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Act I: The Interview

Chapter I: The Beginning of Something Glorious

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 Act I: The Interview

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 Act II: The Chapel

Chapter V: Algernon in the Lion's Den

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Act II: The Chapel

Chapter II: Holy Communion

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"For the bread of God is the bread that comes down from heaven and gives life to the world.”

John 6:33

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  This was not normal. This was so far from it that Algernon could almost perceive he had stepped into another world. And for all intents and purposes, he had. They lived disconnected from the outside, from the universe that revolved so slowly and in tandem with everything they had let pass them by. It was like going back in time, were there not minute reminders of the present around every corner. They may dress all in white, they may look like mindless drones, but there were tiny things in the way they posed themselves that would remind Algernon of something he had seen or read.

  He did not like being perceived as one of their sinners to reach salvation. He would not walk blindly into their embraces. He put on a smile and a charming laugh and he kept his eyes calm even when he still felt fear burning behind them. He had stepped up with shaky feet but now steadied himself. Weakness was not to be shown in front of the pastor.

  He would have found this whole predicament amusing had it not been a delicate balancing act. Watching from afar, Algernon would have been talking about plot holes and how both of them were too aware of each other. But in the moment, his head was full of fog as he waited for Daniel’s response. He had stood quietly with a pleasant smile, like he too was a faithful parishioner, willing to partake so long as Daniel did, like following in his footsteps. He knew that the other was aware of what he’d done. It wasn’t like Daniel had bad memory, in Algernon’s experience, and he was becoming more than alerted to the fact he may be in danger at any moment he spent with the other.

  It didn’t exactly stop him, but it sure put a damper on things.

  He had examined his wafer by rubbing his thumb over it’s surface. It felt normal, and he held it carefully so as not to break it. He watched Daniel carefully, eyes examining the other and his motions and his words. He was well aware of all of the parishioners watching, and if Daniel tried to poison him here, would it not be an inconvenience? They would surely see him falling to the ground.

  Unless…

  The sight of everyone so absorbed in the moment was… unsettling.They were all so involved in his mere partaking in communion. It was like they all had nothing better to do, and then he remembered that they likely did not. What privacy could one have in this compound? What gossip? He did not bow his head. He watched their faces and their bodies and how they all seemed to be in the midst of holy ecstasy at the fact he was “joining” them. He could not understand how they could be so damn blind to this man’s games. But, he supposed, when you look at everything with rose colored glasses…

  He didn’t finish his thought by the time the amen rang out. Algernon took the cup and as he pressed it to his lips, he remembered all of the instances he had heard of people being drugged or poisoned and then it came to pass that a panic overtook his hand, but not all the same of unconscious panic. He knew what he was doing. Daniel had violated his rules, and so he violated the sanctity of communion.

  The cup did not so much as fly from Algernon’s hand as he “accidentally” let it “move” from his hand to Daniel’s shirt. He had been stepping forward as though to embrace him in a show of affection, let us be one in Jesus Christ, brother! But then he “stumbled” over his own feet. The wine went in Daniel’s direction and Algernon feigned shock.

  "Oh crap- oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!“ He apologized with a large frown, his eyes softening, "Oh crap, that looks- gee, sorry! I guess I should watch where I step!”

  He had pressed his fingers delicately over his mouth in a showing of his shock. And by doing so, the wafer slipped from his hands and onto the floor, and as the word “step” left his mouth, he moved his foot forward, effectively crushing the thin wafer beneath his right shoe.

  He had to suppress a smirk. He may have severely messed up, but it was worth it to see Daniel’s white clothes soiled with red.

  Daniel couldn’t help but feel a smug sense of satisfaction as he held the goblet out. It was a trick that had worked more than once, and even as Algernon had protested food or drink before his arrival, he was about to walk directly into the same trap.

  Then.

  There was a collective gasp from the pews. They saw it before Daniel did, and by then it was too late. Seeing the goblet topple towards him, he acted on a reflex, trying to jump back to avoid the collision, but everything happened so fast and the cold, wet stain spread across his chest and down his stomach before he could even catch up and realize exactly what it was Algernon had done.

  His own breath was lodged in his throat for a moment, like he was trying to swallow an eruption. He'd had just about enough of Algernon, today, and this was just icing on the cake. He had the nerve - the unmitigated gall- to humiliate him in front of his own congregation.

  Daniel had to physically bite back to urge to snap at his unwelcomed guest. Not here, not now, not with all these people watching. But surely Algernon knew what kind of a terrible misstep he’d just taken. He would make damn sure he knew, and he was going to make damn sure he regretted it. Unfortunately, there was still the matter of his audience. He was still on stage, still a kind man of God in the eyes of his church.

  Daniel knew that Algernon had no such preconceptions of him. As far as he was concerned, there was no need for pretending around him, and the moment he had him alone he fully intended to level with him about the whole ordeal. But for now:

  “That’s allright, friend!” he said, with a bouncy little laugh, as though he were willing to just brush the whole incident right off. He wasn’t. “Accidents happen, after all!” This whole meeting had been an accident in its own right. But still, he remained gracious, kept smiling. He felt his eye twitch. Still dripping with wine, he stooped down, scooping up the pieces of the wafer that Algernon had accidentally dropped in his surprise, depositing them into a little tureen to be disposed of later.

  Silently, Daniel swore, a long stream of unpleasant phrases and thoughts about his new companion reeling through his head at high speed. Algernon was too stubborn to be subdued like this. He had to find another way. There was always another way. Nobody was infallible. Everyone had a weakness, something that he could manipulate, something that he could use to bend them.

  Daniel, very delicately, closed the box, his fingers lingering on the corners of the lid for several long seconds before he looked back up at Algernon with a bright, stiff smile. “Our Lord works in mysterious ways, and apparently has a sense of humor!”

  His words were bright, cheerful, and ice cold. Maybe, had Algernon come to Lamb’s Pointe, asked his questions, sought his faith, and left, things would have been different. But he hadn’t. He’d come into their Garden of Eden, a snake looking to pry them apart. He’d come in, threatened the church, threatened Daniel, and thrown communion, quite literally, in his face. Algernon had fought Daniel every step of the way, and now he was going to lay in the bed he’d made.

  “I would consider this,” He gestured towards his ruined shirt, “an… unconventional ‘welcome home,’ Algernon.”

  It had been the glimmer in Daniel’s eyes that had tipped him off. When he was younger, he would ramble all about his interests to anyone who would listen, and even when the other stopped talking, everything about them spoke loudly because he would read their faces. Their lips. The way they shifted their body - towards or away from him - and how they brushed him off. And eyes, in his experience, never lied. No, it was the silver tongues and the bright laughs and the teeth showing in sneers and cheers. And when Algernon saw the teeth showing smiles and the glimmer in his eyes, he knew something was amiss.

  The collective gasp was like that in a comedy, and it took a lot out of Algernon to not laugh, to not guffaw and fill the chapel with his amusement. He just acted shocked, like he was absolutely and whole-heartedly upset with both himself and the turn of events. He had a delicate look about the way he made his face look so sad, so upset he didn’t get to properly take communion. He was measuring out the time in his mind. His tape had about a half hour, maybe less. He had to hurry this shit along. He had to act like he had all the time in the world while simultaneously being hyperaware of the sun, the shadows, and the potential snap of the record button bouncing back. If that happened when someone else was around, he’d be in deep trouble.

  God? If you’re out there…

  The flash of anger in the other - subdued though it was - made Algernon feel more than a little smug. He was doing his job. He was being a total and complete nuisance to someone who had caused so much pain, so much suffering under the guise of it all being for the good of God. Or so he could know and assume, based on the interview, based on the people he met. He was fighting himself not to show any amusement, his hands fumbling behind his back, pinching the ball of his palm on his right hand. Keep it together.

  Of course, he was more than a little concerned. Not for the other, but for himself. When he was alone with Daniel, what could he expect? He tensed a little at the thought. The other was bound to find some way to corner him again. He expected nothing less. But he was unable to come up with a solution to get out. All evening he had been doing his damn best to make Daniel feel like he was outmaneuvered, one-upped at every corner, but what would happen when Daniel caught on? Algernon kept up the ruse on the outside, laughing with Daniel, but his chest was already aching.

  The fact Daniel had managed to brush it all off was concerning. He smiled and chuckled. “Yeah! Sorry, sometimes I’m a little clumsy,” He rubbed the back of his neck. Clumsy with his body. With his head. With his words and his manners and everything about him. He felt unsteady all of the sudden, like he was out of ideas. He did feel a little guilty for crushing that wafer on the floor. He didn’t like to make a mess.

  But for self preservation, he had no choice, of course.

  "I’ve always heard the same,“ He agreed with a nod, "God makes us all come together in funny and unconventional ways!”

  He felt like whenever Daniel spoke he was being tossed with ice cold water, soaked in it, bathed in the fury of the other. It was like being in the middle of arctic winds, knowing he would not survive if he did not build a fire, fight back. So he fought back with his inquisitions and his accusations and his clumsy fumbling with the goblet. He would not let himself die out in the cold here. He would be done with this hellish task soon, and on to the next.

  He was reconsidering whether or not he even wanted to continue to interview cultists after this, but what could be unexpected after a strange day like this one? If he survived Daniel’s hell, he would surely be able to withstand many more.

  When he spoke the last line, his blood felt like antifreeze. This was not home, this would never be home, never, never.

  Daniel swallowed his anger for now, taking a deep breath, one after the other, and trying to quell the heat in his chest, trying to keep it from reaching his cheeks as the pews fell silent again.

  “Well, it’s lucky evening sermon was over already, or I’d be one very uncomfortable preacher.” Daniel held his arms out, looking down at the wine stain. His voice was strained, like he was trying to keep the act together a little too hard. “I’d ought to go change. I don’t want to walk around looking like I just stabbed someone!” He laughed, and there was a ripple of laughter from some of the parishioners. Now that Daniel mentioned it, he was like a sight straight out of hell. It was all too easy to imagine the deep stains that had splattered across his chest and lap were something much harder to clean than just red wine.

  Daniel was trying. They were running out of options, here. He was trying to make this easy for Algernon, but he just kept pushing and fighting every step of the way. He was making things more difficult than they had to be, and as a result, Daniel’s hand would be forced, one way or another.

  He liked to play by a certain set of rules. He liked to put on a persona for the outside world, and did his best to never let that mask falter. They could see what his parishioners often couldn’t, and that made it all the more dangerous. So they had to be handled with a little more care. But there had to come a point where Daniel would draw the line. He couldn’t allow the outside world to waltz into his Eden and burn it to the ground. The fires Algernon had kindled needed to be dowsed.

  "Come with me back to the dorm hall - I’ve got one more thing to show you on the way to my room, then I’ll need to change.” He nodded curtly, with a smile. “Amy, would you mind leading evening prayer? Start with the call to worship, and then the Mysteries.”

  She seemed very happy to oblige, putting the little box and the bottle of wine back in their place before she opened the great book that sat on the podium. As Daniel led Algernon away - the pastor’s grip on his shoulders strikingly firm - the pair could hear the prayer begin, Amy’s voice like a song behind them.

  ”Bless our God, O people,
let the sound of God’s praise be heard,
who has kept us among the land of the living,
and has not let our feet slip.“

  A low boiling anger was rising in his chest as he forcefully guided his guest down the empty halls. Everyone was in the Chapel, preforming their evening prayer, just like every evening at precisely this time. Lamb’s Pointe had been a concerning place when it was bustling with people, but now, devoid of even the unnatural sea of white, it just felt wrong. Everything was too bright, too clean, too staged.

  Daniel wasn’t naive, he wasn’t blind to what he was doing here. He was keenly aware of the nature of what went on behind these walls, and he knew what a place like this could do to people. He’d orchestrated this place himself, down to every last little function of the compound. He wouldn’t lie to himself and say that Lamb’s Pointe was anything more than what he’d intended it to be from the very beginning - a trap.

  Just how good a trap it was, Daniel would find out soon.

  It was cold and clear like ice - his “welcome home” wasn’t a pleasantry, or an invitation into his flock. The grin and the sharp look in his eye, the absolute burning fury just below him composed exterior, told a different story.

  Algernon wasn’t leaving Lamb’s Pointe.

  He didn’t want to say anything in front of everyone, but frankly, Daniel looked pissed. This fact both delighted and now, after some thought - which he seemed to not be capable of half the time - it also frightened him. Terrified, even. Because a very angry cult leader was a very, very bad situation. Especially one as cunning as Daniel.

  Algernon had to hand it to the guy, he had not expected anything to be this horrifying, but here he was, starting to get genuinely worried.

  He laughed at Daniel’s joke, but it was now evident there was a hint of nervous energy in the way the sounds left his lips, lilting off, bouncing, the breaths popping from his lungs almost mechanically. The stain that had been the sight of amusement now sent sickening nauseous waves through Algernon. It was all too easy to imagine the wine as blood - his blood - and his brain reeled with the idea. This was no longer the Garden of Eden. This was Armageddon, the final battlefield, and he wasn’t wearing armor. He had wished he was armed but he never knew it would go this far. His only savior lied in his pocket and was slowly running out, running down, and he knew the moment that snap echoed he would be done for.

  The only indication Algernon had that he had perturbed the pastor was the look in his eyes. It was the look of scrambling for a plan, reforming, coming together. He swallowed. He just pushed a grin onto his lips and directed it at Daniel, pressing his cap back onto his head, brim forward to hide his eyes once again. No gathering information of his expressions, he would not let the other read him.

  It was a boy playing with matches in the gas station. It was a man flicking a cigarette in a house fire. It was Eden burning, it was the casting of Adam and Eve from their home. It was a loaded gun, and Algernon was fiddling with the trigger. Because as he looked at Daniel he knew that the other would not give up. He didn’t expect him to. This was his home, his community, his ego-stroking powertrip. He almost could sympathize; if he had spent years working out the world’s greatest scam, he would hate it to be taken from him, too.

  He wanted to slap himself for that, for thinking even for a mere millisecond he could sympathize with the man that was actively trying to keep him here. He was no prisoner. It was freedom or die trying, and Algernon was going to ensure his own deathlessness, his own freedom.

  The idea of going anywhere alone with Daniel was enough to send Algernon into a mild panic. He did not move for a good moment, standing firm, listening to the offer. To the other parishioners it likely did not sound off. But for Algernon it was like telling him to hand the butcher the knife, and to lay down on the cutting board. He looked to Amy and half-hoped she would notice how in his eyes was this fleck, this tiny gleam of fear, but she didn’t and she only obliged to Daniel’s request.

  It was a funeral march. Algernon likened the situation to walking beside his own casket, carried through the halls to be blessed by this man whose hands were sin and tinged and tainted, and then be laid to rest in all he had made. His own bed was his own coffin.

  He almost wanted to turn around, but he thought this was the moment. He had to put his words into use now or never and he was not exactly keen on the never.

  He slipped his fingers under Daniel’s. He did not force his hand off with much strength - he would not let the other know if he had potential to be a physical threat, if indeed he were - and looked to Daniel with a smile. A look of, ‘Could you hold on?’ with a gleam of innocence in the curve of his mouth.

