit a few dozen people, but it seemed as though no more than five ever attended services at once.

It wasn't a Sunday, and the imposing half-moon hung in the night sky. Naturally, the church was locked. Jericho made use of her putrid spell while Abel's eyes studiously avoided the sky until the door fell open with a groan.

Two rows of pews lined either side of the aisle leading up to an altar. A statue of an angel stood in front of a stained glass window, which cast an array of colors over the room with the light of the city. It was the smallest church Abel had ever been in.

"How are you not burning up right now?" Abel asked Jericho as she walked inside without an issue.

Jericho shrugged. "I've never had a problem with hallowed ground. Mother always told me I was a defective demon."

Mother. There it was again. Abel wanted to ask about her, but Jericho was already walking up to the altar. She draped herself over it, looking down at Abel with a grin.

"Come on in, I won't bite," she said. "The church is more afraid of you than you are of it, I promise."

Abel laughed, cheeks warming, and he stepped further into the church. He settled into a pew at the front, looking up at Jericho from where he sat. "So what did you want to do?"

Jericho shrugged. "I dunno. Sin. Or talk about sin. Whatever floats your boat."

"Uh-huh..."

She turned onto her stomach, propping her chin on her hands. Her heeled boots kicked idly in the air. "What's your favorite thing we've done so far?"

Abel tipped his head back, running his hands over his face. "None of them, because what we're doing is wrong, and I take no pleasure in it."

"Alright," Jericho laughed. "Now what do you think?"

A blank stare. "I just said what I think."

"No, you recited a script because you feel you're obligated to give me that answer," she told him pointedly. "Consider it another sin if you want. Ignore that voice in your head telling you what you're supposed to feel and tell me what you actually feel."

A heavy feeling weighed down Abel's chest. Longing; he wanted her to be right. And fear; he was going against everything he believed in since he was a child. There was nothing more daunting than the prospect of abandoning what was known in favor of temporary pleasure. What would he do if he had nothing to believe in? No certainty to cling to? Abel was still a child in his heart, hoping for a promise that someone would keep him safe when the world was so dangerous.

"I liked... the club," he muttered. He toyed with his own hand. "I liked destroying myself. It felt nice, to be able to ignore the feeling that I was being watched. I felt lost and dizzy and I should've been scared, but for the first time, there wasn't any pain."

Jericho watched him with intent, black eyes taking in everything he said.

"Suffering is honorable," Abel went on. "That's what I've always been taught. No one ever said it that way, but it's what they all meant to say." His hand swiped away at a tear before it could reach his cheek. "We aren't supposed to choose comfort; change and repentance require pain. It's what God wants for us. It's why we're on this Earth. To be tested, to see if we will choose Him over our own worldly happiness. And I know it's selfish of me, but I... really liked the comfort of not feeling anything. I crave it now, being comfortable."