MARIEL

7 ~Initiate the Release of Souls~

As the young woman's voice sang 'Amazing Grace' through the cabin, rustling trees broke the soft whistle of the wind outside in the darkness. It'd been threatening to storm all day. Earlier in the day, dark clouds had formed just before sunset, and water droplets had promised a more intense session of rain.

That rain was coming.

Phil Jameson could feel it.

But, that wasn't his concern at this moment.

Candlelight flickered, casting a warm, orange glow in the living room where a wooden pulpit stood in front of the fireplace. As Phil held the Bible to his chest, his eyes scanned the room, noting the placement of his daughter and his wife.

Clutching her hands at her front, Hailey stood to the right of the pulpit. In seemingly deep concentration, her eyes shifted throughout the room as her wet lips moved in tremorous song. To the average listener, her voice was acceptable. Clear. Easy to understand. 'Striking each music note as each music note SHOULD be gotdamned struck' as Phil's old white-haired, gap-toothed, godless, cigarette-smoking, lesbian teacher used to exclaim during his youngster years in high school music class.

However, Hailey's voice shook a little, and sounded somewhat hoarse, probably due to the random onset of allergies she'd developed here in this godforsaken forest. However, she should have been practicing, should have been able to overcome such human flaws for the glory of God. To the world, her voice was acceptable.

But to Phil Jameson, it was unacceptable.

"Stop!" Phil raised his hand as his voice thundered in the room, breaking the peaceful sound of the song. He stopped his procession forward, standing stiffly in the entrance of the living room. His hand tightened against the Bible he held to his chest.

With a startled gasp, Hailey stopped singing. Her lips trembled and her eyes darted to her mother Carolyn, who stood on the other side of the pulpit with her head bent low. Despite the abrupt song ending, Carolyn did not budge. Her hands were also clasped together, and her thumbs danced together as she stared blankly at the floor.

"Did you not practice, Hailey?" Phil huffed. He felt his freckled nostrils flare. He'd raised his daughter better than this.

"I practiced."

"Hmm, you sound like a broken record."

"I did practice!"

Phil felt enraged pressure building within his chest. "Do not raise your voice at me. This is God's house. This is my house!" He shouted.

"Dear, the house is technically owned by the government."

That woman. Carolyn. His resurrected wife. And that tone she'd acquired after he'd so graciously brought her to life, and then allowed her to take his life for the glory of God and the saving of the world.

As another surge of rage increased the blood pressure to his head, Phil grinded his teeth and spoke slowly. "Carolyn... now is not the time."

"I'm sorry, dear."

"Repent to the Lord."

"Yes, dear." Carolyn bent her head.

For a quiet moment, Phil assessed the room again. With a flushed face, Hailey stood poised to sing again on her father's command, and Carolyn muttered repentant prayers. Despite the feeling of impending disaster upon his current "church", Phil felt a surge of adrenaline, a level of confidence that he'd never felt before. This would be good. Souls saved. The Heavens abundant. He'd been a lawyer for a reason, a defender of the public, a career long practice that would indeed benefit him now as the defender of Christianity... the defender of souls.