  "Daniel,” He chuckled, just a tiny noise, “Hang on. If it’s the time I think it is, I need to get my medicine. I’ll only be out a moment, but it’s in my car, and I’m kinda on a strict schedule for it. And I mean,” he took in a small breath, not a long pause, but he hoped this card was the one to use, “unless you guys are faith healers or something - you seem rational enough so I doubt it - then you understand, right? It’s a bit of a necessity, so… Sorry I didn’t mention it earlier, just didn’t think I’d be so far from it for long, that’s all.”

  He did not address him as brother, as father, as mister, as reverend or pastor or preacher. Daniel. Flat on his tongue. Listing him off as a normal man. Leveling with him, the common man, the every day man. His name was a name and no title. His name was but a name such as his own. Nothing more.

  “And hey, if you want assurance I won’t drive off,” Algernon joked as he pulled his keys out of his pocket, offering them to Daniel, “Here’s your insurance policy.”

  The idea that Daniel was anything but kind, anything but saintly, was so foreign to Amy that not even the spark of fear in Algernon’s eyes could shake her faith in her pastor. She had no reason to fear him - no one at Lamb’s Pointe did - so why should Algernon? Daniel was a shepherd for all at the church. He only wanted the best for his flock, and everyone knew how hard he worked, how much he cared for every soul he took under his wing.

  And so she carried on, unsuspecting.

  But Daniel could practically feel the fear racing through his companion as he walked Algernon out of the chapel. There was a moment where he had to fight to keep the grin off of his lips as he guided him down the hall. Each of his parishioners was a lamb, and this one was being marched to slaughter.

  When he pried his fingers beneath Daniel’s it was enough to give him pause. Save for the stop at the restroom, this meeting had been entirely under the pastor’s control. Every step of the way had been guided by his hand, his will, his plan. For that be so suddenly challenged by the man so eerily serene, was a little startling. He listened carefully, mind racing. Algernon was a liar and he knew it. But Daniel was not willing to let his act slip that far.

  “Of course! I’m glad you remembered!” He said, cheerily. “I’d hate for you to miss your medicine. Like I said, your body’s important.” Without making any mention of it, Daniel accepted the keys, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. This was a game, now, a perilous game of cat and mouse where he had to stay three steps ahead at all time.

  Algernon didn’t need his medicine, Daniel was fairly certain. He knew that Daniel was trying to keep him here; why else would he offer up his keys? It was an excuse to let him reach his car. And if it wasn’t a quick escape he was looking for, then what was it? A weapon? He silently regretted mentioning that there were no weapons at Lamb’s Pointe. His knife wouldn’t do much against a gun. Whatever Algernon was planning to smuggle into the compound, Daniel didn’t want to take any risks. He didn’t want to give his lamb a chance to plot against him any more than was unavoidable.

  His clothes could wait. The hall could wait. The present was paramount, and letting Algernon out of his sights for more than a few seconds at a time - especially now - was something he wasn’t willing to allow happen, not at such a delicate, crucial time.

  Now was the time for planning, for plotting, for building his scheme and building a network of safety webs below his trapeze. It wouldn’t take much to gently guide Algernon, but Daniel knew he wasn’t going down without a fight. He was too spirited, but if things went well today, Daniel planned to break him of that terrible habit. It would be a long and arduous process - leaving sins like pride and willfulness behind was never easy - but Algernon would thank him in the end. They all did. And maybe one day, he would even be pure enough to ascend to the Heavens.

  Daniel would make sure of it, of course. That was his job, as a messenger of God. Deliver their souls on the sweet silk of wine, and return God’s children home to Him.

  But this wasn’t the time for that. Not until Algernon was under his wing, held firm under his shoe like all the others. Keep him tense, keep him scared. Most importantly, keep and eye on him. “I’ll walk you out!”

  It wasn’t an offer.

Chapter Text

Act II: The Chapel

Chapter III: The Hands That Deceive

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"He who practices deceit shall not dwell within my house; He who speaks falsehood shall not maintain his position before me."

Psalm 101:7

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  He couldn’t bear to know how much these people trusted him. These people loved this man and saw him only as their savior and guiding light. Algernon knew now there was no changing that. No moving them, shaking them of their foundations. The idea of dying here was so abhorrent that Algernon was considering actual physical violence against a pastor. Hell, for all the things he’d done on this day alone he might be damned, but that would be icing on the cake. Or would it? Considering what Daniel had done, how this man overall remained, he might be saving himself by ending everything.

  He looked up at Daniel and he recognized the fact he would not be getting away so easy. He saw the other, and the way he spoke was enough to assure him that he was thoroughly screwed. On one hand, if he really was on medication, at least Daniel wasn’t a total monster. He watched the pastor as Algernon turned on his heel, and marched in the direction they had come from. It was the only way he knew how to get out. He walked silently for a moment, with his figure looking confident.

  Then came the offer- no, statement. Algernon didn’t break stride, simply slowed down to his stop. He waited for Daniel, but his spine felt like it had been replaced with a metal bar meant to keep him in place. Shit. He knew it now that he would have a very hard time changing out the batteries. So long as he kept his act up, however, then Daniel should have no need to be anywhere near him. He just nodded, turning around and grinning.

  "Then come on, I’ve already got a head start on you.“ He then turned back around, starting to walk.

  After the day he had had, he would never be able to hear the name Daniel without shuddering. He would never be able to follow this man. No matter what he promised him, no matter how well he deceived him, Algernon would never become one of his lambs. He would rip his disguise off and bite the shepherd and rip him to shreds if he tried to even come near him. He understood the other’s need to be sure he didn’t bring any weapons in, but this was going to be a bit of a setback.

  He was working on his plan. He would not be able to shake Daniel. He would not be able to avoid him. He could not quite get ahead too far - too suspicious. So he walked slow, waiting for the man dripping with wine and the nausea of the sight still burning a hole in his stomach.

  So he made small talk. Naturally. The only thing he could come up with.

  "As a kid, did you ever watch a show called The X Files?”

  Going back to his first special interest would be the only thing he could do to keep himself calm.

  Tailing Algernon gave Daniel a semblance of control back; he had the advantage again, even if Algernon had managed to derail his plans once, the pastor felt confidence in that fact that he was able to bounce back so quickly, to remain on his toes and think on his feet. That would be his greatest asset now, to be able to keep his opponent twisting in the wind, trying to escape. If he could keep Algernon under his thumb, he would win out eventually. Everyone had a breaking point, after all, it was just a matter of how hard Daniel would have to push.

  There was a time and a place for everything of course, and while Daniel was rarely one to day dream, the thought of breaking Algernon in was hard not to dwell on. If all went according to plan, there would be a day - perhaps very soon - where Daniel would see him cast off that dark jacket for clean, pure white. Where he would see his bright and shining face, front and center in the chapel every morning, every evening, leading his peers in prayer. It was a wonderful thought, that someone so terribly willful might become so malleable with the right conditioning.

  And so when Algernon slowed to a stop, the discomfort and dread that he radiated as he realized that, not only was Daniel not fooled, but he was going to fight back every bit as hard to keep Algernon from the freedom and safety of the outside world. He was effectively a prisoner, chained to the lead heart of Lamb’s Pointe.

  He looked down the hall at his hesitant companion, who hid his terror behind a grin and a cheerful quip. Daniel, of all people, knew that facade too well to be fooled.

  So he walked slowly. Algernon wouldn’t rush too far ahead, wouldn’t want to seem to eager, but Daniel knew anything less than a brisk jog back to his car would be agony. He shoved his hands in his pockets again, shoulders relaxed and effortlessly casual despite the day’s events. Despite the wine splattered across his front. Despite Algernon. Because now, things were turned around. He got the sense that it was a permanent sort of change. His hand uncurled slightly in his pocket, depositing his car keys. Unless his guest was planning to walk through about twenty miles of nearly directionless woods back to Sleepy Peak, his car was the only way out.

  Well.

  For someone in Algernon’s position, that sure was an interesting change of topic.

  “I did!” He chirped. “My mother recorded them off of Fox when it was still running. Good show! Never got the chance to watch the newer season, though. You?”

  It was eerie. His tone of voice, the interest he devoted to the conversation, the friendliness he exuded as if he’d not just been assaulted in his own chapel, as if his intentions weren’t as stained as his shirt. As if he weren’t plotting to drag Algernon down into Hell as they spoke.

  It wasn’t too difficult for Algernon to figure out that this was more an act of power and control than one of genuinely wanting to ensure he made it to his car and back without getting lost. He saw himself bent and contorted to the other’s commands, whipped into new shaped, twisted and gnarled like kudzu vines into whatever Daniel pleased. He had to take a breath, knowing that if he even indicated he was slowly catching on that he would be in an even deeper hole than he already was in.

  Algernon half-wondered what the manner of his demise would be if Daniel had a bit of a murderous streak. Would he be killed by blade, by drowning, by fire? Burned at the stake as Joan of Arc? Or would he just become one of those dopey-eyed parishioners? No physical death, just emotional and mental and spiritual death.

  They say you die twice. Once spiritually, once physically. Algernon felt like a withered tree, and the more time he spent with this man the more the roots dried up and the ground became desert sand. Rotten core. Dried soil.

  It was the temptation of physical violence that waved itself in front of Algernon’s face like a flag. He refused to snatch it up and ball his fists and slam them into the other. He could not resort to that here, it would do him no good.

  He was a little bit amused that the other had not changed his clothes. Red wine was drying into the white polo and grey pants, and even if he was still disgusted with the image of it resembling blood, it was hilarious. For such a meticulously neat and orderly cult leader, he sure let himself continue to express mild discomfort merely to keep Algernon in line. He had almost forgotten about his tape recorder when he remembered the whole reason they were walking, and a lump formed in his throat. He had to keep his eye on the prize. Figure out the solution. Solve for X. And he’d always sucked at math.

  "Oh, me too! Well, I watched it on DvDs as a kid. Yeah, I didn’t get to the new series either, heard it was good though,“ Algernon hummed pleasantly. “I was pretty into it, not gonna lie. I still have one of those ‘I Want To Believe’ posters hanging in my room.”

  If Daniel was going to act all chipper, Algernon was going to imitate it. He could not let himself get behind, let the other have the upper hand anymore. If he let this man control him he would end up like Amy or one of the other parishioners. He would hate himself for the rest of eternity. He could practically feel the other’s claws dragging him through the void, into damnation, and he was not willing to go down without a fight. He held his chin high and he twisted his cap backwards so the brim set on the back of his head, his eyes now revealed. He looked calm, his face showing no indication of suspicion, his eyes warm and relaxed with the other at his side. He was just Algernon, just the same man Daniel had seen in the park, before all of this unfolded and before he knew what horrors awaited him at every turn.

  Daniel wouldn’t split hairs; he was a murderer. He led people to their deaths, handed them their poison and told them to drink up. No charade of Divine purpose could wipe his hands clean from the nightmare he inflicted on others. But while many might not understand - while many would do him such an injustice as to say that he enjoyed killing - murder wasn’t what he was after. Far from it. When he sat down with the pure, poured their wine, and watched as they shuddered and choked out their last breaths, he lamented. The game was over. Daniel had won, of course, but all the time, all the effort he had invested into the individual now lay dead on the floor.

  It was a necessary sacrifice. To see someone submit so completely to his will, his control, was the pay off of his care and careful planning - and it was worth it, of course. But then to have others brush it off as mere murder. It was an insult.

  For Algernon, there was no sweeter ending than submission. To have complete control over the man who’d fight him tooth and nail. Perhaps one day, Algernon would be pure, watched over by his doting pastor as he ascended from the temporary, mortal world to take his place alongside God’s throne. Perhaps God would find another purpose for him here on Earth as the student and servant of a modern prophet. Only time would tell.

  But for now, Daniel had to focus on keeping Algernon under his boot before he could call him one of his flock, doe-eyed and obedient. And, presently, that required small talk. Daniel laughed brightly, an unsettling juxtaposition from his inner workings. “The iconic poster, isn’t that just dandy! Who was your favorite? Everyone has a Favorite. I liked Scully, myself. Logical, analytical, but willing to see the world from someone else’s eyes. Not afraid to believe the improbable, if she had good reason.”

  Small talk burned a hole in his chest. It was trite, irritating, and distracting from the matters at hand. But it was all part of the act. It was necessary, as bitter as he might have been about it. Daniel would have much rather been frank with Algernon. Pretending was getting to be tiring, this constant back and forth, pleasant chatter between predator and prey delaying the inevitable supper.

  Daniel pressed against the door, throwing it open. The sunlight was nearly gone this late in the evening. He held it for Algernon, a pointed gesture. He was confident, unconcerned with Algernon’s momentary escape from within the walls of his church because he knew that he would march right back inside, completely of his own volition. He didn’t have a choice.

  One thing was certain in Algernon’s mind as he walked with the pastor of hell down the oblivion white hallways, and it was that he would never be able to shirk off his current life for a life at Lamb’s Pointe. He could never shake his own foundations of stone, solid and clean and carved. He had seen the glowing facade of peace and when he thought for half a second how happy they were, he recalled how the pastor had treated him the minute he faced scrutiny. The intimidation, the discomfort, the blade and the eyes that bled out malice and the gaze that screeched how he was a heretic, a serpent in Eden. He did not deny this. He was a serpent to the other, biting his ankles, nipping at his heel like a beast out of nothingness.

  In some ways, Algernon took pride in this. Being nothing but an aggravation to the man who proclaimed such infinite patience was nothing short of fantastic. With being such an aggravation came a price, however, and he dearly hoped it was not his life. He would cling to it until his hands grew arthritic and aching and stuck to it merely because he had forgotten what giving it up was like. He would use his hands now to dig up the roots of this corrupt tree, to torch them and bring it all to the light. The gnarled branches of the deceit every single one of the parishioners had been victim to would be revealed sooner or later, and he was struggling against a hurried revelation.

  He wondered, in many ways, if this is where it would end. The final stage of his short twenty-two years.

  Small talk was the only way to make sure he got the other’s attention from his own schemes while he discretely worked his own. “I’m more partial to Mulder, but I’ve always had a soft spot for Scully. I just love Mulder’s enthusiasm for what he believes in. His pursuit of truth, no matter how strange. His dedication to letting people know what was happening beyond their own scope.” He replied in an equally airy, careless voice. He walked with the other and saw the halls coming to an end, oblivion’s edge, and did not move any quicker. He kept with the other and even hung back a small moment, like he was truly following Daniel, under his influence.

  The sky above them had turned a moving and swaying maroon, edged with gold and folded into low and murmuring purple. The sun had set among trees at the edges of the Sleepy Peak horizon, and the air was crisp as a slight breeze whisked itself across the two of them. He could hear the screeching of cicadas and the rattling of cricket chirps. Algernon glanced to Daniel for a moment before he moved to his car, an old Mercedes W124 that he’d gotten from his uncle, and wrenched open the back door. He kept his backpack on the floor in front of the back seat, and pulled out a water bottle.

  He pretended to rustle around, fumbling for a pill bottle as he slipped his hand into his pocket, popped off the opening of the battery compartment and quickly replaced the batteries of his tape recorder, sliding a replacement tape in his inner coat pocket, then pulling out a white tic-tac. He slid the newly-powered tape recorder back into it’s place, pressing record, and snatching some spare batteries. He slipped those into his inner pocket as well, certain to only make motions that looked like digging for something, and popped the tic-tac in his mouth. He swallowed it with a long gulp from his water bottle, the crinkling plastic loud in his ear drums. He held to the bottle and took in a breath.

