As God Intended

What God Wants Most To Avoid

"Well then, why don't we all just try to go back to bed?" Mary suggested at last. "Maybe this is all some shared fever dream, and we just need to go back to sleep and forget about it."
"If only." The priest muttered, staying seated all the while the Watsons got to their feet and gathered up their empty tea cups. As Mary shuffled away with their discarded glassware John lingered behind, leaning across the altar and observing the priest's sunken head, his dark curls falling over his eyes and shadowing the concerned expression upon his face.
"John, do you have the time?" Father Holmes asked at last. John nodded, looking towards his watch and seeing with some dread that it was well past midnight.
"About three o'clock now." John announced.
"Witching hour." The priest murmured under his breath, sending some unneeded chills down John's spine.
"What sort of talk is that? Are you trying to scare me half to death?" John demanded. The priest chuckled quietly, lifting up his head and leaning against his fist for a moment. It was very strange how tightly his skin was arranged, it hardly even wrinkled as he leaned his weight upon it! The more John was able to stare the more recognizable the man became, and suddenly each feature of his was undeniably a young adaptation of the old priest he had come to know. But this, well John had to admit that this version of Father Holmes was much more preferable. Perhaps he had carried along his temper for the ride, though there was a spark of life within the priest that made him a much more pleasant person to be around. He was beautiful enough to compensate for his sharp tongue, which was undoubtedly how he grew to be such a nasty adult. With nothing to shield the eyes from the rotten core, all anyone saw from the old man was his offensive behavior and snarling mouth. The priest's eyes were growing heavy now, as if exhaustion was setting in. For a moment he hesitated, drawing his fingernails across the altar with a small, distasteful scraping sound. He looked nervous, as if he was summoning courage from within his restored heart.
"I wonder if I would be allowed to spend the night in the church?" Father Holmes asked at last, his voice coming out in a small, timid squeak. John's eyes narrowed, for a brief moment imagining the priest lying horizontally at the foot of their bed.
"On the couch?" John asked suddenly, a rather stupid question the more he thought of it over.
"Well of course on the couch!" the priest exclaimed in agreement, finally dropping his hand away from his chin and supporting the whole of his head's weight on his neck alone.
"I mean I'm fine with it, but I've got to wonder why you wouldn't rather your own bed." John admitted. The priest sighed, as if he was embarrassed about his main cause.
"Well, I don't know. If this really is the Devil's work then he might be close, and I'm not very much in the mood to deal with him alone. Besides, this is a holy place, something that will keep any of the evil presences away for the remainder of the night." The priest admitted quietly.
"So you're afraid to be alone in the dark, that's what I'm gathering." John chuckled.
"When you say it like that it's not very heroic!" Father Holmes defended. John finally straightened up, hearing his wife's approaching footsteps coming up from behind.
"Mary, we're having a sleep over." John announced with a grin.
"Oh delightful." She exclaimed with a clap. "Just like middle school."
"Yes well, your husband has been so kind to lend me the couch." Father Holmes admitted with a respectful bow of his head. John sighed heavily, letting his hands drop into his pockets as he looked towards some of the boxes which were still stacked behind the altar. He figured their extra blankets must be hidden away in their somewhere, as they had not yet found all of the ones they had kept draped across the couch in their old apartment.
"Let's see if we can find some blankets and pillows." John announced.
"I'll only need one of each; really I don't want to be a bother. In fact I can sleep as is, if it's more convenient for everyone." The Father offered quickly.
"No, no. The box is right there, I see it under the table cloths." Mary assured.
"I can use one of those!" exclaimed the priest, to which John finally clapped a hand upon his back, trying to silence him as effectively as possible.
"When we say it's no bother, we're not lying." John assured, nodding his head as if trying to force Father Holmes to mimic him. The priest gave a nervous little smile, but finally silenced himself. Obviously he was not used to be being treated like a guest, and therefore had no idea how to act when people went out of their way to make him feel comfortable. At last Mary yanked the box free from its neighbors, tearing open the masking tape and pulling out the blankets and pillows which had been squished between the cardboard.
"Two of each, Mary." John instructed. Father Holmes opened his mouth to protest, though he figured it was no use to try to complain. Perhaps he couldn't even formulate an argument, considering it was a very odd and unnecessary request.
