THE CHURCH OF BLOOD

Chapter Four - Dark Sunday

     The news of the five altar boys' horrible demise hit the television news and internet/newspaper media hard.  The sorrow felt, not only by the friends and families of the deceased but by all, was heavy.  The news was a shocking blow to the various Catholic parishes throughout the city and surrounding vicinities but to the diocese, as well.  Letters of sympathy were sent to the grieving families from the diocese, and funeral arrangements for all five boys were arranged respectively among willing parishes to accommodate the dolefail affairs.
The Lady of Our Faith closed its doors the following Sunday, which would be today marking the first day of the parish's week-long closing, if possibly not longer.  For now, the invite was extended toward those of the faithful from the Lady of Our Faith congregation to attend services at other Anglican traditions.
     Father Clark of Christ's Sacred Heart's ecclesial community stood at the entrance of his particular parish, personally greeting those filing into the foyer in attendance.  There was a solemnized feel to the air.  Two of the families of the deceased were among the thronged, showing by faith that although their lives were tested by the recent atrocity, they could by that faith still trust in God and continue on.  Faith in the Divine was the best way for them to find comfort and a sense of belonging and meaning
     Before long, Father Clark stepped up to the rostrum after the opening hymn and processional, greeting all with a benevolent smile.  "In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit," he announced with the sign of the cross.  "Amen."
     The parishioners sat back down.
     "I wish you all a good morning and peace," Father Clark continued, "although it is a solemn morning.  I need not, I pray, go into details at this time as to the loss felt by all, especially the families, is enough a burden at just the thought alone.  If there are any who, for whatever reason, may not feel the need to continue with the service because of your grief and wish to leave, I'll understand.  Be assured, that Christ suffered loss of John the Baptist at the hands of Herd the tetrarch and that he, too, grieved, having gone off by himself to spend time alone with the Father and, as usual, the disciples and the crowds found him, and it was back to business, as usual.  I hope with words of encouragement that I can say that life does continue, and that the doors of fellowship and love not only lie at the feet of our Blessed Savior but also among us, his blessed flock.  My love and sympathy to all.  Now, may we proceed with the reading of the Word.

                           ****

     An hour and a half after service, Father Clark visited the home of Eldridge and Anita Ettison.  Their one and only child Antony had recently been released from the hospital with instructions for more rest for at least a day or two.  If not Monday then possibly Tuesday, Antony could return to school.  Anita was particularly delighted to have her son back in the arms of his parents.  The poor woman was one to stress uncommonly over any and all matters beyond her control, her husband the exact opposite.  Anita greatly desired for Father Clark to come to their residence and administer the sacrament of communion, as she was attending to the needs of her son and been unable to attend church.  Her husband, however, was not a religious man.  Father Clark was more than happy to oblige as it afforded him the opportunity to discuss the strange drawing found in Antony's person the night he was discovered in his room convulsing.
     Father Clark rang the doorbell and didn't have long to wait as Anita answered in only a few brief moments.
     "Father Clark," she beamed.  "Come in."
     "Thank you."  He stepped inside.  "How are you feeling?"
     "Much better," she answered as she closed the door.  "Much better now that Antony's home."
     "Good to hear."
     "Come into the kitchen, Father.  I'll make us some tea."
     He followed the small woman through the spacious home and into the pantry, sitting down at the table.
     Anita set the tea kettle on the stove and set two cups on the table.  "I apologize for my husband.  He went to get some items for dinner this morning.  You're welcome to join us, if you like."
     "Oh no, don't go through all that trouble," Father Clark replied.  "Sunday afternoons are usually spent with my family on my mother's side."
     "Oh?  Do they live close to hear or--?"
     "No.  Just outside the city, actually.  My mother, bless her heart, she so looks forward to my visits.  She always makes me apple pie in a jar for dessert.  Enjoyed it ever since I can remember as a kid."
     "And your father?  How is he?"
     "He passed away at an earlier age.  Cancer."
     "I'm sorry to hear that."  Anita retrieved the tea as the kettle started to whistle.  "What would you like in your tea, Father?"
     "Just a little milk is all."
     Anita prepared the cups of tea then sat down adjacent from her guest.  "Be careful.  It's quite hot."
     Father Clark stirred his tea.  "Thank you."  He paused a moment before continuing.  "Anita, before I start with communion , I need to ask you something."
     "What is it, Father?"
     "It's about the drawing you found," he explained.  "Have you asked Antony what it was since he's been home?"
     Anita shook her head.  "No.  I'd rather not talk about it.  Since that day you visited him in the hospital, I haven't mentioned it and I'd rather not."
     Father Clark nodded understandably.
     "Why, Father?  Have you found out anything?"
     "I sent a copy of it to a friend of mine, a professor at a university near here.  He's in agreement with me that those letters were closer to the Hebrew language.  Other than that, he's not sure.  He had a copy sent to a colleague of his who's a professor of the occult."
     Anita almost choked on her tea.  "The occult?"
     "Yes, I'm afraid.  But there's a good chance it may not be.  Let's not assume just yet."
     "But what if it is, Father?  What are we gonna do?"  Her eyes radiated fear.
     Father Clark placed a hand over hers, a weighty expression on his face.  "You leave that to me."
                           ****