  His heart was racing a thousand miles per hour but he didn’t care. He had finished what he came to do, and was ready to continue. He zipped up his backpack and moved out from the car, shutting the door.

  He thanked Daniel, “I need to keep better track of my meds, the bottle got trapped at the bottom of my bag,” He laughed, and his grin was calm. Not too calm, however.

  The game wasn’t done.

  “You know,” Daniel chuckled, “I pegged you for a Mulder sort.” It was a subtle reminder that Daniel had his number; he was ahead of Algernon every step of the way, right down to his interests. “He was a wild card if there ever was one. Some of the stunts he pulled I still can’t believe he made it out alive. He made some very dangerous decisions.”

  Daniel took a deep breath when they breached from the inner sanctum of Lamb’s Pointe. The evening was cool, almost chilly, and it was refreshing after the stifling afternoon he’d had combating Algernon at every turn.The man was exhausting, but that would make the reward all the sweeter. He’d work hard for this ones, and when he finally came to look up to Daniel, the pastor would be able to look down on him with an incredible satisfaction, knowing that his hand was responsible for forming this serpent into a new man. Even the proudest spirit can be broken, with love.

  And one way or another, Algernon would be broken.

  As his companion approached the car, the keys burned a hole into his thigh. Every fiber of his being was revolting violently, screaming to keep him away from his car, guide him back inside now. Don’t let him get away. But keeping his awareness keen on the keys, a solid reminder that he wasn’t going anywhere, was the only thing that kept Daniel from physically dragging the man back towards the compound. His fingers twitched, and he had to roll his shoulders to release the tension that built up in those few seconds of watching Algernon rummage around in his back seat.

  After a moment of hesitation, Daniel moved to join him, standing at the hood of the car and keeping a keen eye on his dark form through the back seat window. All he could see of him was the hunch of his shoulders, the floral cap that he’d used to so easily conceal his eyes from Daniel’s sharp gaze. Despite his suspicion, he couldn’t prove anything. He’d have to keep on his toes now, prepare for the worst as Algernon dragged whatever it was he’d really come out here for from his bag.

  “We make sure everyone gets the meds they need. A few of our members are quite forgetful themselves, so we came up with a nice little reminder system to keep everyone happy and healthy! You mentioned faith healing earlier,” he continued, “and while I can understand where one might get that impression, Edenic regime and all, the church would never withhold medicine from someone who needs it. We’re devout, not barbaric.” It came along with a little chuckle. “So I appreciate your faith in me!”

  The words tasted bitter. He knew that Algernon had no such faith - not yet, anyway - and that he’d even likely expected for Daniel to put up a fight. That in itself was an insult, that he would think Daniel would be such a tyrant as to keep his parishioners in agony, or risk their daily health for the sake of his doctrine. He wasn’t a monster. He worked hard to keep his church members happy, healthy, complacent. And that was really all that mattered, at the end of the day. Keeping his parishioners quiet, unsuspecting, believing that Daniel only wanted the best for his sheep. And so, they would stay sheep.

  “If you’re ready, we can continue the tour!” he chirped, bouncing on the balls of his feet a bit. “There’s still a few stops on the list!”

  Of course he pegged him for a Mulder. It was fairly obvious, with the way Algernon spoke and behaved, but he was a bit disconcerted that it was that easy to spot. He listened to how the other spoke and nodded his head. “You’re a Scully if I ever met one,” He chuckled, “You think you have to have control of everything, like you can’t let something go the way you didn’t expect.” He spoke the words very carefully. He couldn’t let himself slip now, not now, when he was close to getting more answers about this wretched place and this damned person who brought him along hallways like a guide through the Catacombs of Paris. The faint and lingering warmth of the air would do nothing to loosen the tension in his throat, his muscles. Because when he saw Daniel he saw only slaughterer. No guiding light, no blinding beacon of faith and hope. He could only perceive fork-tongues lies and half-truths and muddled facts to feed to his followers. He wondered how many the man had led to their deaths. He wished he knew the details simply so he could understand how these people saw this process.

  It was a tad assumptive of Algernon to think people died here. After working on stories involving cults and doing years of research, however, the end result was similar if not the very same. It was simply something he had found to be established as a fact. And for all he knew, this entire compound could be the preparations for something much larger, much more malevolent than Algernon predicted. Remnants of articles on Heaven’s Gate ran through his head like a ticker tape, stringing their contents along the borders of his vision to be read over and over again- paraphrased, quotations, citations. Even the fresh night air could do nothing to calm him. The sun was rapidly descending and even though he had done what he had come for, his gut felt ill with the idea he was going back inside with this man. The shadows of the trees created abnormal shapes in the grass, eldritch horrors creeping up, creatures of black lagoons, urban legends. The energy of the other man was potent, like his entire being knew what Algernon was doing and wanted to bring him into the fold, into his world.

  Algernon would have none of it. He walked back inside the compound, and now measured how much time he had left on this tape. If he was correct, he should be able to get through until about eight o'clock. He felt almost renewed, were it not for the man walking at his side. He heard his voice from behind him and struggled to hold back a choke, a noise of surprise.

  He pressed a laugh through his lips. “Yeah, I get that, you guys have a pretty modern set-up here,” He knocked on the wall like he was emphasizing his point, which in hindsight made no sense, but it was a gesture. At the mention of the tour, his heart sank like a brick into his gut, settling in and nestling among his intestines, spreading iron-clad anxiety through his blood. He swallowed quietly and nodded.

  “Sure, I mean, I need to get to know the place a little better.” He very delicately shrugged his shoulders, his eyes landing on Daniel. He had a very calm face, but his posture was now slightly slumped, like Algernon was crumpling in on himself. Even though he was failing his vow to never show fear, he had to do everything in his power not to bolt out the door.

  “There’s nothing wrong with liking a little order in your life, is there, Algernon? Order, predictability, control. Why, without it, this church wouldn’t run the way it does! A religious community isn’t easy to keep a handle on. If I didn’t strive for these things, things would get out of hand.”

  It was a half-truth, of course. Control was what Daniel lived for; it was the entire purpose of the church itself, to give Daniel a sense of god-like control over those who fell beneath him.

  For the second time that night, the doors closed behind them with a heavy thunk, a cruel reminder of the trap that was Lamb’s Pointe. The fact that Algernon might, now, at least be able to navigate his way back to the exit, but Daniel wasted no time in dragging him back into the depths of the compound, back through the twisting corridors.

  The hospital had an almost endless number of rooms, and several different halls that were used as residency for the parishioners. Daniel had already taken him down the west wing residency hall, but this was a new area. It was vacant - a testament to how much room the hospital had at its disposal, room for more and more and more members, anyone and everyone who could be drawn into Daniel’s waiting arms.

  “We have plenty of room here at Lamb’s Pointe, and while the rooms we saw earlier were occupied, this wing is completely vacant, which gives you a better opportunity to familiarize yourself with our living quarters. Of course, once you come to stay with us, we’ll work on your furnishings. For now, these rooms are completely empty.” He said, plucking his own key from his pocket “Space is our most valuable asset, as we seek to save as many of God’s children as possible.”

  He turned the key in the lock, pulling open the door for Algernon. “Take a moment to get a feel for the space, and then we’ll join the others for supper.” He said with a grin. He seemed intent on trapping Algernon, and why wouldn’t he be? Conformity, pressure, expectations, all these things played heavily into the way Daniel kept his sheep in line, and breaking Algernon of his boundaries was one of the many ways he’d keep the man under his heel.

  “Because Lamb’s Pointe is really a repurposed hospital, we have a few facilities you wouldn’t usually find in communities like this, including an industrial kitchen that’s manned by a talented and passionate group of residents that prepare meals that meet the requirements of our Edenic diet here at the church.”

  “I understand your… reservation, about eating or drinking anything here,” he said, delicately, as he ushered Algernon into the bare room, standing in the doorway as he looked after the man with a smile. “But everyone here is so happy to have had the opportunity to meet you. I just think it would be… pleasant, to really get a sense of the community we have here. To see how truly content my parishioners are.”

  Daniel would have loved nothing more than for Algernon to witness the near-mindless devotion en mass. Over a hundred faithful followers, all sat down to sup together, following Daniel in prayer as they said their graces in vain among the very being they sought protection against. A final scathing blow to everything the outsider stood for, one more spit in the face before Daniel dragged Algernon down, down, down into the murky depths of his Faith.

  Here, Algernon was faced with a rare moment of breath with the perfectly bare room to collect his frantic thoughts in, the off white walls all uniform and clean like every resident of Lamb’s Pointe who he’d had the misfortune of meeting so far. A blank slate. A drawing board for him to plan his next steps in.

  Perhaps this is what Daniel wanted for him. Blank, bare, able to be repurposed into anything he pleased. Perhaps that’s all Daniel wanted from him. The ability to be molded and broken and reshaped over and over and over until Algernon bore that same hazy happiness that the others did.

  But for now, this room was the only thing standing between Algernon and the last supper.

  Algernon was a black sheep, always out of place, always had been. He’d never known conformity, and the realization of this and how it impacted him now was a reeling throw to the head. He could not understand how so many people were under one man’s heel, bending to his will, contorting themselves and abandoning old personalities for the mere ideologies the figure in white proposed.

  Being led down the halls was like being tossed back into the fray, and he tied a knot at the end of his metaphorical rope. He could seldom understand how this man took these parishioners from the shadow walls and into their visions of truth, of reality. And perhaps he found them strange because he had never been shown their visions. Because for all intents and purposes, he was much happier in the cavernous dark. He would rather be a bird in a cage if it meant escaping the horrific rule and tyrannical tendency - however underhanded it actually were - that this man imposed. He could not find comfort in the other’s guiding hand, he could not find joy in the words.

  "Right,“ He listened, half-hearted and muddled in discomfort. “I’ll sit with you all, but I won’t eat or drink anything. That’s just my conditions for being here, and I’m sure no respectable man such as yourself would intentionally violate someone’s terms, right?”

  He was mocking him. The deed had been done earlier, and the wine still stained the other in red, red, oh maroon and deep and soaking red. He found amusement in his deed, laughable, the game had been played and mockery had been made. He wanted to brag and dance around the room when he knew the pastor was undoubtedly going to have to throw those nice clothes away, and they would be stained with wine for the rest of their physical existence. A mark to show he’d existed. The small pleasure of reveling in the other’s discomfort was all that could be afforded.

  When he was led to the room and took a step inside, a whisper of cold breathed itself over him. Everything was too barren and strange and wrong. The look on Daniel’s face solidified his discomfort into stone. He nodded.

  "I’ll meet with them, though.“ He agreed with a smile. He would position himself at their holy supper, he would be their gadfly prodding them further and further if he could. Dinner time conversation was never the best place to talk about religion, but when he was the only skeptic in a room of frenzied believers, what harm could be done? And Daniel could not act rashly in front of them. It would do him no good! It would ruin his standing as non-violent, and Algernon planned to take full advantage of that. He could practically see himself shaking the branches of their faith, twisting the roots. He moved through the room a few steps, getting a feel for the space.

  No, Daniel was wrong, this would never be home for him. He could never live here. His trappings would only be met with him skipping over them, carefully making his way to the doors and the exits and the ends of the roads. He could envision the eyes of his parishioners, so filled with whatever Daniel poured into their heads and told them to scream and sing and say. Being a mindless follower was not something he ever aspired for, ever longed to be.

  There had been times in his childhood where he had wanted to fit in. He never had many people to turn to, his few friends became fewer. He had wanted to conform and be part of the group, the collective. This entire interview brought about those memories, blossoming on vines and spilling their contents into his dwelling. He could recall how cruel everything had been, everyone had been to him, and how they all seemed to be part of something. They would splinter into groups and splinter groups and everyone had something and several someones that remained, but Algernon had never had the pleasure of experiencing that.

  Which made this situation a bit of an aching in his mind. He imagined how easily he could slip into Daniel’s grasp, let the other mold him and stretch him out thin like play-dough.

  But Algernon was a black sheep, and black sheep don’t adhere to the ivory of conformity.

  He was so caught up in his mind he didn’t notice how the spare tape was poking out from his inner pocket, barely a sliver of a glimpse of it, but the blank tape pressed against his side and threatened to begin spilling out and spilling his secrets, as well. The white inner lining offered itself as contrast. Highlighting. He had shoved his hands into his outer pockets, and made absent gestures with his hands inside, casual and calm and collected and coming apart all at the same time.

  He’d spent the entire day trying to get a grip on Algernon, and he’d admit: he hadn’t expected it to be quite this easy. So, the communion hadn’t worked out. It was a minor setback, in the grand scheme of things. What really mattered was that he had his little lamb, now. He looked down at his ruined clothes, frowning deeply as his guest inspected the room. One way or another, Algernon was staying at Lamb’s Pointe. Daniel always preferred when they came without a fight, the indescribable satisfaction that came along with the complete submission at little more than a gentle tone and comforting words, but he’d long ago resided himself to the fact that not everyone was quite as quick to sign away their will, their individuality, their very lives for Daniel’s doctrine and the promise of salvation.

  Sometimes they needed a little more of a push. A firm hand to guide them kindly to a new life. And being a prophet of God, sent to Earth to save His children, to bring them to salvation and lead them into the light, purify them and lead them to ascension, it was his divine duty to be that firm hand. And Daniel was more than pleased with the task that had been placed on his shoulders, perfectly willing to carry out God’s will, purifying his flock.

  And perhaps he felt a little sorry for Algernon. He admired his tenacity, his wit, his will. It was rare for him to find someone who posed such a challenge, such a rewarding sense of victory in the end. Maybe it was even a little bit of a shame that the game was coming to a close.

  But that sense of regret withered and died the moment Daniel spied the dark shape protruding from his pocket. Maybe the game wasn’t over. Algernon was clever. And if Daniel’s eyes were to be trusted - and they were, sharp as ever - that dark shape looked suspiciously like a tape recorded.

  Something boiled deep within him. So he’d been right. Algernon was the snake twisting through the Garden of Eden, come to poison the pure. How long had he been recording? Daniel would wager from the moment they met, but it didn’t matter now. The trip to the car had been pointless; with the car keys safe and sound in his pants pocket, Daniel would have every underhanded trick that his guest had brought with him, any and every scrap of evidence at his disposal, nothing but bad memories to be burned away. That tape would never make it out of Lamb’s Pointe, he’d make sure of it. And neither would his lamb.

  Algernon heard the other hum from behind him, a displeased sort of sound as Daniel stood straight. “Actually,” he said, “I don’t think you will.” It was a chilling statement, one laced with more poison than the sacramental wine he used to commit his crimes.

  The next thing he heard was a heavy thunk as the steel hospital door swung shut, the lock clicking into place as Daniel pocketed the key. There was a voice from the other side, barely audible. “Remember how I said we have unique facilities, here? One of them happens to be a psyche ward. Welcome to solitary confinement. Enjoy your stay.”

  And that was all.

Chapter Text

Act III: Confinement
Chapter I: Welcome Home 

--

"My Father’s house has many rooms; if that were not so, would I have told you that I am going there to prepare a place for you?"

John 14:2 

--

  Algernon had him. He had him in a bind now, he could get on with the interview and that would be that! He’d be home before the night was out, able to tell the world about the horror of Lamb’s Pointe. He had the tapes to prove it. He had the words of this serpent recorded and ready to play back. He could easily mail this tape to Coast to Coast, or an actual news station! Hell, it would warrant it. He needed people to know what was going on. He wanted people to be warned, be informed, and bring a stop to this place. And most importantly, the pastor behind it.