"What, one for his head and the other for his feet?" Mary scoffed.
"No, I'll stay down here with him." John assured. "He's still trembling."
"Mr. Watson, please don't inconvenience yourself." The man begged, finally turning towards John with his eyes wide and entreating. John sighed, giving him a soft smile and patting him upon the shoulder once more. It was almost delightful, continually getting excuses to touch the priest.
"I've slept in this church myself, and if there's any place that makes you feel like there's a demon staring upon you, it's here. Besides, I'm wide awake and I know Mary hates it when I toss and turn." John assured.
"It's true, God he's a nightmare." Mary groaned. Father Holmes chuckled nervously, though at last nodded his head in thanks.
"Alright then, it really will be a true slumber party." The priest agreed, thanking Mary as she handed him his blanket and pillow for the evening. John doubted that Father Holmes had ever been to a 'true' slumber party in his life, though in an effort to be kinder to the man he kept his mouth shut. For some reason he imagined Father Holmes having been a proper hermit for his entire life, birthed with a white collar around his neck and growing continually into his deep, developed frown. John chose the yellow couch on the left, for he knew it to be much less comfortable than the black leather one on the opposite side. Even if Father Holmes couldn't tell the difference from where he stood he still seemed a bit hesitant, though thankfully he had stopped issuing apologies. Perhaps he was still unsure about why he had requested such accommodations, and as John threw down his pillow onto the couch he also wondered why he had gone through such troubles to accompany him. Neither man had any firm reasons for staying, except perhaps that they felt a strange need to stay together. It was as if Father Holmes felt safer within the reach of another man, and John felt stronger when in his presence.
"Don't stay up too late boys. If I hear anyone playing truth or dare I'm going to come right down here and send Father Holmes home." Mary warned, waving around a sarcastic finger as if trying to play the part of the strict mother.
"Playing what?" Father Holmes clarified, giving the Watsons a strange look of curiosity.
"It's too late for that, Father. Just go to bed." he instructed, bidding his wife goodnight and collapsing into the cushions of his chosen couch. It was admittedly very uncomfortable, but for the sake of his guest he wouldn't make a noise against it. He could feel the springs poking up through the thin cushions, prodding him in the back and squeaking whenever he readjusted himself. As he arranged his blanket up to his chin the lights went out above, obviously Mary had found her way into her own bed and was ready to fall back to sleep for these precious few hours. John rolled over noisily, straining his eyes through the darkness to make out the silhouette of his neighbor, lying across the couch with his socked feet dangling over the opposite edge. The blanket didn't reach the length of his body, though John knew the priest would feel much too uncomfortable to ask for another. He had a much smaller build now that his age had been melted away, as if along with the wrinkles his years of accumulation had also fallen off. His limbs were almost frighteningly thin, and when lying upon the dense leather sofa his body was hardly distinguishable through the darkness. If it was not for his unruly curls John may never have known where his head was lying, and he never would have been able to catch a reflection of moonlight in the eyes that were staring right across the table in his direction. Suddenly John shivered, readjusting himself and shooting his glance back towards the ceiling, as if trying to pretend he had never been caught staring. Well what choice did he have, really, when faced with a magical man on the other side of his makeshift living room? John felt as if he would never get bored of staring into that face, being that it had been blessed back into its proper form. Say what you will about blessing and curses, about the work of God or the Devil. Perhaps Satan really was behind the transformation, but that face had been sculpted by the hands of the creator. John had never seen so beautiful of a man, and he now understood what advantages the Devil might have when bringing it back from the grave of old age. He wouldn't only be tempting the priest with some fraternizing; he would also be tempting the rest of the world out of any of their previous commitments. Sending such a specimen into the world, such a soft hearted, timid man with the face of an angel, it was going to be catching hearts all over the town. It would be chaos, certainly. Just what the Devil thrived on and what God most wanted to avoid. John smirked, at last rolling away so that his back could face the priest. He pulled his blanket over top of his head, listening to the silence hard enough to make out Father Holmes's deep breaths from the other side of the room. It was a peaceful lullaby, steady and deep enough to lull John into his own sleep for the remaining hours of the night.