DECEMBER JANE

James will not, should not, die

James had never felt pain greater.

As he walked out of the worship space, where that girl Laori stood to watch him leave, something of a sore started to form on his back. It started almost with the feeling of a bruise, or maybe several. But by the time he had walked down to the community hall on the lower floor, he cowered. The bruised feeling dissolved into the hellish burn of acid. It ate away from the inside of his skin. He cried out, but immediately straightened his posture. No one was to see him like this.

His father, who must have heard it, walked into the room behind him. "Are you alright, James?"

The pain was disassembling him. James shook his head with the remaining strength he had. His father frowned. "What's the matter?"

"My back..." The pain choked him. James could barely speak. His cassock was gripping him now.

"Your back...?" His father prodded.

James' clothes began to seal him. His heart pounded. "Get it off," he panicked. His hands tugged desperately at his cassock. "Get it off of me."

His father did not wait to help him rip the black robe off. James was close to tears now, only able to communicate in desperate sobs. When the cassock he had worn was tossed to the floor, his father could only gasp.

Something that James could not see was on his back.

"What is it?!" James cried.

His father was quiet. "We can't take you anywhere... there's no way..." he trailed off.

"What?!" James asked again. "Will a doctor help?! Please get me--"

"A doctor wouldn't know what to do."

James halted. "What?" He watched his father lean down and grab his robe from the floor. James remained writhing and kneeled on the carpet.

His father looked at him, his eyes a perfect picture of dread, and held his air.

"I would say it's in God's hands," he muttered. "But sometimes, son, it's reasonable to doubt."