  He would regret if families were torn apart at the dissolution of this compound, but it would be worth it, if he could just get out-

  …

  The other’s words hit like a ton of bricks. At first they didn’t register, background noise to his fanfare. Just the engine of a very distant plane. Then the veil of anguish slowly descended and shrouded him.

  Enjoy your stay, he heard. And he heard nothing but fading footsteps and the blood rushing in his ears and his heart threatening him at gun point to leap out of his throat.

  He felt like he was a million miles away as his jaw slid open, his eyes widened, his entire form shaking.

  “Daniel?”

  His voice sounded much more meek, more timid, than it had this entire day. He shakily moved himself to the door, but he knew it was pointless. He jiggled the knob. Locked. He pressed his fist to the door a couple of times, thin thumps against the metal surface.

  “Daniel!?” The panic was rising up through his throat. He tasted metal in his mouth. “What the hell, Daniel! This isn’t funny, what the hell are you doing?!”

  His voice was much louder than he normally let it go. His throat burned and his words only emptily echoed around him in the room. The whole room felt like a cage getting smaller and smaller and he crumpled up on the floor, holding his arms, eyes opened and mind opened and how did he not see this coming!

  He did the one thing he’d never let himself do in an interview. He let out a blood curdling, shrill scream. It was full of his anguish and his fear and all the stress of the day. He let out another. Another. Make it known he was here. Wouldn’t someone hear him? Wouldn’t someone find him? Wouldn’t someone

  ...

  Five hours.

  He guessed that’s how long he’d been in here. He didn’t remember if he passed out or fell asleep because he was so mentally exhausted. He had just… blacked out. He had stopped his recording earlier. He swallowed, but when he reached to start it, he knew there was no point.

  ... 

  Ten hours.

  ...

  Twelve.

  ...

  Twenty-four.

  He could only guess, but the sounds from other parts of the compound would occasionally reach him. Someone had to know he was gone, right? Someone had to notice that Daniel’s guest was no longer there?

  No, he decided. They didn’t think anything of him.

  He’d cried so hard somewhere in between those hours that he had thrown up, and the room smelled of sick and his head felt like it had been bludgeoned with a hammer. He laid flat on the floor, sprawled out, using his coat for a pillow. His arms were cold on the linoleum and the lights afforded him very little restful sleep. His stomach was now gnawing at him and his lungs burned and his throat was set on fire. He needed to drink something. He needed food. He had set his hat aside hours ago.

  It occurred to him that by shedding layer after layer of his old clothing, he was in turn shedding layer after layer of himself. But right now, he did not care. Daniel could have his jacket. His hat. But he’d never take his pride.

  He then thought; perhaps he would. This would not be easy to take from him, but if Daniel succeeded, what did that mean for Algernon?

  He closed his eyes, the low hum of the lights the only thing keeping him from suffering in absolute silence. Every once in a while he’d hum or sing a small tune to himself, but his throat now sounded like scratching on a wall. He had ceased making noise at all. He just laid, sprawled out, eyes closed.

  Perhaps the worst part of his imprisonment was that Daniel visited, once a day, at precisely seven o clock - not that Algernon could know the time. The room was empty and isolated from the outside world, from any reality aside from the stark white walls and his meager belongings scattered around the floor.

  The worst part was that Daniel talked to him, calm and collected with a pleasant, conversational tone as though he hadn’t essentially sealed Algernon’s death certificate. He assured his prisoner that he didn’t want him to suffer here, that Daniel was willing to be more than reasonable with a little obedience, but he knew it would be some time before Algernon was willing to cooperate.

  Every night at seven o clock, he would offer Algernon a meal. Every night at seven o clock, Algernon would refuse. Daniel was a patient man, reinforced by that fact that, eventually, he would have to eat and drink unless he wanted to die in that cell. He knew his lamb didn’t want his cell to be his tomb, and quite frankly neither did Daniel. That took all the fun out of it. So with every meal refused, they were one step closer to moving on, and that kept Daniel perfectly content.

  Twelve hours.

  Twenty four hours.

  Forty eight hours.

  The human body could survive up to three weeks without food; Algernon would be uncomfortable, for certain, but he could tough it out. He’d seen people pull through the starvation tactics that he employed on occasion. It was entirely possible. Water, however, was another beast all together.

  Three, maybe four days, and the body would shut down. Death, imminent within reach, and Algernon was already halfway there. It would be mere hours, Daniel thought, as he gave his sermons and said his prayers, praising his parishioners for their confessions and shaming them for their sins. There was spiritual paradise at Lamb’s Pointe, the people under Daniel’s wing blissfully unaware of the terror and anguish that was brewing in a little cell in a secluded, deserted wing.

  Daniel made a decision on the morning of the third day. Seven o clock was such a long ways away, and he was sure that Algernon, weak and sick and starving, would come to appreciate a mid-morning visit. Meal time was usually uniform under his watch, but he supposed he was willing to make an exception for the newest member of his church. He’d yet to adjust to his new life, after all, and Daniel didn’t expect it to be easy.

  At 10 am precisely, the little hatch at the bottom of the door slid open. Daniel wasn’t willing to enter the cell, no matter how weak or delirious Algernon would be at this point. Not until he was sure it was safe. Putting a man in his position made him desperate, and desperate men were dangerous men.

  “Good morning, Algernon!” Came Daniel’s cheerful voice, sickly sweet to the point of saccharine. “I’d imagine you’re hungry by now. I brought you something. I know it’s still morning, but I thought you might appreciate an early meal.”

  It came on a cafeteria tray - oats and a copious amount of fruit and not just a cup, but a pitcher of water. It was the only reason the meal had come early, and both men knew it. The tray was slid halfway under the door, Daniel standing from his crouch and watching patiently, waiting for it to disappear entirely.

  Algernon didn’t have a choice.

  He couldn’t let the other know what sort of pain he was in. Letting the other see his anguish, his anxiety, it wasn’t an option. He kept himself calm every time Daniel came to see him. He didn’t speak, but he listened, and he took in every bit of the other’s personality. He had started to use his time wisely, to examine his body language. The gleam in his eye. The look of power and absolute control on his face. The look of control in general.

  Algernon hated him, loathed him. He had once thought that all humans were capable of good, had some smudge of kindness within them, but with Daniel he was having an even harder time finding it. He only saw the man for a monster, and a monster disguised as a man.

  By the third day, Algernon had ceased moving. It took too much energy for his body to even slightly maneuver around his room. He had been pacing a lot, but now his feet were spread apart and his eyes concentrated on the lights overhead. He had denied this man for three days. He had denied himself food and water and refused to give in to the other’s false kindness. He was a false prophet and false human and false kind and false false false false-

  He wondered if this is what it was like to die. He knew he wouldn’t last much longer, that much was certain. He could see it in the way his hands shook if he lifted them and the way his throat burned. He had cried all his tears out and was dehydrated beyond normal points. He would need medical attention as soon as he got out of here. He wanted to hide inside the walls and never be found. He wanted to die.

  He felt he and his resolve had grown thin. He was sinking in on himself, his guts twisting and his kidneys screeching at him for not filling them with water. His veins felt like they were constantly working harder, and his heart beat was as loud as lightning crackling and rippling through the skies.

  When the hatch slid open he considered refusing, but the sight of the pitcher of water made his mind scream. He very, very slowly crawled over to it. He peered through the hatch at Daniel, making sure the other saw his eyes.

  They had fire in them. They were definitely tired, weak, aching, but he still had a fire smoldering behind his oak-dark eyes. He took the tray but made sure the other knew he was not giving him anything else other than the chance to feed him.

  He stared down at the food and the water and he knew somewhere in his gut that he might be poisoned. This all might be a trap, to finally seal his fate. His stomach was practically scrambling up his throat for a bite of the fruit, and he took things slowly. If it were poisoned or drugged, what did it matter? He was most assuredly dead, thus nothing could harm him further than he had already had done to him. He swallowed the tiniest bite he’d ever taken, and made sure there was ample time between them. He couldn’t get sick again, the smell of the room was still ever disgusting and churning his stomach. Before Daniel could close the hatch, Algernon spoke with cat-clawed throat, and the words poured forth came with such ease he might be reading.

  “Hosea 6:2: ‘After two days he will revive us; on the third day he will restore us, that we may live in his presence’.”

  It was all he said. While the verse may have originally been intended to comfort or explain, his tone twisted it up into malcontent and anger.

  And only a few short days ago, he had accused Daniel of twisting the word of God.

  Daniel grinned as he saw Algernon reach for the tray, disappearing it beneath the door’s hatch. You could break anyone with enough patience and wit. Algernon was living proof - well, barely. But it was enough. It was enough for him to eat, to drink, enough to keep him alive. That was all that mattered. Keep him alive, keep him subdued, and the rest would fall into place.

  The look in the man’s eyes said it all. The absolute loathing, the disgust, the determination, all present in a fiery inferno that refused to be snuffed out by even the torture of isolation and starvation. It didn’t deter Daniel in the least. If anything, it was just another reminder that he’d won, and that Algernon knew it. There was nothing left for him to do but refuse. There was no escaping Lamb’s Pointe alive. Daniel would assimilate him or Algernon would die trying.

  “Good. For a minute I was worried about you. There’s no point in starving yourself, you know. I don’t want you to die. And neither do you, I’m sure of it.” It wasn’t an assumption. His fight was only proof on his determination, his will to live. Algernon wouldn’t let himself die in Lamb’s Pointe so long as he still had hope of one day escaping. But Daniel was sure that would change, soon. He’d realize that there was no escape, and someday, he’d be fine with that. He’d find a hope here; he might even find happiness here.

  “Oh, friend,” Daniel sighed, a heavy sort of sound that dripped with a bitter pity. “You have no idea just how far from His presence you really are.”

  And he left Algernon to his meal.

  Daniel was sure he suspected something would be amiss, but really, what did it matter? He had no choice. Even if he left the oats, feeling safer with the fruit - which, quite honestly, he hardly expected - he had to drink. And once he did, it would only take some two hours for the drug to take full effect. Then it would be safe enough for him to enter, and ironically enough, Daniel was sure Algernon would thank him for it, considering the state of the cell now that Algernon had had his little episode.

  Within three hours, Algernon was out cold, barely aware of the world around him, barely hearing the click of the lock as Daniel entered the room, cleaning up so that Algernon wouldn’t be living in filth during his extended stay in solitary confinement. This drugging was just the beginning, and he dearly hoped Algernon didn’t expect to be released so easily.

  Daniel stepped into the room, calm and unconcerned, taking care of the mess he’d made and tidying up a bit. It’d been several days, and Daniel was sure that he would appreciate fresh clothes. They were pressed, folded neatly and left in the corner for when Algernon awoke. Clean, fresh white, shirt, pants, garments, shoes - an entire ensemble. He’d already cleaned out his car, taking anything he thought might give the church a poor reputation. So much research, various reels of tape; they were all unused save for one, but they were all burned nonetheless. Tape curling and sizzling, plastic melting like wax and filling the locked away basement with a sour smell that reeked of every terrible thing Daniel had ever done as the cremation oven blazed three thousand degrees. 

  Now came the jacket. This one was different. It was far more personal to Algernon than the contents of his car, that he didn’t even know had been taken from him. When he woke up to find the jacket and hat both gone, knowing that Daniel had been there to strip away the first layer of everything Algernon was, it would drive a grave point home. He shoved a hand in each pocket, making sure he wasn't missing anything, making sure there were no more tapes and no more surprises. 

  There was something. Daniel tangled his fingers it it, dragging it up out of the depths of Algernon's pockets. Smooth beads, a dark wooden rosary that the pastor couldn't help but marvel at as he stood in the basement, the heat barely on his mind as he turned it over in his hands. He tossed the jacket into the furnace without a second thought, the rosary still woven through his fingers as he held it up in the cold basement light. The furnace was shut with a heavy thunk, the heat flaring up again as the last of Algernon's belongings turned to ash.

  Well. 

  Almost the last of them. 

  Daniel curled the rosary up, balling the beads in his fist and shoving it into his own pocket, safe from the flames that were consuming the remnants of Algernon's old life.  

  He would have liked to keep the two tapes, a reminder of everything he had won against, but he wasn’t willing to risk anything, not now that Algernon would soon come to find how silly it had all been. How silly he’d been to think Daniel was any kind of cruel to him, or to his fellow parishioners. To think that his priest and prophet wanted anything but the best for his flock.

  But that was all in due time. For now, the door closed behind him again with another heavy thunk, and a final, solid click.

  Algernon wanted to wipe that grin off the pastor’s face. He wanted to slam him into the concrete and make him regret ever letting him into the compound. He could feel his fingers twitching, an itch he had to scratch, but he couldn’t quite reach. So he let it be. Plus, in his state, it’s not like he could do much damage.

  To survive was his only game, and he had to play it right. If he played into Daniel’s hands for a while, if he let the other say whatever he wanted and pour whatever lies he could into Algernon’s ears, he would survive. That would be enough. He could figure out the rest later, work out the details, the fine-tuning. Make Daniel think he’d won. He would give no indication of disobedience, no indication he was anything more than resigned to the facts so neatly folded by Daniel and placed for him.

  The other’s voice rang out and he felt like he’d been cracked on the head with a bell. Granted, that could be the migraine. He drank his water and even though it did taste different, he didn’t care. Better to die a prisoner than to live as a mindless follower of Daniel’s cult. He ate very slowly, so as to assure that he didn’t end up sick later.

  ….
  It was several hours before Algernon awoke to the smell of fresh linen and bleached floors. He sat up, his limbs still weak, his head still foggy, but not as much. He counted this as a small act of… not mercy. A small act of preserving his favorite little mouse to devour for the final meal. His heart sank and his stomach wilted at the sight of the clothes. The white of the compound, the white of the cult, the white of Daniel’s own clothes. It took everything within him to keep from vomiting back up the food he’d just consumed, but he reminded himself that that was the only meal he would receive for quite some time.

  Carefully and with revulsion, he peeled off layer by layer of his own clothes, the air cool and sending shivers up his bare spine. He took a moment. Breathed. He had to do this. It was the only way. He slowly pulled on the clothes Daniel had laid out for him. He had to physically stop a few times. Not only was he weak, but his mind felt everything was wrong, wrong, so far gone about the situation. He could sit here naked in protest if he wanted, but that left him vulnerable.

  And if his plan were to work, he needed to do everything in his power to fit in.

  He knew his tapes were destroyed by the mere fact his coat and hat were gone. Wet streams fell from his cheeks, but he sniffled and held them back. Everything he’d done, everything he had been through- gone! In the blink of an eye, gone! But nevertheless. If he made it out of here, he would still have plenty of evidence just from his malnourished state alone. He slid into the clothes with a little bit more ease, and for a moment was perturbed by the thought- “If” he made it out. Of course he would. But for now he was biding his time, biting his tongue and becoming one with the ways Daniel taught others to be.

  He was nonetheless disturbed by looking down and seeing nothing but white fabric. He didn’t feel the same. He sat in the floor, leaning his head against the wall, brown curls stringing down the sides of his face. He needed a shower. Even if the room smelled fine, he did not, and he wanted so desperately to just get a shower and lay down in a real bed.

