Two Idiots and a Priest

chapter 7

Forgive me, God. Please, forgive me...

YOU WILL BE FORGIVEN ONCE THE GIRL IS DEAD.

"I... I'm sorry." He mumbled, backpedaling to the door, "I need to do this."

Then, he whipped around, and ran out of the Martin house. Seán and Mark were still for a moment, but the black-haired man was quick to follow where John went, shouting his name. Seán followed him, knowing his friend would need the backup.

While the two chased John, the priest ran through the forest, almost blindly. He couldn't wipe the tears from his face, hands clutching the shotgun as if it were a lifeline. His legs burned, but the adrenaline pumping through his veins made it possible to keep going. He couldn't stop, lest he wanted Mark and Seán to catch him. Lord knows what they'd do to him if he was caught. The thought pushed himself to go faster, feet stamping against unkempt grass.

Finally, he found who he was looking for. Amy laid in a small clearing, motionless, blood splattered against the grass. Her body was cut badly from the glass and bruised from God-knows-what-else. John felt guilt suddenly encompass every fiber of his body, forcing him to stop.

He couldn't just kill her.

She was just a kid.

A CHILD POSSESSED BY THE DEVIL. HER SOUL IS TAINTED AND CANNOT BE SAVED.

John took a deep breath, adjusting his grip on the shotgun, and started his approach. Each step felt as if more weight was being added to his shoulders, but his will forced him forward. When he was an appropriate distance away, he raised the weapon. It took a moment to find the trigger, his hands suddenly clammy and slipping against the shotgun. He knew the weapon was loaded, so all he had to do was aim, and pull the trigger.

As he closed one eye, squinting at the girl with the other, he found himself shaking.

I can't do this.

Ỳ̸̨̛̠̞͚͔͑͒̅̓̈͘͝Ǫ̶̠̑Ü̶̬̱̤̳̻̪͈ ̶̡͖̓͒̓͜M̷̡͖̘̯͙̰̘̮̈́̀͆̽Ű̴̧̡̖̗͉͓̆̄̅́S̵̨̞̻͕̠͉̙͖͚̈́́̕̕͠T̶̝̣̻̭̘̜̜̙̐̓͛̾̊.̵̧̛͚̖͜

He took a deep breath, adjusted his aim, and went to fire.

Suddenly, something grabbed his arm harshly, and jerked him back. His finger slipped off the trigger, and the weapon was flung from his grip. John was thrown to the ground, head harshly hitting the grass and dirt. He groaned, head throbbing in pain, frantically looking around for the shotgun. He heard a voice yelling for him to stop and calm down, hands holding his arms down and a foot crushing his chest. His chest felt constricted, his breathing labored and his mind racing. He didn't know what to do. He failed to save Amy; he failed to put her out of her misery; he failed God. What was there for him to do?

He could only think of one thing to do, forced to the ground and away from the one thing that could provide him with mercy.

He screamed.

His shrill yell into the darkness filled the forest with his pain and failure. His screams snuffed out the yells and pleas for him to calm down and put a stop to his plan of killing the girl. Soon, John stopped, throat raw and chest heaving for breath. Tears streamed down his face, and he didn't care that the two men looming over him saw the whole thing.

Oh, right.

His friends.

Mark had pinned his arms to the ground, head upside-down from John's perspective. He held a look of worry, which confused the priest more than anything. Shouldn't he hate him, for pointing a gun at his chest and then fleeing to kill a child? Meanwhile, Seán still held a foot atop his chest, glaring down at him. Of course he wouldn't be as forgiving. John looked off to the side, seeing the shotgun, abandoned by all three men, taunting the priest with another failure added to the exhaustive laundry list of others. He quickly looked away, hearing Mark speaking to him.