"Deacon Ash"

Chapter 7: Chaos

"As in church deacon?" I asked.

"Something like that," Deacon Ash said.

I had begun to tell him my name and was cut short.

"Seth Jennings, I presume" he said.

He had looked in my direction, searching for me through his not-so-good vision.

Thunder rumbled and strong winds shook the house. The lights flickered low. Impervious to it all, Deacon Ash waited for me to confirm my identity.

"I forgot how word travels through this town," I said.

"Indeed it does," Deacon Ash said. "By the way, my friend's name is 'Chaos'."

"I finally know his name," I said.

"Was he a good boy?" Deacon Ash asked.

He slapped his companion on the flank with a frail hand.

"Well-behaved," I said.

"Good," Deacon Ash said.

I had observed him as he reacquainted himself with Chaos. All the while I had found it unfathomable that he was a deacon after recalling the state of the condemned church during my arrival to Blackwood. I thought that maybe there was another place of worship somewhere in the town that I was unaware of.

"Where's your church?" I asked.

"There is no more church," Deacon Ash said.

I was confused and I'm positive my expression showed although he was blind to it. I sensed that the sudden pause impelled him to explain. He did not disappoint.

"This body belonged to one of the deacons of the broken down church you probably used to attend up yonder," Deacon Ash said.

"So you're not a deacon anymore...as far as physically doing the church thing," I said, wondering what he meant by this body.

"I guess you could say that," Deacon Ash said.

"Okay," I said, more confused.

He had not answered as directly as I would have liked and it wasn't worth pursuing any further. I got up from the table and went to the kitchen counter for a refill of Jim Beam and coke.

"You want something to drink?" I asked.

"I could use something to wet my lips," Deacon Ash said.

"I have faucet water and coke," I said.

"How about some of that liquor you got over there," Deacon Ash said.

I had questioned if he were being sincere or facetious. As far as I was concerned he was a glorified church-goer and probably hoping to right my sinful ways. I wondered how in the hell he had seen my booze in the first place. It didn't matter. I chose to play his game and bring the drink to him as he had requested whether to be hospitable or to spite him in the face of his facetiousness.

"How do you want it?" I asked.

"Straight," Deacon Ash said.

I made my drink and then made his. He sang my late foster mother's favorite tune the entire time.

"...all our sins and griefs to bear, what a privilege to carry everything to God in prayer," he had finished with emphasis as I brought our drinks to the table.