  The floor would do for now, but only for now. He leaned down, resting his head on his arm, and closing his eyes as he curled up in the clean and soft clothes Daniel had provided.

  He would only thank the man out of courtesy. It was all he could do to keep himself from biting him.

  The next few days were a blur for Algernon. He was fed every so often, ensuring that he ate what he was given. He spent every few days in a drugged blur, vaguely aware of Daniel’s presence. Fresh clothes, a basin to wash in, towels, a pillow, comfort things brought to him with careful precision, making sure that he was incapacitated every time Daniel would open the door.

  The pastor pretended to be kind, his visits almost agonizingly long as he gave Algernon a personal sermon each night, inviting him to pray at the end. The scripture was hopeful, peaceful, giving the sense of what kind of life awaited him at Lamb’s Pointe once he accepted his faith and followed Daniel as a prophet and savior. It was a tempting life, soft and loved and comfortable, but Algernon knew the price. Complete, mindless obedience, content with the horrors that happened behind the unholy walls of the compound.

  But every day he refused, he met his punishment. Another few days with little to eat or drink. hours upon hours of isolation and little but the mind-numbing humming of the lights above to fill his ears. Every so often, sounds from the compound would drift into his cell, reminding him that there still was a world out there. Maybe one that had forgotten him, but a world nonetheless.

  Each drugging left Algernon in a hazy state. He was aware of his surroundings - even if just barely - but this time was different. He was far more aware than Daniel had ever allowed him to be during his visits. The drug made the room spin, his limbs heavy, and his head fuzzy, but Daniel, smiling as he entered the room carrying a familiar basin, was sharp and in focus in Algernon’s vision.

  “Good evening, Algernon!” he chirped. “I’m glad to see you’ve been taking care of yourself. I hope it hasn’t been too difficult.”

  It was the normal routine; a basin, towels, fresh linens. Despite the periodic starvation, he made sure that Algernon was taken care of. But even in his hazy state, he could tell something was different. Maybe there was the slightest glimmer of hope that came along with this subtle change, but Daniel figured by now that Algernon, even like this, was too smart to think that Daniel would show genuine mercy.

  Long moments passes as the pastor set the basin down with care and stood to look down at the man half-slumped against the wall. He wasn’t leaving. That was the most unsettling part of all. Any time spent with Daniel was time spent in the presence of a demon. Why did he decide to linger now? How long would he play this game before he got bored? It was an horrible, ever-present thought, but the pastor’s bright smile and chipper demeanor surely meant that he was safe, for now, still a challenge for Daniel, still interesting.

  “Today’s a very special day, Algernon,” he said happily, with the same air as someone about to give a great gift to a close friend. And in Daniel’s eyes, that was exactly what it was. A gift, a new beginning. “Do you want to know why?”

  He didn’t expect Algernon to answer, for obvious reason, so with a too-wide smile, he plowed on, ice blue eyes shining like he was telling a joke. “Today’s the day, my little lamb, that your baptism begins.”

Chapter Text

Act III: Confinement
Chapter II: The Baptism 

--

 “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you. And behold, I am with you always, to the end of the age.”

Matthew 28:18-20

--

  The mere objects he now had were nothing. They were given to keep him content, to show him light. Give him a minor tinge of hope to taint his visions. He felt like he was slowly being dyed a very specific color of Daniel’s choosing, like fabric washed and re-colored for a new robe. He was just another little gem on this monster’s crown. One of many, insignificant, but glittering among them. Whenever Daniel was away, and when he had enough strength, he had begun to slowly move around more. He worked his way up to it, but he had realized that if he continued the way he was, he would lose strength quickly.

  So every night, when he was assured that he would not be discovered, he pressed his palms into the linoleum and shoved himself up. He pushed all his weight into his hands, and forced his body upwards. He was only capable of two the first night. Then four the second. He was doing all he could to regain his strength without it becoming noticeable. He never let himself get to the point of sweating, certain the pastor would notice every detail. He also made sure that if he felt even a twitch of weakness he would stop, curl up, and breathe. He would not push himself too far.

  Besides, he knew that he wasn’t getting out soon. There was time to regain his strength and build himself up.

  The longer every visited droned on, the more Algernon half-listened. Every sermon became just the dull refrain of a piano trailing on and on and stuck on a bitter chord, the taste of acid, the echo of the room. He had to be careful, don’t jump the gun. He couldn’t let Daniel 'save' him yet, had to put up a fight no matter what it meant. Keep up the act for as long as possible that he was disobedient, angry, and unaccepting. The truth of the matter was that it hurt him to reject the other, merely because it was another night spent in his cell and in filth. He was rotting, perhaps not physically, but his mind had holes puncturing his rational thought. Survival instinct kicked in, but burned quickly out as he rationalized the situation.

  Even when the punishments were harsh, he still fought. When he heard other voices, other noises, he had stopped screaming for help. Now he only let out a dull and faint mumble, like a response to a question asked or a question asking them for response. He knew Daniel likely convinced them that he was a sinner, and he had done wrong and wanted to harm them. But nothing was so far from the truth! He wanted to save them, to give them better lives, and to provide them with the freedom to do whatever they chose! They could be whoever they decided, follow who or whatever they decided, if only he could help them! he wanted the best for those people, they had no idea the danger their pastor posed!

  With these thoughts in his head, Algernon would utilize what little adrenaline he had to push himself up off the floor. He had now moved on to pressing palms firmly into flooring, then pushing himself up, removing his hands from the floor before he made impact, and repeating. He was slowly building enough strength so as to avoid collapsing the moment he stood. He was walking more. Wandering. Stepping around. Every once in a while he’d hum a tune and do only a tiny dance, the little joys he had.

  When the druggings came, he would slip into a state of half-consciousness. He would often stare at Daniel with lazy, half-lidded eyes, small and tired frown on his lips as he mentally criticized the pastor, but even then his thoughts were foggy and muddy.

  Today was different; he knew that well enough. He was aware of Daniel. He saw him clearly. Even if he was dizzy and unable to stand, he could detect the other’s presence with more clarity. He could think with more clarity. He looked to the door and even if he wouldn’t make it far, he wanted to run and scream at the top of his lungs. But in his state it would be a crawl, and in his state it would be a low and groaning noise like an undead in a horror movie.

  …?

  Algernon, curled up in the corner with his spine pressed to the crevice, had a vague look of confusion pass over his features. The ghost of a memory fluttered up in his mind, and he remembered his Baptism when he was twelve. He had been led down the aisle and up the steps to a large, cement basin that rested behind the pulpit, stairs leading down to waiting waters below. It had smelled like warmth and softness and it wasn’t just water, there must have been some perfuming there as well, everything was so warm and tender and done so delicately.

  But at the sight of the basin, Algernon knew this would not be the case. He looked to Daniel with more effort than he’d like to admit, staring into his face, and he pulled a stunt he shouldn’t have, but he was most definitely not thinking.

  He spat at the other’s feet, wiped his mouth on his arm, and scowled.

  He didn’t speak, but he would not be taken easily. His mind was already spinning, split between fitting in with the lambs, or getting out of here as soon as possible. Little lamb. The phrase had been the trigger. Perhaps if Daniel had addressed him simply as Algernon and left it at that, he would have been fine.

  The die was cast. And he was never a good gambler.

  “Now, now, Algernon, that’s so unnecessary.” He cooed, as if gently trying to correct a child. He knew his guest was in a terrible state, that keeping things quiet and calm and simple would be easiest for him. Daniel didn’t want to overwhelm him so easily with his usual bombastic demeanor. For someone who preformed every waking moment, bouncing and delighted, constantly cheerful, he could be incredibly soft-spoken when he wanted to be. It was so unlike him, the quiet, understanding tone that came along with Daniel’s mild reprimand. His voice was soothing, even more so than the solid, reassuring tome he recited his sermons with. It was a new level of delicate, caring as he regarded Algernon as he charge, someone to be taken care of.

  Considering Algernon was locked away in indefinite solitary confinement, he was Daniel’s charge, his responsibility. Daniel wouldn’t let one of his sheep wither away in here, and after so long he hoped that Algernon would realize that. He was safe here, if perhaps lonely.

  “I hope you understand what I’m doing here, friend,” he started, softly, as if he were almost afraid to speak too loud in the echo chamber of a cell. From his pocket came a thin string of rosary beads, clutched in one fist over the basin. He muttered a prayer, blessing the water below.

  "God’s creature, water, I cast out the demon from you in the name of God the Father almighty,” his exorcism was muttered quietly, punctuated only by the occasional ripple of the water as he dipped the crucifix of the rosary into the basin.

  “I don’t want you to think that I’m trying to hurt you,” he addressed Algernon once more, not looking up from the basin. Coming from Daniel’s mouth it was almost laughable, but it was said with such a bare sincerity that it was enough to put a knot in the stomach of anyone in Algernon’s position. “Things have been difficult, but they don’t have to be. You’ll see, some day - maybe even someday soon - that I don’t want to see you suffer. I’m not cruel. I just want to help you. God has tasked me. He led you to me. This is why I was put on this Earth, Algernon, to save those who need saving.”

  Daniel was very much certain that Algernon needed saving, but perhaps it wasn’t so much in a spiritual sense as it was in the physical now - trapped in a cell in the middle of no where, no one to help him, no way to contact the outside world. It was a terrible, frightening situation to be in, Daniel was sure, which was all the more reason he was so eager to see Algernon walk willingly into the arms of the flock. Because without Daniel’s guiding hand, being saved was nothing more than a fruitless dream.

  Daniel’s heart was unsteady as he approached Algernon; the drug had made him hazy, half-aware and weak. The first time was always the worst, not knowing how they would respond, how they would react despite the drug coursing through their veins, slowing them down, turning them into something to be molded by his hands, even if it was just for a short period of time.

  The pastor’s hands were like ice as they brushed the back of Algernon’s neck, fingers curling around the stiff, white collar of his uniform. Daniel perhaps wasn’t the strongest, but he was still able to haul Algernon upwards, helping him stand for just a moment before forcing him down onto the unforgiving concrete again, knees slamming down with a dull, painful thud in front of the basin. Daniel’s hands on his shoulders kept him steady as he knelt by his side, the closest human contact Algernon had had in weeks.

  One thing that Algernon despised more than Daniel was being treated like a child. People had done that to him his entire life. Whether they mocked him for his special interests or mocked his lack of social skills in his youth, people always treated him like a baby. Like he had no self-awareness. Hearing Daniel speak like that just brought the memories bubbling up to the surface of peers jeering at him and hissing and the sounds of a thousand words splattering themselves across his shirt. He leaned his head to the wall, and spoke the first words - albeit with much more strength than he thought it would necessitate - he had spoken in quite some time.

  “Didn’t Jesus ever tell you not to force your beliefs on anyone?”

  It was one of the few things he remembered of his childhood; his mother telling him that forcing one’s doctrine on another was against God’s will. For someone to be saved, they had to come to Him willingly.

  Daniel probably didn’t hear him. Algernon didn’t care, he knew he was barely speaking, mouth making jumbled noises and words tasting foreign on his tongue, wet clay in his mouth.

  Under normal circumstances, Algernon would have turned Daniel’s devotion to him into the butt of a joke. How he was as devoted as a husband to Algernon’s… well-being. He’d twist it all into something they could laugh about, especially Algernon, and then continue on the conversation.

  These were not the times for joking. And the look on the other’s face, the folding of his hands, the look in his eye. The blade of a knife was all he saw reflected in those eyes, as dangerous as the edge and as deadly as the curve. He swallowed and listened to the other as he attempted to calm him, but when he saw the rosary and heard the prayer, his spine set aflame. A warning to run. A warning to get the hell out.

  “May this child of God be guided back to the kingdom of Heaven, convicted in his believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of the Living God, our Lord, and our savior.”

  He knew Algernon would never confess on his own, not now. It was up to Daniel to work towards Algernon’s salvation, something he was more than accustomed to at this point - it was his job, and it was a job that he reveled in under the watch of the Lord.

  “Algernon Rosewell,” he said, the full name passing his lips like a chill up the other’s spine. “I now baptize you in the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, for the forgiveness of your sins, and the gift of the Holy Spirit.”

  Then, all at once, Algernon felt Daniel’s cold hand at the back of his neck, gripping tightly. There was a sharp pain in his scalp as his other hand grabbed a fistful of dark curls. And without so much as a moment’s hesitation, and even less warning, Daniel pushed forward with all of his strength, bending Algernon over the side of the basin and submerging his head underwater entirely.

  And Daniel held him there.

  His legs ached in fight-or-flight response but he couldn’t move. He felt Daniel’s hand on the back of his neck, smooth and rough all the same. He was pulled up and planted down and he heard the words and his name. Algernon Rosewell. That’s who he was. Algernon Rosewell. He had such a delicate name, and it left the pastor’s lips like a curse. He sensed something in the other’s hands- not hesitation. No. Something like a pulse. A pulse unsteady and wavered. He knelt before the basin and his breath hitched in his throat. No. No. Daniel wouldn’t- he would, but-

  He heard the gushing of his own breath in bubbles past his ears. Dark oaken curls looking deep and ebony black in water, unraveling to tendrils whipping past and rising to the surface like seeking air for his bitter lungs. He saw himself in his mind at five. Slipping from a rock. Falling to the deep for a moment, snatched up and saved.

  No one was coming to save him.

  He stifled a scream as he kept the only breath in his lungs still. His body shook and he convulsed, trying so, so hard to press himself up. He forced his hands onto the basins edge and pushed his head up, pushed Daniel’s hand back, pushed harder and harder to catch a breath.

  Always the fighter, Algernon.

  He fought and fought and struggled as Daniel held his head under the water. Baptism was always a mess affair, water sloshing over the edges of the basin to stain the concrete a darker grey, rolling in little waves away from the scene of the crime as if shrinking away in fear.

  Daniel remained solid; every step of his plan was deliberate, thought through, thoroughly tested, evident in the way he so easily drowned the drugged. He watched Algernon with a steely sort of determination has he thrashed under his grip, throwing his weight forward to keep him under. Even drugged, half conscious, and starved, Algernon was fighting - for his life, for his freedom, to be out of Daniel’s greedy grip once and for all.

  Unfortunately, today was not the day.

  He watched his panic bubble to the surface as Algernon’s weak hands beat against the edges of the basin, trying to gain purchase even for a second to push himself up, to gain a breath, to survive the baptism. Daniel felt the heel of Algernon’s palm connect with his ribs, a halfhearted and poorly-aimed attempt to knock the man off of him. He pushed harder, Algernon’s shoulders breaching the surface for the briefest moment before Daniel threw his weight back, dragging Algernon from the depths of the holy waters.

  He grabbed Algernon’s arm, steadying him as he was brought up, making it impossible for him to lash out at the priest as he reeled the other’s head back with a vicious grip.

  He gasped, dragging a desperate breath into his lungs. There was water everywhere, dripping down his front and soaking the both of them. It was only a moment’s reprieve. Daniel’s baptism was a long and grueling process, intended to wash out the impurities of the soul. And for sinner like Algernon, it was going to be a long, long time before he would be pure.

  It was all a matter of patience, though, and Daniel had plenty of patience to spare. Now that Algernon was safe and sound where he belonged, patience wasn’t a matter anymore. All it took was time, for Algernon to be cleansed of his sins, to be able to start anew and live the life that God - that Daniel - intended for him.

