Sins of Smoke

A Familiar Face

[Saturday 12th July, 08:47am]        

I can hear car doors slamming outside. The sirens have ground to a halt yet the lights continue to scan through the stains of the window adding to the cornucopia of colour that dazzles the booth. With the sun confident in its sky residency I can see the world outside the glass of the chapel in full technicolour. The officers have taken off their hats allowing their balding heads to cool in the heat as they stroll around my muck-covered car, writing notes on tiny pads of paper. I now know that I have no hope of leaving this looking like the good guy. Replaying the story back has allowed me to see how it all looks, to see what it might sound like from the other side, and positive is not the word I'd use to describe it. Is it all my fault? No. Not in the slightest. Yet I don't believe the officers may have the patience to hear this story. And what evidence have I got in my corner? Nothing. Just Dennis's blood stains on my shirt and the fact that I fled the scene.

Fuck you, Kenny. Fuck you.

Sure, we've never exactly been sidekicks in a superhero movie, but I thought our bond stretched far enough that he'd give me the benefit of the doubt. That he'd give me the chance to get a word in edgeways when he opened the door, Sarah in tow, giggling like a couple of horny teens hungry for a spanking and saw me struggling to lift Dennis's bloody corpse from me. Pa's knife fell out my hand when he opened the door and his jaw dropped so low I was worried he'd lick the blood off the floor. With a quick command he sent Sarah upstairs (little knowing what crowned the top) and after the screams and some heated shouting he pulled out his gun and I ran for the car. I drove for the hills and found this place.

I guess that old saying fits well here. You made your bed, you lie in it. Though, in truth, I feel more like a guest at a messed up hotel. It was never my bed, but here I lie.

In the parking lot outside I see the two officers confirming what they thought. Yes, it's my car. Yes, I'm inside. They check their guns, signal to each other, crouch and advance.

I turn for the last time to see the old preacher's face. Worn, sweating, patient. I look at the silver scar that lines my palm, a reminder of the blood oath we shared. Steam rises from the mark transforming slowly into blackness as the scar burns with a fire I can bear. Closing my eyes I feel myself slip gently down into the familiar thick, dark mist that enshrouds and pulls me under. When I open them once more I have risen and Father Harrison stands before me.

I see the tears in his eyes as he looks at me. Not fear, but recognition. The name Harrison fades instantly from the preacher figure as my heart begins to race. His features now crystal-clear before my eyes I remember every angle of his face. Every mole and mark. A million thoughts cross my mind as I remember the pain that he once caused us, and I think to everything that I had ever wanted to say whenever he appeared in my dreams. Though the words fail to come.

Despite my anger and confusion, one word leaves my lips as a tear rolls down my cheek.

'Pa?