The Only

Skin

Father Isaac could sense the end moving in like a thunderstorm on the horizon. The one hope he had to restore and complete his secret lover's work was through the man's daughter, Esther. She had been trained since birth to take Simon's place and fulfill her purpose. Yet, after one recent confrontation, her faith was shaken to the core; so much so that she had given it all up completely. He could hear it in her voice. Everything he and the girl's father had worked their entire lives to accomplish, was now nothing more than a fading idea that would never come to fruition.

He wanted to succumb to the gathering anger in his mind, but the old man knew wasting the last of his energy with negative thoughts wouldn't be productive. He no longer had the drive to keep pushing towards his goals. Without motivation, without a purpose in his life, he didn't have the strength to live anymore. Esther sacrificed her family's legacy for something the high ranking official did not quite understand, yet, Simon's final instructions to him were clear in this matter.

"If something happens to Esther and I'm not around," the man spoke through Father Isaac's memory, standing face to face with past versions of one another in the church antechamber. "If she is harmed or if she turns her back on our faith, I need you to do me a favor. If you determine all is lost, take the machine to the address I will provide and dispose of it. No matter what happens, we cannot allow it to fall into the hands of the government or others that will use it for evil. We are tasked with utilizing its energy in order to prevent death from falling upon this world. Others would use it for nefarious purposes. If we fail with our plans, humanity still has a chance – slim as it may be. I will place an envelope in the front cover of the ancient text that sits on your nightstand. Protect it and only open if all else is lost. Burn it if we succeed."

Isaac simply nodded.

The memory suddenly washed away from view like writing in wet sand being erased by the tickle of a tiny wave.

Having hung up with Esther, ending their conversation several hours prior, Isaac decided now was the time. They had failed; it was the only clarity in the man's mind. He took a few moments to come to peace with his thoughts and decision. It only made sense that he would use the last of his life-energy fulfilling Simon's final request.

He sat on the corner of his oversized-bed struggling to get a clear breath through his mouth and nose and into his lungs. The man wheezed and coughed as he dabbed small drops of crimson from the corners of his lips with a finely woven handkerchief. He slid a trembling finger along the envelope's folded flap until The Order's wax seal was broken. Isaac unfolded the page and read the handwriting of his deceased best friend, which sent a couple of tears down his face through the many cracks and wrinkles below his eyes.

When he finished reading the address and refolding the page, the elder slowly stood and made his way to the coatrack beside the entryway. He wiped his eyes with his sleeve then placed a dusty fedora on his head and turned to the full-length mirror, catching a glimpse of himself in the process. Forcing a smile through crooked teeth, the man stroked his long beard a couple of times, tightening the truss that brought wiry strips of silver together in the center. He looked at the feeble shell of a man that stared back at him, yet he barely recognized the visage he saw.

Father Isaac coughed then sighed, finally leaving the room. He ordered a much younger man, who was working the night shift at the church, lower in ranks, to help him move the machine from the basement to his car in the alley. Being the middle of the night, nobody was around but the two of them, and they performed their task with ease.

They placed the machine on a rolling cart, navigated it through the church, and loaded it into the vehicle beside the loading dock. The elder told the man not to speak of what they did until he returned, knowing he didn't plan on coming back.