  The pastor’s fingers tugged tighter at his hair, fingers twisting around the curls to ensure he didn’t lose his grip. He was sure it was painful, and that, he regretted, but it was the only way to ensure that Algernon was unable to shake him. That was the price to be paid for fighting, and he’d come to understand that eventually. But for now, Daniel readjusted his grip on the man’s neck, pressing his heel down as he leaned his weight forward again.

  Algernon, face hovering a mere few inches above the surface of the water again, barely given the chance to catch his breath, heard again: “I now baptize you in the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, for the forgiveness of your sins, and the gift of His new word and the path to salvation.”

  He pushed down, down, down again, the water filling Algernon’s nose, his eyes, his ears, turning the world into a swirling, echoing hell as Daniel spoke over him, the man’s voice cutting clear through the basin like a knife as he watched Algernon start struggling again.

  “There is one body and one Spirit, just as you were called to one hope when you were called; one Lord, one faith, one baptism; one God and Father of all, who is over all and through all and in all,” Daniel recited.

  Longer this time, firmer. Daniel counted the seconds.

  Fifteen, twenty, thirty, forty -

  Daniel dragged him up once more.

  Algernon had never been good at holding his breath.

  He had fought and fought and pushed. He considered getting his palm on Daniel a lucky throw. He dragged as much air into his lungs as he could when he could and then felt himself submerged. He spit water and then found himself under again. He lost count of how many times this man pushed his face in the water.

  Even when he was just held to linger, he was panicking, verging on hyperventilating.

  He’d inhaled water - not much, just a touch - and as soon as he was dragged up, spluttered and coughed and choked. Water. Everywhere. All down his clothes. All in his hair. He was soaked and it streamed down his face and it became evident it wasn’t just water pouring from those eyes.

  They were filled with hot, salt-sea tears, his cheeks a deep red, his mouth hanging open as he choked and sobbed and used this moment to push the basin back, back, ENOUGH-

  He managed to shift his position to give it a firm shove with his foot, tipping the water everywhere. He was wailing like a child, his voice leaving him in hard screams and echoing and scratching up the walls. The sound of The Furies before they took down a man. The sound of fear leaving his body, like a spirit trapped away. The room echoed his voice. Echoed the cries, the pleas, his tears leaving him in long trails. He was shaking so hard he might as well have been an object set to vibrate.

  He didn’t have time to think. He kept choking, bent over now, trying not to vomit but trying to get the water from his lungs. He pressed his arms into the ground and his face into his arms and curled up, his back facing the ceiling, his knees tucked under him. He looked like he was trying to survive an earthquake. His scalp burned and his neck was strained and everything about him ached, ached, ached.

  “P- please,” It was a shaky, half-alive whisper. He had almost blacked out. He had almost passed out. He was so close to it when he’d been held under that he saw the edges of darkness on his vision. “P- please, stop, stop, stop, stop-” He repeated the word frantically, his voice rising louder and louder, cacophonous. He stopped speaking and instead his breaths left him. Panic. Pure and unadulterated.

  His neck felt stretched thin and too small. His veins were screaming. His heart was screaming. His heart was in a vice. His lungs were wheezing and rasping and grappling for air and clamoring for every little bit they could get. He was wheezing rasping wheezing rasping crying- he was hyperventilating now, everything coming and going like civilians on a New York City subway. He was breathing in out in out in out in out-

  His vision went black and he felt only concrete on his back.

  Daniel fell back hard when Algernon knocked the basin over, his center of balance thrown entirely off. The base of his spine hit the concrete and he gave a little ‘oof’ as he came to a rest, watching Algernon hunch over in the puddle that was spilling out over the steadily darkening floor.

  Algernon retched, back arching with every little convulsion, coughing and wheezing and dripping with water. He sounded desperate for peace, for mercy that he already knew wasn’t coming. Slowly, Daniel lifted himself to his feet, smoothing out his shirt, dark grey with water, as he looked down at his prisoner. The sound of begging rang loudly in his ears, a swell of pride in his chest. This was the beginning. Begging, pleading with Daniel for something that resembled safety - something that only Daniel could offer, now.

  He’d offer safety and comfort, he’d offer a fresh start an a soft bed. He’d offer Algernon everything that his parishioners had - a home, a family, a purpose in life - but Algernon would have to work for it. After everything he’d come here to do, after every terrible sin he committed by worming his way into their Eden to tempt his congregation with the fruit of doubt and faithlessness, trying to dismantle the church from the inside out - Daniel wasn’t about to trust him any time soon. And until Daniel did trust him, he would atone for his sins in the waters of baptism.

  When Algernon collapsed, Daniel squared his shoulders. That hadn’t exactly been what he’d expected, but with Algernon out cold in the seeping puddle he’d created, he took a breath, assessing the situation and clearing his throat. He picked up the basin, stepping with a long stride over Algernon’s body, and let the door click shut behind him.

  When Algernon awoke, the room was too bright, too bare, too small. But there were marked changes. Daniel had left things for him. The clothes he wore now were still soaked through - if he stayed in them, he’d get sick, and evidently, Daniel didn’t want this. There was a new set of clothes - the same stark white - a few dry towels, and a blanket. It was soft, heavy, enough to keep Algernon warm despite the chill that had settled into his skin from the baptism. Daniel expected him to change and warm himself before his visit that night. He had different plans for tonight’s sermon.

Chapter Text

Act III: Confinement
Chapter III: One and the Same

--

 "Beloved, we are God's children now, and what we will be has not yet appeared; but we know that when he appears we shall be like him, because we shall see him as he is."

1 John 3:2

--

  Under different circumstances, Algernon would have laughed to see Daniel flat on his back, collapsed, making a ridiculous cartoon noise. But his convulsing and his choking and his retching and his screams and his wheezing-

  When he lost consciousness he found himself in the back of his mind. A cool summer night driving through his neighborhood back home, slow, streetlamps and porch lights all dim and bright and the same, radiant. They glimmered like fluorescent orange and blue stars. Their lights cast starkly contrasting, black shadows that reached like fingers of nightmares to scratch the houses and their lawns and their mailboxes stuck out as markers, indicating life. A pulse.

  ...

  He woke up hours later. His lungs burned like fire. He laid there on the floor, stretched out. His hair was wet. He was laying in the water and he could feel it soaking his back and sending shivers up and down his body. If he didn’t change he’d get a cold for sure, but what would that mean? Would Daniel show some mercy and take him to a doctor, or would he be left to suffer?

  He pondered this as he stood. He struggled to get his footing, stumbling up, staggering forward to the folded clothes. He was always left with no choice. It was either suffer or provide himself with the smallest comfort he could afford.

  He shifted from his soaked clothing and set them aside. He slipped into the new, clean, and warm clothes. He knew that the cognitive dissonance between his former self and his current self was growing; a great divide, a rift. He wanted to pour cement and keep it stable, making the divine whole again, reuniting Pangaea, but the effort would be as fruitless as a tree in the winter, frost-bitten and withered.

  He pulled the blanket over him and reveled in the weight on his body. He finally had a suitable comfort, keeping it tight to him. He needed his coat back, the one thing that provided the perfect amount of weight on his body, but he had no chance of getting it back soon. He curled up in the corner, pulling it around himself, leaning his head to the wall and fiddling with the edges.

  He was already formulating how to gain Daniel’s trust. Slowly, over time, he would be allowed to move more. To talk to people. And then he would begin to rip his world apart.

  He just had to be careful about it. No more reckless behaviors.

  Someday, his footsteps down the halls of the psychiatric ward alone would be enough to send ice running through his veins; the uncertainty of whether or not he’d make it through the night or if the breath would be ripped from his lungs again. And there would be more baptisms, that much Algernon could count on. Perhaps he was under the illusion that they were through, that Daniel had been sated by his wheezing and retching, that he saw it perhaps as a lesson learned. But that’s just not how things were done, here.

  But for now, the brisk footsteps echoing down the hall outside of Algernon’s cell weren’t the harbinger of another drowning. It was seven o clock, which meant it was time for mass.

  There was a plastic chair kept nearby, and Algernon heard the ancient feet of the chair drag across the linoleum up to the door, settling no more than a foot or two from the hatch that was slid open. He sat.

  “Evening, Algernon!”

  If he were honest, he didn’t expect his guest to be very responsive. His earlier begging was the most that Daniel had heard out of him since the screaming stopped streaming from the empty corridor, some hours after Algernon had come to realize what a horrible misstep he’d taken. But that icy fear was most likely drained from his veins since then. Even if the little pile of wet clothed and the burn in the back of his throat remained to remind him, it was still hours since Algernon had knocked over the basin, wheezing and crying. Daniel was sure he’d regained his wits by now. Still, he persisted.

  “I brought dinner.” He said it like a peace offering, sliding the tray halfway underneath the door for his friend. It was just a meal, nothing more. No tricks or traps, no drugs this time. Just something to help him recover. “Thought some nice hot soup would do you some good.”

  There was a pause, and Daniel sighed, wringing his hands together as he peered at Algernon through the slot. “No sermon tonight,” the words tasted wrong. “I thought maybe we’d just talk. I know it’s been rough. I don’t…” he thought for a moment, wrapping his head around the words.

  “I don’t want to see you suffer, Algernon,” he said finally. His voice was soft, just barely loud enough to reach the man’s ears through the thick steel door. “I know you don’t like me, but you’re accepting what help I can offer, and I appreciate that. It’s good. I don’t want you to waste away, here; that’s not why you’re here.”

  Algernon knew why he was here, even if the little creeping voice in the back of his head had bloomed yet. Daniel just wanted what was best for him - for his church, and for himself - and this was the only way.

  “I know you don’t see it yet, but this is going to be good for you. A new start! With family and friends who are all there to lift you up! It’s going to be wonderful, you’ll see! Once you’re cleansed, and you find a home here, you’ll see it. I promise.” His voice was almost wistful, and frighteningly convincing. Was it even an act? The people in Lamb’s Pointe did seem to have that bond, that sense of community that nothing - not even Algernon - could tear apart. Faith in one another. How honeyed were Daniel’s lies when everything he spoke about Lamb’s Pointe was the truth?

  “And I’m sorry, that this is the only way. I truly am.”

  Someday, his footsteps down the halls of the psychiatric ward alone would end. Algernon would not be in this room if he played his cards right. He was beginning to rationalize, analyze, and gosh what enough food and water can do for the brain. He was regaining his composure slowly, and even though it had been broken earlier - his resolve splintered, fractured - he was starting to plan his next move. It would not be lie to say Algernon lacked common sense, but where such sense ended he found his mind hard at work, looking for the exits and escape routes and his walls would serve as nothing but container to these ideas.

  He knew there was no end in sight. He was well aware, because having been in this room for so long, Daniel’s sadistic nature had been revealed to him. It had bloomed forth when the rosary had dropped to the basin and his heart had lurched in his throat when he was dragged to be drowned. Sadism was taking it lightly.

  He flinched when he heard the chair scraping on the ground, the noise gritting his teeth and his ears stinging from the echo of it all. He waited for the hatch to slide open, and was satisfied when it did.

  He had not expected Daniel to speak, however. He sat, furrowed his brow. Listened.

  Algernon kicked himself further for ending up here. Every time he saw Daniel, heard his voice, saw the neat and tidy clothes left for him, saw the food slide under the hatch he kicked himself- no. Kicked himself was too light a phrase. He launched himself from the edge of the Grand Canyon, to the sand and rocks and death below. He would watch his former self ghost down into the chasm below and cry out for someone to save them save them save him oh heaven please-

  He opened his eyes and watched the tray slide beneath the hatch, and the battering of choicelessness against his mind was the dull ache of a bruise. He slowly rose, steadying himself against the wall, and pulled the tray in. He moved back to his corner slowly, settling down like a bird to nest, and listened close.

  No sermon. He felt peace for once. Just once. One bleeding moment that bled on his clothes and tinged them red.

  But he did not want to talk to this man. He did not want to hurt himself further or cause any harm to anyone but something was prodding his head. He closed his eyes, sighed, rubbed his temples. The fact the other had trailed off was not comforting, but… The idea of leaving Daniel at a loss for words was just a small detail that gave Algernon some tiny inch of hope. A droplet.

  How could he say he didn’t want Algernon to suffer after all he’d been through? Stuck in a room with no way out, trapped like a mouse trapped like a mouse with the name Algernon and the book and the fool and the savant. His mind was racing too fast just for a small conversation, but he had to be sharp, like the crack of a whip, leaping up every chance to change fate in his favor.

  He was hesitant to reveal his life to the other. Unfold it like a gift. He knew it would offer only a pleased smile on Daniel’s mouth to have leverage to use against him, to manipulate in his favor, but he hadn’t talked - really talked - in so long. He was tired.

  “Then you and I have similar goals.”

  His voice came out very small at first, but then it was as though his words rose to a stand, and balled their fists at Daniel. “I only want to help people, too. That’s why…”

  He didn’t want to admit to his deed, it would only do him harm. He bit his lip.

  “…That’s why I do what I do, the conspiracies and everything. I want to give people something to hold onto, or to give them a new start. Maybe because I’ve had to start over a lot. Maybe cause… I don’t know. I’m too-” He shut his eyes tight, the effort of speech not fully registering until now, “I’m one of those people who just wants what’s best for others. I guess we’re the same. Albeit with very, very different answers to the questions of right and wrong.” Daniel had to be aware of other answers. A man as cunning as he had to be aware that there were other ways to bring people to him, he had just settled on the answer of violence and torture and all the awful tactics in the book, tactics that surely the Geneva Convention would have issues with.

  The fact of the matter was that there was always another way. Daniel was just choosing to ignore it.

  He didn’t expect the other to say much more than to try to convince him Lamb’s Pointe was sanctuary. But it was sanctuary engulfed in flame.

  And one day soon, Algernon would be the one behind the flame-proof suit, dousing the world in fire and burning their words and tomes under no command.

  Daniel was well aware of the options. Lamb’s Pointe, The Church of the Holy Shepherd, his doctrine, his word, his lies - none of it was necessary. But it was his, and he would hold onto it with a vice grip until the day he died. The control he held over these people was the most amazing feeling, the absolute certainty that you were a saint to the very people whose lives you ruined.

  He had the option to close the church. He had the option to let Algernon go, now that the tapes had been destroyed and his evidence scrubbed - but he wasn’t going to. No, Algernon was going to remain in that cell for a long time, because just like letting him go, Daniel had the option to keep him there, and let’s face it - one was infinitely more fun. It never ceased being a game, for him, not even after he’d destroyed the tapes, not even after he’d heard Algernon cry and beg. There was always more fun to be had.

  But he leaned back in his chair, long legs stretched out before him, crossed at the ankles, and arms folded across his chest as he listened to the clattering of the cafeteria tray. He hadn’t expected words from his guest. He hadn’t expected Algernon to talk to him, not this soon. It had been three weeks, at most, and Daniel was sure that he was still seething. So to hear his voice, scratchy and disused, came almost as a shock to his system. If the other had been able to see him, he’d be greeted by a genuine look of surprise.

  Daniel sat up again, fingers drumming on his knee for a moment, rolling Algernon’s words in his head, examining them, picking them apart for the short moment that silence fell between them again.

