DISCONTINUED

Chapter 58

Garreth had just started walking with no particular destination in mind. At one point he'd briefly considered heading right into town and turning himself in, and there's a good chance that he would have done just that had he not known that it would have almost certainly meant that he'd never see his daughter again. No, he'd wait and see Luna first then he'd simply go back with her when she left, come what may.

Maybe, just maybe I can bargain with them. It's me that they want.

C'mon G. Listen to yourself. There's no bargaining with these madmen. You must know that? Look at what they did to me.

Who knows... maybe they'd accept his surrender in exchange for Luna's safety as their offer - or rather their ultimatum - had suggested? He immediately snorted and sneered to himself. Yea, right. Like that was ever going to happen. He knew that they were just going to kill them both. Well, if they - he swallowed hard and closed his eyes tightly at the thought - if they... if they killed his Luna, then they'd just be doing him a favor by killing him too. It would save him the trouble of taking his own life, because at this point Luna was his only remaining reason to live.

"So, ha! Joke's on you!" he yelled to the wind.

He stopped and picked up a rock and threw it as hard as he could at a distant fencepost, missing it by a mile. He picked up another and again threw it as hard as he could. Again and again he tried, rock after rock. For ten minutes he stood and hurled rocks as hard as he could at that stupid post. At some point his mind turned it into a game, a challenge... like if he could just hit the post then they'd let his daughter live. His arm ached from trying, but somehow pain was the only thing that felt "good", so he kept on throwing, harder, faster, until finally he was forced to stop. He stood bent over, out of breath, hands on his knees. His eyes filled with tears.

Eventually he started walking again, at some point deciding to head for the old abandoned church that he'd discovered some time ago. It wasn't because he found it comforting, certainly not in any religious sense. It just happened to be a destination that was more or less in the direction he'd been heading, and it was a place where he could be alone. A place where he wouldn't have to listen to people, no matter how well intentioned they might be, pretending to have the slightest clue about what he should do or how he should feel.

An hour or so later he climbed the steps of the church and used his shoulder to force open the stubborn, warped door. He stepped inside, closing the door behind him, more out of habit than anything else. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dimly lit entryway, the space's only light provided by a small window at the opposite end of the room. Making his way to the double doors on his left, he pulled them open, squinting at the relative brightness of the sanctuary they revealed.

Large windows lined both sides of the room front to back - some of them were broken but most were still intact - and light shone through an ornate stained glass image at the far end, rays of sunshine creating visible patterns in the dust particles that floated in the air. As he stepped inside, he was startled by a bird that flew down from the rafters of the lofted ceiling and out one of the broken windows.

The place looked a lot like whatever little bit of weak faith he might have ever had in any 'higher power' now felt. Old, rundown and broken. Irrelevant.

He walked slowly up a center aisle that was flanked on either side by long wooden benches. Whenever he'd gone to church, which wasn't often, he'd always felt emotionally uncomfortable. 'Spiritually' uncomfortable he supposed, whatever that meant. By the look of these hard, wooden benches he could have been both spiritually and physically uncomfortable here. He wondered if that was the point. He sat down, not bothering to brush away the thick layer of dust. He wished for someone that would tell him how horrible he was... what a failure he was. He'd had enough of people trying to make him feel better and tell him that it wasn't his fault and that there was nothing he could have done when he knew different.

"God." He uttered the words aloud, not sure if it was a prayer or a curse.

He pulled a book out of the back of the bench in front of him and started flipping through it. It was a song book. He read the titles of the songs as he turned the pages. "Great is Thy Faithfulness", "Amazing Grace" ... "Oh God Our Help in Ages Past".

Are you kidding me!?!?

Garreth stood and launched the book across the room. He picked up another and sent it flying too, followed by another, then another until the back of the bench in front of him was void of books. He pushed against the bench itself and it loudly toppled over into the one in front of it, sending a plume of dust up in the air. He ran towards the front of the room, intending to knock over the podium that stood there, but on the way he tripped over a loose floor board and fell, crashing into what he assumed were communion plates and cups, sending them clattering noisily to the floor. He lay there among the scattered song books and whatever assorted religious stuff he'd no doubt now 'defiled', breathing heavily, with no real desire to get up. His eyes focused on some sort of fancy cup - a goblet or chalice or something - that lay on the floor next to him and he silently read the inscription on it.

'His blood was shed for thee.'

He's always found the belief odd. And, honestly, a little bit gross. A God whose best idea was to be nailed to a cross and bleed to death? It didn't really strike him as very God-like. And the fact that people still 'celebrated' that act by drinking wine that was supposed to remind them of His blood? Pretty weird stuff.

He slowly sat up and brushed his hands together, noticing for the first time that one of them was bloody. He looked closer. It was cut, but not too badly. Nevertheless, he felt that familiar fluttering in his stomach. He'd never been good with the sight of blood. His own or anyone else's. He smiled as he remembered the bet that he'd made, and lost, with Luna a few years back.

She'd been preaching about the importance of donating blood, particularly for he and Luna as the two of them were both O negative, a relatively rare type that was always needed. While Garreth couldn't argue with her, he also couldn't quite bring himself to do it. In the end he'd made what he'd felt was a very safe bet. If she somehow managed to get an 'A' in Math, then he'd go with her to give blood. Well, stubborn as she was, of course she'd found a way to manage an 'A-', which Julia as mediator had ruled was still an 'A' of sorts - telling him that he should have been more specific - so off to the blood bank they'd gone, only to have Garreth immediately faint when he couldn't stop himself from peaking at that first little vial fill up with blood as it flowed from his arm.

The look on his face slowly changed to one of contemplation as he sat and scratched his head. He gently pulled at the whiskers on his chin as a seed of an idea began to grow. He couldn't even articulate it yet, but nonetheless it was there. He rubbed his forehead, as if willing the idea to formulate in his mind.

He looked up and saw an image of the crucifixion depicted in the stained-glass window. Some figure was holding a cup in which they were catching their Savior's blood. His saving blood.

He glanced at the cup he'd knocked over and left lying on the floor, picking it up and re-reading the inscription. He placed it in front of him and sat staring at it, his fingers tapping nervously, somewhat excitedly, on the floor beside him.

Could that actually work? Maybe? He realized that he wasn't a doctor, but he was a scientist and with what he did know it didn't seem completely out of the realm of possibility.

His mind tried punching all kinds of holes in the plan, and there were many, but still, the more he thought about it the less crazy it seemed. At the very least it seemed like it might offer a chance. And right now, he was ready to jump at anything that stood a chance, however remote.

You can't play God like that G. You just can't.

Well, someone has to Jules, 'cause from where I'm standing God certainly isn't doing a very good job of playing God.

He got up and ran out ofthe church, not bothering to stop and close the door, and headed back towardscamp as quickly as he could. He continued running until he couldn't run anylonger, then he walked briskly - 'with a purpose' as Julia used to say -because for the first time in a long time he actually felt like he had apurpose.