Glory Be

Chapter Ten - The Priest

The sound of gunshots was unmistakable. Priest Merrick didn't tremble at the sound. The Sheriff was clearly hard at work, while he was finishing up enjoying the company of neighbors. He couldn't turn down an invitation from the Taylors for some dessert and conversation after the service.

When the violent blast reaped through the sky, Priest Merrick quickly comforted his hosts. Reminding them of their capable Sheriff. When then noises died down, the Priest excused himself. In these situations, his presence was good for onlookers. A position of moderation and peace. Then, once the criminals were taken care of, he'd speak to them. Giving them a chance to confess, and hopefully repent.

The Sheriff left his neighbor's house and returned to the street. He stopped to listen for any sign of where the ruckus was taking place, but a passerby quickly approached him.

"Priest Merrick, what's going on?" The worried man asked.

"I'm not sure just yet, but I'm sure everything is just alright." He quickly replied.

"But sir, I heard the gunshots coming from your church."

The priest's eyes widened, "What?" His heart began to race. Did the man mean, by the church? Or really from his church? Did an outlaw break in? Was his family hurt? He felt all the blood drain from his face.

"Gunshots, from inside church," The man repeated.

"I don't know anything about that," The Priest said, his mind running erratically, "I'm going there, immediately. May God be with you," He said, trying to politely leave as quick as he could. Priest Merrick began to walk rapidly to the church, occasionally jogging as the fear caught up with him. Once the steeple came into view, he could see the ajar doors. He raced to them, throwing himself into the chamber without hesitation.

His eyes immediately locked onto his son, who was sitting in the pews, head bowed at the cross, "Isaiah, what's going on?" He yelled, as he was out of breath, "Someone said there were gunshots coming from the church." The Priest approached down the aisle.

Isaiah jumped up from his seat and turned to face him. Stumbling to grasp the bench's armrest for support. His auburn curls were sweaty and stuck to his forehead, "Father," He replied, "There, um, there was, the," He stuttered.

"Get it out boy," The Priest demanded with anxious fear as he drew closer.

"The, the deputies, they shot a man," Isaiah panted out, "He came here for sanctuary, and they shot him."

The Priest stopped, his whole world freezing around the mention of the word: sanctuary. Suddenly the blood pool behind Isaiah became increasingly clear. It was wide, messy, and contrasted with the purity of the room. The smell of iron fled from the scene and found itself within his nose.

"What?" That couldn't be, they shot a man here? They drew blood in God's house? The Priest approached the pool of blood, with an uncertain glance, and confirmed to himself it was indeed real, "No... No!"

"I know, I know," Isaiah's voice was panicked.

The Priest turned back to him, "What did you see? What happened? Tell me everything!" The anger was overwhelming. It seeped into every one of his senses. The cross on the wall seemed to encroach on his vision and grow bigger every second. The stained-glass windows illuminated in reverence. Eyes watched him from every wall.

"I was just doing my chores, Father." Isaiah started, his hands gesturing all around him, "A man came flying in through the front doors and begged for sanctuary. He confessed he had done a horribly greedy thing and apologized repeatedly." Isaiah's mouth shook as he spoke, "But the deputies came in before I could go get help, they chased him, they fought on the ground, he must've pulled his gun on them, because the other deputy shot it out of his hand."