Hell's Detective

Chapter Nineteen- The Children of Hollowsville

There was a flutter of wings as everything around Follows changed. The priests' basement melted away into a dingy bathroom. The tiles were cracked, dirt smearing the mirrors.

Zadrian let go of his shoulder. Follows launched at him.

"No," he cried. "What have you done?! Take me back!"

"There's nothing you can do," Zadrian said solemnly.

The hell there was. Bloomsbury's father was dead, and it was his fault.

"We can save him!" He pushed Zadrian's chest. He had to move, to go back, to do something.

Zadrian caught his wrists and held him. "His soul has departed this plane. I felt it."

Follows struggled, but it was no use. His grip was like a vice. "Then what good are we?!" he yelled. "We have to go back. Bloomsbury needs us."

Zadrian tilted his head and gave him a funny look, as if this act of compassion was completely beyond him.

"Would us being there lessen her pain in any way?" he asked, like he was talking to a particularly dim-witted child.

"No." Follows had lost enough people to know that no amount of good willed company could change anything.

"Then there's no point," Zadrian said briskly. "We have more important things to worry about."

Follows' fists clenched. "More important? It's our fault, Zadrian! We didn't stop the demon. We didn't save him! And now everything that happens next is on us. You said God chose me for a reason. So far all he's done is put another death on my hands." His shoulders shook and tears burned in his eyes. Slowly, Zadrian let go of him. "We have to go back."

"You can't save everyone, Follows. The dead aren't your responsibility."

Suddenly, Follows hated him. Hated him for being able to say that. Hated him for not being burdened by the guilt that was crushing him. Hated him for not seeing the faces of those he had failed to save every night. Hated him for being so bloody impartial.

"Well, they should be," Follows said.

Zadrian ignored him. "We're running out of time. I need you to-"

"No," Follows said.

"What?"

"I said no. You told me if I didn't believe after I met the priests, I could leave. Well, I don't believe. I don't believe God chose me, I don't believe he gives a damn about this world, and I don't believe there is anything you, me, or anyone else can do to save it."

"Something went wrong," Zadrian said. "It happens. You can't abandon your Faith because of one little failure."

"Little failure?!" Follows cried. "Her father is dead, Zadrian. Do you understand that?! She dedicated her whole life to God, risked everything time and time again, and what did he do? He took the only family she had. What kind of loving God does that?"

"God didn't take Pastor Bloomsbury away. The Devil did."

"Well, God sure as hell didn't lift a finger to save him. I'm done."

Zadrian raised an eyebrow. "Are you really? Do you think you can do that, turn your back on all this? On all the people who need saving?"

"No," Follows said, taking a step back. Someone had died right in front of him and he wanted to help like any normal human would, and Zadrian was acting like he was having a tantrum. "Don't do that, don't use people to get to me. You don't even know people, their hopes, their pain. You just do what you're told. That's all you are, a soldier. You don't even have feelings, so don't you dare try to manipulate mine."