The Savior of the Font

Chapter 10

 On the back of the seat in front of me, there's a gray tray table. On the bottom of the tray table, in the very center, there's a warning sticker about the weight limit of the tray and also that you should be careful not to pinch your fingers when you put the tray back up. I already know that the words on this sticker have been burned into my memory for the rest of my life, and that's because I've been staring directly at it for the last hour.

I don't think I've ever stayed quite so still for this long. I don't want to move. My mind just races as I sit here staring at the tray table in front of me. How is dad still alive? Surely the great Reverend Roberts would have floated, right? Has he just been hiding out here in farm country since the Rapture too? He's sitting several rows back from me; exactly how many and on which side of the aisle I don't know. There's nothing in this world that could get me to turn around and check. I don't know where exactly he is, but I swear I can feel his eyes on me. My skin crawls and my heart races.

I'm not entirely certain how to process this. I hate the man, especially after I learned from Faith what he did to her in that basement. Everything he's done is unforgivable. But hating your dad is a lot easier to do when you're certain you're never going to see him again. Him being here is a shock to my system. I mean, it's not like I don't have a bunch of great memories with him. They're memories that have been wallpapered over with nightmares of him torturing the woman I love, but looking in his eyes again caused some of that wallpaper to peel up. I hate how that feels.

The woman next to me has been quietly reading a book since we left. It's some fantasy book I'm guessing; the woman on the cover with the red hair had pointy ears like an elf. Out of the corner of my eye I see her close the book and tuck it into the seat pocket in front of her. She stands, stretches her legs, and heads for the back of the bus. I hold my breath. She's probably going to the bathroom, but that means dad has a chance to move over and sit next to me. Sure enough, not ten seconds goes by before he does exactly that.

"You can't sit there," I say coldly without turning to face him.

"Sweetheart, I just want to talk," he says. I'm used to that disgustingly saccharine tone. He always used it when he was trying to convince me of something. "Can't you at least talk to your old man?"
"I hate you," I choke out. I feel tears coming and I absolutely don't want that. I can fight them off, but not for much longer.

"Now surely you don't mean that," he responds. His hand rests on my knee and I slap it away.

"Don't you fucking touch me," I demand.

"When did you start using language like that?"

"Cut the crap, you hypocrite. I learned words like that from you when I was in diapers."

He sighs. "How have you been?" he asks.

"Go away," I mutter in reply.

"Go away? Molly, you're all I have left. It's a blessing our paths have crossed again. It pains me that you've forsaken the Kingdom of Heaven, but can't we at least try to be a family again?"

"You... you tortured her." I can barely get the words out, but it's all I can think about. The tears are here now and there's no stopping them. I see his hand move towards my knee again, but he stops. I guess something in that blackened heart of his still feels compelled to console me. "You kept her chained up like an animal for months."

"I did as my God commanded me," he insists. "I know you don't see that, because the Adversary led you away from the path of righteousness. I was trying to save the world, Molly. I hope you can understand that."

"I understand that you're a monster." I've still yet to look at him since he sat down. I can't bring myself to. "And you can shove your noble intentions up your ass, because you're not the saint you think you are."