Preacher's Daughter - Ethan Jailer (First Draft)

11. Televangelism

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"Ethel?"
The girl cracked open her eyes, weak and frail from everything that had happened to her. The room filled with the light of the early morning, lighting away the once terrifying darkness. Her eyes focused to see the preacher's wife standing over her.
    "Mom?"

    Her voice was just barely audible, but the woman smiled in recognition and kneeled down towards Ethel's body.
    "Hi Ethel."
    The girl's dry lips curled up into a smile, her body becoming surrounded by the warmth of the sunlight and the presence of her mother. Each cut was no longer stinging; her blood was no longer steadily flowing out of her. After everything that had happened, she finally felt like she made it back home.
    "How did you get here?" The preacher's wife asked, her smile softening into a concerned look. Her hand raised and slowly brushed Ethel's tangled hair out of her glistening eyes.
    "I don't know."
    The girl's voice was full of pain and regret for every decision that has led to this moment. She should have never left home— she should have never gotten into that truck. She should have never trusted Isaiah.
    "I'm so sorry for leaving you, this is all my fault," Ethel said, her cheeks flushing red in sorrow as tears began to glide down her bruised cheeks. Her mother shushed her softly, wiping the tears away from the cuts along the sides of her face.
    "It's going to be okay."

"I promise."

    The comforting smile returned on the older woman's face as her fingertips ran down Ethel's arm. Her angelic voice brought a blanket of peace over Ethel during her final moments of life.
    "Can you stay with me?" Ethel asked, sniffling while the older woman brought her hand back over her head.
    "Of course I will," she said, sighing as she looked down at her daughter's face reflecting the rising sun's light.
    "I'll always be here."
    Ethel smiled into her mother's embrace, closing her eyes for the last time in the attic filled with the day's sunshine. It was like the light from the window was growing brighter and brighter until it enveloped her entire body with a pure, infinite white.

What I wouldn't give to be in church this Sunday
Listenin' to the choir so heartfelt, all singing:

"God loves you,
but not enough to save you."

    The sun's warm touch painted across Ethel's pale skin and shone across her green eyes as she sat on the steps to the porch of Isaiah's cabin. Letters were being scribbled vigorously onto the journal on her lap from her left hand as her eyes were deep in concentration.
The grass riddled with clovers and dandelions surrounded her as she wrote, the trees towering over the cabin swaying with the slow breeze with nothing but the sweet calling of doves and the wind being audible.
She didn't know if this was purgatory— or some form of her own person hell for whatever she had done— but she didn't care. All she cared about was the hope that her mother was okay... even if it meant she could never be allowed to witness that.
Ethel had always known nobody was coming to save her. Or anyone was looking over her during the worst times of her life. Yet, she always had that thought in her mind— the one saying she was wrong all along and she would be saved all day. Maybe, just maybe, if I prayed enough, and I followed every rule the bible established, and I was just good enough...
But not even that thought was on her mind anymore after she watched Isaiah shove her body into a large freezer in the basement of his cabin. She thought she had given up her faith that night in the motel room with Logan, but that time was now.
It was funny, even through all these so-called lovers she had encountered, the beautiful house in Nebraska with Willoughby remained stuck to her. If only Ethel had known that Will really did make it to that house— but not in a way that she could ever expect. Much like how she could never expect Isaiah to be a member of the Daughters of Cain. That might be even funnier; through all of the events that had happened to her, she never once humored the idea that her family was part of a cult. Maybe then Ethel would realize that she was set up for failure since the say she was born. But she didn't care. She never really did.

And I'm still praying for that house in Nebraska...
By the highway, out on the edge of town.
Dancing with the windows open...
I can't let go when something's broken.
It's all I know,

and it's all I wanna know.

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