  ‘I guess we’re the same.’

  Daniel frowned deeply. That wasn’t right. For all the fighting Algernon had done, for every struggle at every step of the way, he had expected his guest to do everything in his power to distance himself from Daniel, to preserve his own sense of self. Surely he knew what Daniel’s end game was - complete assimilation into his congregation. There was no reason for him to so readily align himself with Daniel, except to keep up his act.

  That was something Daniel admired about Algernon; he was a great actor. Putting on this little play specifically for Daniel’s amusement. It was charming, but it had lost its usefulness the moment the door had clicked shut behind him, sealing him away from the real world. His act had failed him, and now he was smothered beneath the heavy curtains of the stage he’d tried to claim as his own.

  Daniel bit at his lip, thinking. Well, the man was sealed behind several feet of concrete and thick steel. There was no time like the present, right?

  “Is that why you had the tapes? Why you were recording our meeting? I listened to them, you know. The whole meeting. I was very surprised,” he said softly, his voice quiet and damning. Daniel knew about the tapes, and Algernon had to know that he knew about them, the morning he’d woken up to find his jacket missing. So what was the point in beating around the bush now?

  Things had taken a very sudden turn, now that Algernon had decided to speak to him. They were still wading through the thick of the interview - or was it an interrogation? - but Algernon was no longer the one pressing for answers. “Am I one of your conspiracy theories?”

  Algernon had been working for years to keep people from dangerous organizations, cults, things of the like. He had started back in his early college years. When he heard a friend was turning to Scientology. He had gathered up as much evidence as he could and thrown it at them and after a while, they were deterred for other things. It had ignited something in Algernon, keeping people safe, even if it meant they were unhappy they were saved from whatever they had turned to- drugs, alcohol, toxic ideologies.

  He had always been a conspiracy theorist, twisting answers around and listening to how they squeaked against the gears of his mind. He had always been fascinated, been entranced, by the oddities and the strange and the off-kilter. He’d been foolish to think he could be well-renowned for it all, but he was very curious of it and made certain to research every angle to everything he uncovered.

  When Daniel had gone silent for a moment it was no victory. He did not count it as one because just surprising the man was not enough. He sat and ate as he listened to the other reply, sipping his water. He was expecting to be drugged, so he wanted to speak when he could. He looked like he had been wrapped up for burial, the blanket tight around him except to let his hands and head free, his arms still thin but slowly strengthening from the exercises he did when Daniel was away.

  ‘Am I one of your conspiracies?’

  Algernon laughed. The first time he’d let out such a noise in a while. It was a rueful little sound, bittersweet and all the same responsive. “No, I’d think of you as more of a… curiosity. Conspiracies are… well, they’re more like government cover-ups and the Illuminati.” He shrugged. He had expected no less of Daniel. He knew his evidence was gone and all he could do now was try to find his way in all of this, through the muddy dark, through the hell he had seen. Like navigating in a pool of ink.

  “I record every meeting.” He stated it like it was a simple, trivial fact. “You’re not a conspiracy, you’re something that clawed at my conscious, if you want to be real here. I heard about your cult from a couple of other people. Decided to check it out. I didn’t expect it to be…” He shut his eyes, hoping he wasn’t crying, no, no- don’t show weakness, damn it, don’t, not when he can hear you- “I just expected what usually happens. You get frustrated with me and toss me out.”

  He was digging his grave but at least he had the shovel, and could take his damn time with it if he so pleased.

  He could hear the crack in Algernon’s voice. It was the sound of regret and disappointment, pain that lingered and festered in the stagnant atmosphere of his tiny cell. He didn’t move to look at his guest. He kept the talk not-quite-personal, yet, and it was easy to pretend that he hadn’t noticed. But he could imagine it, the man biting back his emotions, still putting on a show for Daniel, even after he’d heard his screams and cries and pleas. It seemed awfully pointless, but enjoyable nonetheless.

  Daniel rubbed absently at his face, a hand covering his mouth for a short moment before he sighed. “My cult.” he repeated, slowly. It sounded regretful. The words were bitter and no matter how many times he heard them over the years - and the times were numerous - it crawled over his skin. He knew, for all intents and purposes, his church was

  “You were honest, and I appreciate it. Genuinely.” There was a stress in his voice, hoping that Algernon knew that he really, truly, did mean it. “I’ve wondered this whole time, you know. And when I saw the tapes-” There was a chuckled, an amused sound that bubbled effortlessly from his lips. “Well. It wasn’t really much of a mystery at that point, but I just wanted to hear it, I suppose.”

  He was silent for a long time, trying to gather his words. He was nothing if not eloquent. He relied on it, his words like magic that he poured into his parishioners. He knew that Algernon wasn’t one to be fooled by his words - not yet, anyway - but that was no reason to forego his propriety.

  “You’re not the only one who would call us a cult. But I stand by what I say. Our church is a place of sanctuary. For people who have no where else to go. For people who have no one else to turn to. All the people you met, this is their home, their lives. It can be a home for you, too. And I hope it is, someday.”

  Daniel pat his palms to his knees, and Algernon heard the scrape of the chair as Daniel stood.

  There were no footsteps. For a moment, he considered letting Algernon know when he’d be back with the basin. Not a threat; more of a warning of sorts, a chance for him to prepare himself. But it was a dangerous idea, one that could potentially give him the upper hand. He swallowed his words almost as fast as they’d tried to claw their way up his throat.

  “It’ll be another few days before I bring food, but you’ll get water regularly. I’d suggest you stay hydrated. We have a lot of work to do, Algernon, but I promise it’ll be worth it. I promise.”

  And his footsteps echoed away.

Chapter Text

Act III: Confinement 
Chapter IV: The Question

-- 

"The fear of the Lord is instruction in wisdom, and humility comes before honor."

Proverbs 15:33

--

  He cursed himself for it. The tiniest creep of emotion into his voice. It was like a chip in a tea cup, small and rough, but all it was to Algernon was the final snap of circumstance. He felt that for a moment the veil of unfeeling was lifted from his head to give his warden the closest thing to a glimpse of his inner self that he could allow. He recognized the pointlessness, but after all of this, he was most concerned for putting on a show for himself. To give himself the illusion of composure, however wavering it was.
He wasn’t surprised by this. No food was just another control tactic, and by now, he was used to them. He was becoming more and more accustomed to the man’s ways. He didn’t expect much more.

  As the other’s footsteps echoed and faded to nothingness, he finished his soup and slowly drank his water. He had to be careful about how he did this, or else he would get caught. He set the plastic spoon and the tray aside. He shed the blanket and stretched his limbs, which made awful popping-cracking sounds. He continued to stretch his legs, his arms, his torso. He loosened up and pressed his stomach down on the floor, pushing up, down, up, down-

  He had begun to work on his legs as well. He needed enough muscle in his legs that if he did run, if he did bolt, he’d be able to make it in the forest for long enough. It was easy to get lost out there, and he’d need as much energy as he could maintain. He hated doing all of this in a confined space. It meant he couldn’t walk very far or practice running, he had to settle for other things he could do with his legs. He was cautious with how much he did as well. He couldn’t let anything alter his appearance.

  But as he stretched out and moved his limbs he did the one thing he had told himself he wouldn’t. He let himself actually break a sweat, something the pastor would notice. It was, of course, unintentional. But he was putting much more strain on himself than he should have, and he knew it would stick out on clean white clothes. He looked at the tray. The bowl. The spoon.

  He didn’t want to do this. At this point, he had done a lot of things he didn’t want to do, though, and it was not like he wasn’t in hell already. He slowly knelt and picked up the spoon, then moved to the opposite end of the room. He wouldn’t sleep in it.

  He held it up to his mouth, closing his eyes. He had no choice.

  He pressed it to the back of his throat.

  When he had gotten the result he wanted, he felt sick with himself. But he moved back to his side of the room, sipping the water. He’d make sure to put up the act of sickness well enough that it would warrant some sort of attention - medical, not likely, but maybe he would get some rest in an actual bed. He pulled the blanket around himself.

  He didn’t need to even act like he was shivering. The room and his sweat were enough to cause a chill. Who knows. Perhaps he would really get sick. That would be a predicament.

  Denying Algernon food wasn’t just for the sake of denying him food, making him hunger. Although it was a form of control, a way for Daniel to weaken him, keep him under his heel, he had to ensure that it was safe to enter the cell. The only way to do that was to drug him, keep him subdued, and the only way he could be certain of that was to feed him, to make sure that he ate what he was given, and let the drug course through him, making the world hazy and difficult to maneuver.

  Things would be so much easier if he had Algernon’s cooperation. He would someday. Algernon would know that so long as he behaved, he wouldn’t be hurt, he wouldn’t be drugged, he wouldn’t be hunted down through the compound if he tried to escape. Eventually, Daniel would be able to move freely, Algernon knowing that this cell was where he would be living for a long time, and content with that. But the way he fought, the way he sneered at and ignored and detested Daniel, it seemed it would be some time before they reached that point.

  But for now, this was the only way. Make him eat, make him keep it down. He could refuse, he could vomit it back up - as he apparently had - but he would starve. He would waste away and die in that cell. It was his choice.

  Which is why, when Daniel payed his visit the next day, bible in hand, he paused, smelling the vile sick that had puddled in the corner of the room. The hatch slid open, and water was offered.

  His eye was keen - and he easily noticed the patches of a light grey that pattered across his shirt. He’d been sweating? He’d been sick. That certainly put a kink in the works. Daniel hadn’t anticipated his guest getting sick.

  There was a breath as he watched Algernon closely, the gears in his mind already grinding away, working out a viable plan. He had his options; he wasn’t the first parishioner to get sick; the only difference was that most of the other parishioners were able to see a doctor.

  Algernon was not.

  “What happened? Are you okay?” He asked, crouching at the slot, looking as concerned as he could, being the man who’d locked him away in here in the first place. He made no move to open the door, not now. He refused to. Not until he was sleeping soundly, completely under. Only then would he move into the cell to clean up again. Until then, Algernon would have to understand.

  He wasn’t to be trusted. Not even under these circumstances.

  He made certain to give the man a tired glower. He did not see himself as cowering, merely moving, merely keeping the air in his lungs. He spluttered out another cough and it was now evident there were dark circles under his eyes. He had not slept well in a long time. His eyes had a dull look to them, exhausted of the way this game was played, not bored but simply wanting it to end.

  It would not be lying to say that Daniel was very lucky he had not provided Algernon with anything sharp. Any objects that he could utilize to help himself “reach Ascension” ahead of schedule. Algernon was afraid of dying; that much was true. He would not be able to carry it out himself, he could not harm his own body without fear and without radiating regret, but if he were to collapse he would likely not cry for help.

  It wasn’t as though he was necessarily willing to die. That would be letting Daniel win. And while he was here, he refused to give the other such a victory over him, such control over his life. It was more so the images of his future, if he did survive and escape and if he did have to live his whole life with this weighing on his back. He didn’t know if he would be able to handle it, the Atlas weight. Everest on his shoulders. He would be straining and his shoulders would be dislocating under the memories that had accumulated in just this small space. The meager meals. The drugs. The fear. The baptisms.

  If he had anything in this world that was still his, it was his will. It was his survival and his own heart and mind that cranked incessantly giving him life and pouring streams of thought between his ears, rivers traveling to nowhere. Because so long as he was locked up, he would not be able to get anywhere from here. He could not scope out the compound, get the measure of things, size up the other members of this cult. He had met a few of them on his tour and he barely remembered them, all except Amy.

  Amy. She wouldn’t listen if he made it out of here. She wouldn’t dare betray her beloved pastor. But Algernon considered, just momentarily, if he ever got out of this cell - if he didn’t die here - then he would consider her someone to bond with. Closest to the pastor. Someone that he could use as a mediator.

  Using people was below him, it was Daniel’s way, and he knew that if one lied with the dogs they woke with fleas.

  He was running out of options.

  If it was ease of mind Daniel wanted to achieve, he was awfully off path. Algernon could never be assuaged by the man, soothed by his words. He had been unsettled from the moment they met and he had nothing but animosity beating in his blood, boiling down the marrow of his bones. He wanted so desperately to give in, though, because he knew that if he did he would be given a proper place to sleep and real food and socialization and comfort.

  He recognized this is what Daniel wanted him to feel.

  He shut those thoughts down.

  There was a momentary flicker of hope. He couldn’t hear the deceit in the other’s voice - or perhaps he had deceived himself to think there was none, just a solemn moment of comfort - but the idea of the room being clean was… it was nice. Even if it had been he who had forced it out, forced the sick up from his stomach, he could only stand it for so long. He didn’t want to end up drowning in the stench. He waited for a moment to respond.

  “Did you know that if a shark stops swimming, it dies?”

  It was the tiniest croak of a voice. He was feeling ill but it was not physical ailment, no, he was ill from being in this cell so long and having nothing to interact with - not people. Objects. Things he could physically move, things he could use to stim. His hair was a sensory hell, having not been properly washed in weeks, his body felt rotten even when he washed in the basin, he felt like he was rotting even when he moved and exercised in the tiny cell and he felt like he was just the outer shell- a tree’s inner core degrading itself.

  “It’s true. They can’t get any oxygen through their gills if they stop swimming. In a manner of speaking, they suffocate.”

  He had nothing else to say. He only nodded to the offer of water.

  Algernon wasn’t the first person to long for a way out. He wasn’t the first person trapped in a cell, here. It didn’t happen often, but Daniel had to keep the heretics in line somehow. Regardless, he wouldn’t allow Algernon to come to harm. Even for all his tactics and his threats, Daniel would never let Algernon die here. He didn’t want to kill him. He couldn’t want anything further from it. He just wanted the best for him.

  Daniel intended to keep his promises. Despite what Algernon might think, he was not an unfair man. He was a well-organized man. A man who wasn’t afraid to exert force, perhaps. But he wasn’t unfair. All he asked for was cooperation in return for his care.

  Hearing Algernon croak out the occasional words was an unusual experience. None of his parishioners were ever like this; none of them protested so silently, cut themselves off from the only human contact they were granted through Daniel. But even like this, he remained witty, quick to throw these charming little metaphors his way. “I’m sure that would be a poignant metaphor, if it were true,” he said, lightly. There was a pause, and a smile on his lips. “Also, if you were a shark.” He chuckled.

  Daniel wasn’t very good at humor. It came off awkward and perhaps a little mocking in this situation, but it was a good-natured attempt, at least.

  The pastor knew that Algernon’s suffering was inevitable. Necessary, even, in order to bring him into the light. But Daniel truly didn’t want him to suffer any more than he had to. He wouldn’t allow him to live in a soiled room, so small, out of pure spite. He tried to keep the state of things acceptable, if perhaps not pristine. But even that would get better, once Algernon accepted his help, once he behaved himself and Daniel knew that he and his congregation weren’t in danger from this man any more.

  Surely Algernon knew that was the only reason why Daniel held him here. With so many faithful followers in his congregation who led normal, comfortable lives at the compound, he had to see that this wasn’t just how Daniel treated his parishioners for the fun of it. He had to see that this was all for a higher purpose than just his suffering.

  With Algernon’s answer, Daniel gave him a little nod back. “Okay. I won’t be long.” His tone of voice had changed drastically. There was a distinct tone of something Algernon might be tempted to think was protection. Something he might be tempted to think was caring. There was no way that the man who had locked him away here could really, truly care about his well-being, but there was no denying the tenderness with which he offered his care.

