The Saviors of Maria

Chapter 2 (revised)

"Chapter 2"

~Nine years later~

"I just don't know what I can do to fix him." Charlotte cries, in tears.

Charlotte is lying down on a coffee brown couch in the middle of Dr. Hall's office. Dr. Hall is sitting across the room writing in a notepad on his dark mahogany desk. The room was engulfed in calm, natural dark greens and chocolate browns. The ornate bookshelf behind his desk towers over their figures even when standing, and the walls are coated with a dark forest green.

"Mrs. Kirby, why don't you start again?" Dr. Hall comforted her. "I can't help you or your son without enough information."

"It's Miss Kirby, Doctor." Charlotte croaked. "And it's just that...he-"

Charlotte Kirby took a tissue from her bag and expelled the pain and anguish from her body into it, only for more to build from inside her.

"He's so distant from everyone; he doesn't make friends his own age." Charlotte rants with tears in her eyes. "All he does is lock himself in his room, do his homework, and read through Dad's old journals over and over again."

"He looks through his father's journals?" Dr. Hall replied.

"His grandfather's, actually." Charlotte corrected him. "His father doesn't know he exists."

"Interesting." The doctor comments, writing down more notes on his notepad. "What do they consist of, if you don't mind me asking?"

"My father performed many experiments on the human brain." Charlotte explained to him. "He catalogued his progress in them. Some of the experiments were...questionable, but it brought in one hell of a profit."

"Would you say that Arthur is fixated on them, Miss Kirby, perhaps obsessed?" Dr. Hall inquired, questing for a diagnosis.

"I guess you could say that." She responded.

Dr. Hall wrote more notes in his notepad, deep in thought.

"Miss Kirby, it is very hard to make a proper diagnosis without meeting the boy." He hypothesized. "Perhaps we could schedule a time for us to have a chat?"

"He would love that, actually." Charlotte told him. "He has always wanted to be analyzed by a psychiatrist."

"When would he want to start?"

~Five years earlier~

Arthur was four years old when the trouble started. It was a stormy Sunday morning, and his mother, Charlotte, drove through the ice and rain and mush to attend mass as usual. It was the first time she had brought Arthur with her to church after his baptism. After all, Arthur cried constantly those days, so much that she couldn't even be in a place of worship with a child that would never stop disturbing any peace to be had. His personal storm had passed for that fortnight.

Arthur held on to his mother's leg as they entered the holy place, itching his thighs that were assaulted by the sensation of abrasive wool. He was bombarded with the loud chatter in what he thought would be a place of calm. There was so much color and movement in the room, it was almost overwhelming. The chatter and the noise engulfed him in an envelope of chaos and fear. The bright colors in the room strained his eyes as the sound circled him like primitive people would dance around the bonfire. Charlotte was utterly oblivious to her son's overwhelmed state.

They each sat in one of the pews, Arthur's nervous mother handing him coloring books. Arthur flipped through them, disregarding the crayons. He casted them to the side and crossed his arms, seeing little stimulation within the pages.

"What is it now?" Charlotte sighed in frustration.

"What did I tell you about patronizing me, Mother?" He whispered to her. "Why didn't you bring my dictionary?"

"I thought this would be more fun for you, honey." She replied quietly, flashing an aggressively cheery smile, trying to prevent stares from other churchgoers.

"What is your definition of fun, Mother?" He asked her, less discreetly.

"Fine, Arthur, you can watch the sermon." Charlotte sighed, defeated.

"It'll be better than the coloring books." Arthur grumbled to himself, slouching in the pews and itching his legs even more.

His mother sighed again, performing the nearly impossible feat of giving her attention to the preacher as he entered while hovering over Arthur from her peripheral vision. The preacher was a middle-aged woman in long, ornate robes. Her mousy straw-like hair is tied back neatly in a bun.

"Good morning, children of God." The preacher screamed accompanied with large hand gestures.

Arthur flinched in his seat, heart beating faster.

"I wish I could say that The Lord is smiling down on the United States of America today." She continued, getting louder and louder. "But, frankly, excuse my language, I am pissed, royally pissed."

Charlotte nodded along with the congregation, not noticing her son fidgeting in his seat. Sweat was dripping from Arthur's brow.

"I am pissed, because the Holy Spirit is not with our government in these dark times." She ranted as the congregation hummed in approval. "They dare discredit and devalue our Christian faith for the sake of all the sinners that claim to be victims. They are no victims in the eyes of the Lord, for he is powerful and all-knowing. Fire will rain down on America in the End Times. The Lord shows no mercy to those who turn against His teachings in the Bible, for it is stated in Leviticus that a man who lays with a man as he would a woman is an abomination. All abominations must be destroyed!"

"Praise!" An older woman close to Arthur and Charlotte cheered, making Arthur scoot closer and closer to his mother.

"Here, here!" A man across the room praised, giving Arthur the jitters.

Arthur whimpered softly into his mother's arm, the sound of the congregation's exclamations engulfing him. Charlotte shushed him, combing his dark hair through her fingers. His heartbeat rang clearly in his ear as he made quick, shallow breaths.

"May The Lord judge those who have sinned and show no remorse!" The preacher exclaimed. "May The Lord forgive those who plead for forgiveness!"

Arthur snapped. He cried and screamed into his mother's arm, wrapping around her like a boa-constrictor. Charlotte held him to her, leaving the church. The congregation stared at Arthur as she escorted his distressed self away from the church. In that congregation, Arthur became known as the Antichrist. Charlotte never made Arthur go to church again.

"Some mothers just don't know how to discipline."