Glory Be

Chapter Forty-One

Sydney sleuthed through the back alleys of the town. Ducking under poorly built balconies and window shuttered. The taste of Isaiah's skin against his lips echoed in his brain. He'd have that again soon. All of this will be over soon, and they could get back to their lives together. Peaceful, but secret.

The jail came into view. It was just one story, and no one was hanging around the back. A wooden door hung slightly ajar against the slight breeze. It seemed almost too easy. Although Sydney had no idea where it actually led.

Quietly he approached the door. He squinted through the opening. Only peering into a hallway wall. Sydney swallowed down any fear he had with a prepped alibi, and carefully opened the door. At first, he didn't see anything, just my hallway wall and a stool.

Then his gaze shifted.

Deputy Seth, Falcon, and the jail cell half open.

"The last hurrah is here," Falcon grinned.

. . .

Isaiah's father shot him a nasty look. Most likely brought on by the stress of a ticking clock. That was too bad though. Isaiah had words to speak and a mouth which refused to be shut any longer.

"Right now?" The Reverend strained.

"Please." Isaiah replied.

"... Fine."

The Reverend opened the church doors back up again and the two of them slid through. The hinges slammed hard behind them. Blocking out the cloudy light to an evenly lit entryway.

"What is it?" His father asked, as he fiddled with his bible.

Isaiah pointed a finger at it. Gulping suddenly before retracting his hand.

"It's about a verse."

"Really? Now?"

"It's important," Isaiah said, "Can you turn to the book of John?"

His father gave a reluctant look but did so anyways. His fingers trailed across the long-loved pages. The creases and indents far greater than any wrinkle on his face. Then they arrived at John.

"Could you be more specific Isaiah, or are you just trying to waste my time?"

Isaiah fully tensed up; his father's temper was showing. He had been so careful lately, but no, of course this was going to evoke some sort of reaction.

"John 8," Isaiah said, "8:3"

With another sigh, his father flipped through the pages. Isaiah watched him land on John 8:3. He watched his father read the lines with a furrowed brow. Then he slammed the bible shut.

"Do you have something to say, Isaiah?"

"Yes, I do," He answered, "We are not without sin, we have no right casting any stone towards someone who has committed sin. Certainly not directly as the church. We should not be facilitating this."

Isaiah watched his father's face contort around. His face strained from making a frown, but his eyes shot bullets into Isaiah.

"You."

"I've been thinking about this for a long time."

"End this talk."

"You need to hear me out father," Isaiah begged.