  The footsteps faded down the hallway, and while fifteen minutes might have seemed like a lifetime in that blank, little cell, Daniel did return as promised, water in hand. “I hope you don’t mind if I stick around, just to be sure.” There was the scrape of the chair, and Daniel pulled up to the little slot, settling in to keep an eye on Algernon, make sure that he drank what he was given and kept it down, accepted the circumstances of the offer. “Thank you, by the way. You agreed to be drugged. Considering everything that’s happened, I won’t say I wasn’t a little surprised. I won’t do anything. Just clean up.” He hoped it sounded reassuring. The time for tricks had passed, for now. Sincerity and honesty would go a long way in the end.

  Algernon would rather die a heretic than live a mindless drone. At the end of the day, that’s what kept him fighting. Better to die a martyr to his own cause than to die one of the hundreds of others who followed this man’s words as far as they would lead them.

  He had very little intention of being in this cell any longer, however. He was growing weary of it, coming in the vicinity of claustrophobic. The walls were too close and the door was too close and the air circulating was barely making a run around the room before bumping into itself, clumsily, fumbling. The whole room was an echo chamber of how much he wanted to get out, get away, climb his way through the hatch like a cat and run as far from here as he could get.

  He did manage a tiny laugh at Daniel’s half-joke. He sounded like the clanging of a rusty gate against hinges, the rubbing of metal-on-old-metal. He tried to keep his words calm and chosen and well-planted, but everything he touched with his voice seemed to wither up. He was tired of it. He was tired of this. He would fight for the fight’s sake, to make sure Daniel never won out in the end, but he was so… he just wanted to go home.

  He just wanted to go home, please, he closed his eyes and he took in a breath and knew that he could not change the present.

  No matter how much Daniel worked under the pretense of bringing Algernon into the light, all the man saw was dark, a gaping void that let out shrill shrieks at him every time he stepped to the ledge. The Hallelujah’s echoed into the back of his head. The only saving grace was that Daniel recognized the need for cleanliness now, the need to be sanitary. Algernon could appreciate that, and it was one of the few things he could be comfortable about. He was in no shape to accept anything but the meager meals and water from Daniel, but he knew that eventually he would need to leave this room. Being cooped up in here was bad for the mind, body, and spirit.

  There was only the matter to settle, about how he would get out of here. He had no doubt there would be more steps to getting from his cell, more little rights and privileges he would earn every once in a while - regular meals, being able to remain without drugs in his veins, a real bed - but for now he had to settle for what he had. When Daniel replied he only bobbed his head in response, and folded in on himself.

  When eternity came to a close around him and the hatch slid open, Algernon made the small trip to get the glass. He sat in front of the hatch. He heard Daniel and as he sipped the water, he considered his words. The other was putting on such a mask that it was hard for Algernon to differentiate between lie and reality, but if he could do this, Algernon could, too.

  So Algernon sat and carefully composed a mask of his own face, tugging his lips to a small plastic smile and forcing that little twinkle to reflect in his eyes. A kindness.

  “I just don’t want to sleep in my sick.” He said in a small tone, but his voice was gaining strength to it, like he was getting used to it again. Even if he had spoken recently, it was hard for him to consider calm conversation with this man. He took another sip of the water. He stared at his reflection in it’s surface and felt such a distance between what he saw and who he remembered that he almost dropped the glass, but he held it firm and cleared his throat.

  ‘I just don’t want to sleep in my own sick.’ That was more than reasonable, really, and Daniel was glad that he was being reasonable enough to cooperate. It was a marked change he saw in Algernon; even if it was subtle, even if it was self-serving, just the fact that he was willing to let Daniel into the cell to clean up - just the fact that he was willing to cooperate, even just in this one tiny way - was enough to sate the preacher for the time being.

  “There's something that's been on my mind a lot - and heaven knows I've got free time," Algernon's laugh was croaky and hoarse and dry, but it was enough to feign amusement, "I know you say you lead everyone to the light and… I don’t know, a better standing with God, but there’s something I just don’t get. You know I know you’re bullshitting all of them. And if I promise to keep my mouth shut about it, will you just tell me one thing?”

  That sentence alone earned him no meals for a month, probably. He just sipped his water.

  Not like his long record of bad decisions could get any worse.

  He considered Algernon’s question. He had a number of reason, really, though he could sum it up easily. Daniel did this for the rush of it all. Controlling people the way he did - honeyed words and empty promises of salvation poured into their heads and filling them with holy devotion - felt amazing. The knowledge that he had such complete control of someone that he could march them to their own deaths and they trusted him so much that they wouldn’t blink an eye - and in fact went eagerly.

  He sat with Algernon, watching him as he drank. Good. He’d been worried, if he were honest. He knew that Algernon was desperate to get out of the cell. He wasn’t blind to the humming, the pacing he used to do, trying to keep himself from descending into the nearly apathetic state he was in now. Sitting in a corner, curled up on himself, quiet. And he couldn’t blame him. Solitary confinement was meant to drive someone to desperation. But there were two ways his need for freedom could manifest, and Daniel would do everything in his power to keep it from turning violent.

  That’s why he was here; Daniel would break him in one way or another. Break down his psyche and reform him in a way that pleased him alone. A follower, someone who looked up to him, who saw him as a holy and benign being that would protect him. Someone who would protect him from ever feeling this desperation, this pain, ever again. Someone who would raise him up, hold him tight and drag him from the pits of his own personal hell out into the kindness of Lamb’s Pointe. He would find comfort there. He would find a community that reassured him, everything would be okay. That Daniel was a righteous leader, and Algernon would know it to be true.

  Someday, Algernon would come to see him in a more positive light, no matter how much he despised him now; even the strongest men could be reduced to nothing. Algernon wouldn’t escape this cell - wouldn’t be granted true comfort - until he learned that. And when he did, and when he was finally given his own room, proper meals, real sleep, then he’d realize how Daniel had truly just done what was best for him.

  He considered Algernon’s question for a moment. He could be honest. He could tell Algernon the truth, that his need for control drove every feigned kindness and terrible deed that he’d committed over the last several years. He could tell him, but his words would be damning. If he confessed to Algernon, the illusion of holiness would be shattered beyond repair. If he confessed, Algernon would never have another doubt in his mind that Daniel was nothing more than a demon out to consume him alive.

  He took a breath, biting at his lip for a moment as he thought. Could he convince Algernon that he believed his own doctrine? Would it lead Algernon to belief as well, in the long run?

  “I do this for them,” he said, quietly. “I do this because the world out there isn’t kind to everyone. Amy…” he considered for a moment. This wasn’t his place to tell Algernon, and he was well aware of it. He didn’t want to. “Amy’s a mother, you know. I found her. Six months pregnant at seventeen. Not much younger than me, at the time, actually. Her parent disowned her, her child’s father left her. She had no place to go. I brought her to Lamb’s Pointe with me, gave her a home, gave her help. Sebastian, terminal cancer. Cursed God every day of his life. Absolutely hopeless. I brought him to Lamb’s Pointe, gave him Faith.”

  He paused, a hand at the back of his head. “You don’t see it. I know you don’t. You wouldn’t keep your mouth shut, about any of this. That’s why you’re here,” he admitted. “Because if you tell anyone about this, all of these people? They lose everything they have.”

  It was an ache in his throat like he had been stabbed and he tried to bite himself back. Salt welled up in the corners of his eyes and chugged a large portion of the glass right then. He had to keep his composure. His voice was steady when he stood and spoke, leaning against the door, arms folded over his chest.

  “I wasn’t going to ask you that,” He kept his gaze at the floor. “But I’m sorry to hear about all of that. I’ve been through my own personal hells, discounting this one.”

  He had been through enough. He considered himself a good person on principle alone; he had not harmed anyone on his climb to the top, but had he? He hadn’t handled his mental health in the healthiest ways imaginable before proper diagnosis, and even then he hadn’t been able to get a grip on it. He had worked on it for years and had been told he just wasn’t praying hard, loud enough, convicted, full of love. He was not doing anything right and he was doing it all wrong and he had become so sick of it that his head was in a vice every time he thought about those nights.

  “It’s not right that all they have is you and Lamb’s Pointe. It’s not… healthy, because if something does happen then they don’t have anything, Daniel. They’re left alone in the cold again, and- gosh, if they find out what you do…” He trailed off, his voice scratching like a record.

  His original question was surfacing and submerging, slowly bobbing in his mind. It begged him, beckoned, but he didn’t know if he wanted to say anything. He felt like he was giving in if he fell into Daniel’s hands of faith, but he couldn’t remain silent forever. He closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He pressed the back of his head to the door and looked up.

  He could remember leaning in this position under very different circumstances some years ago. His friend Holland at his side. He was a tall boy of seventeen when Algernon was sixteen and they were two against the world. Until Holland turned to the very few comforts he found on Earth. Until Holland went too fast. Until Algernon was wearing black.

  Forcing the memory down and choking it up inside himself, boxing it away, he picked up the glass and pressed it between his lips. It was almost entirely gone now. He hated this. Hated being in Daniel’s control. His little mouse in a cage. He despised this new hell and he paced day in and day out with his mind churning a thousand miles per hour. He did not see salvation in the other, but at this point, he was running out of the choice to see. He would have to be blind now, to navigate with Daniel as his guide if it came to it.

  Algernon’s mouth opened just slightly, but the words failed for a moment. He had done some reading when he was working on another interview a few months back- he assumed it was months. Victim souls. People God had chosen to suffer for other people in this life. To suffer for crimes they had committed in the past or simply to carry the weight. A little extra hurt. A burn on the back in addition to a whip or a stab or wax melting and scorching. He had not believed it up until this point, but sometimes he wondered.

  Because he saw people who had it easy. Who had people who loved them. Who had no problems with their families or their friends and could navigate the world having fulfilling-but-ultimately-meaningless lives. The people who wrote happy stories for happy people and drugged the masses with their joys. The people who had minor sufferings. Someone drowned in one inch of water was just as dead as someone drowned in ten feet. But those people skipped puddles and moved and laughed and played in the rain while he and his friends and the people he had known just laid face down, letting themselves be the happy-people stepping-stones.

  And then there were people like Algernon. Like people at Lamb’s Pointe. Who endured hell for no reason. Who saw it in other’s eyes for no reason. Who would burn at the stake because someone cried witch and they bit their tongue. He didn’t understand. It didn’t make sense. It never had. He didn’t want to believe it but sometimes, he wondered the truth of it all, if there was some. If the universe was but chaos, did chaos pick it’s favorites? Did anything?

  He had done everything to be good. He had been as nice as he could. Let people treat him like shit. Walked into Daniel’s traps. And here he stood and here he was, in a cell in the middle of nowhere with no one coming to save him and no light of day and no help in sight. No end. No end. He would die here. The end.

  “Do you think God picks favorites?”

Chapter Text

Act III: Confinement
Chapter V: God's Favorites 

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"Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand."

Isaiah 41:10

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  Daniel could see the pain in Algernon’s features. He was hurting, and it had nothing to do with his confinement. He claimed that Lamb’s Pointe would leave them out in the cold, but he refused to see that they would be out in the cold anyway, if it weren’t for this place. That’s why Daniel worked so hard to keep it afloat. That’s why Algernon was here, in this cell, hidden away from the outside world. Why couldn’t he see that?

  If he was hurting so bad, why wouldn’t he want this? Why wouldn’t he want people who would love and care for him the way the world failed to? Was he that stubborn, that convicted in his own faithlessness, his own tunnel-vision where all he could see was the stark white walls? Daniel was offering him so much more, and he knew it. He knew that Daniel wanted him to stay at Lamb’s Pointe, to come to him willingly, to revel in a new life. But still, he refused. He’d expected this moment to come so much sooner than it had, where so much of Algernon’s brick wall came crumbling away, where he became a human being full of soul again. And now that it was here, Daniel had to handle it carefully, like a glass blossom.

  The faith that his followers had found through him was powerful; their lives had changed drastically since coming to Lamb’s Pointe, and even if it wasn’t truly Daniel’s intent, even if it was a scheme for his sadistic tendencies to run rampant, there was no denying that these people were content. They felt safe, and loved, by God and by one another. It was how Daniel kept such a tight fist around them. They didn’t live in fear of him - not even when he disciplined them. They lived under the impression that it was all for their own good, that it would keep their world from falling apart at the seams, and it was the truth. A partial truth, perhaps, but a truth nonetheless.

  But Algernon only saw Lamb’s Pointe as the lion’s den, unable to comprehend how anyone would find comfort here. If only he would see it, if only he would come to see him as the others did - and Daniel would keep chipping away at that brick wall until he uprooted the very foundations of his defenses, until the visage of a monster fell away in Algernon’s mind, replaced by a shining image the Holy man Daniel claimed to be. He’d managed it before, and while Algernon was stubborn, he had his own confidence. Where Algernon was determined to never break, Daniel was determined to be a relentless force of change in his life.

  The question sparked a little flame of interest in Daniel. This was the time for kindness, for honesty between them, convoluted as his honesty might be. He hummed, encouraging Algernon to ask the question that so obviously burned in his mind, that even after squirreling it away, he would approach Daniel a second time, confess his nervousness, and plow on regardless.

  Does he think God pick favorites.

  That was a heavy question, but despite his motives, his years as a pastor had not gone wasted. He mulled it over for a moment.

  “No,” he said firmly. “I don’t think God picks favorites. It can seem like it. Tragedy… tragedy isn’t something we can escape just because we have faith, Algernon. Our faith can only assure us that God will be there to lift us up. If he reaches his hand for you, if you take it, things can change. We endure tragedy and suffering on this Earth, but that doesn’t mean that God puts us through these things because He… likes us less, or doesn’t care what happens to us. Not everything happens for a reason, but we can find meaning in everything through God.” It was the best he could offer. He didn’t know what had happened to Algernon, but something was weighing on his shoulders, dragging him down like an anchor. Even if he tried to conceal himself, the very act of turning away from Daniel to hide was evidence enough.

  “But only you can make that decision.”

  The answer had rambled in Algernon as a tiny glimmer of something. But he crushed it under his heel like a burning cigarette. He turned, folding his arms as he leaned his shoulder against the window of the door, looking through at Daniel. He was standing taller than he had before. Like he had something in him, still a glimmer of fighting spirit.

  “I think you missed my entire point, my guy.” He laughed a small laugh and twitched up the corner of his mouth. He would be a charming man if he hadn’t lacked a proper shower in weeks, his curls stringing down his face. Even when he washed in the basin he was unable to fully clean his hair, and so it remained a mess of dark oak. He had sucked in his fear and had scolded his eyes for leaking, and he put on the carefully-carved mask of a calm demeanor in the man’s presence despite his heart thundering a million miles per hour and he being powerless to subdue it.

  “What I mean is that… well, you’ve noticed it, I’m sure. How can you not?” He rolled his eyes. “In my experience it’s like this: some people have it easy. Don’t get me wrong, suffering is suffering, but some people just have it so damn easy that they can step over everyone they come across. No lack of love from friends and family. No severe losses. No- no illness, not anything severe at least,” He bit his bottom lip. “And anything they go through is so petty. I’ve met some of those people and they’re just so damn self-absorbed they do whatever they want, no matter who they hurt.”

  He closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose again. “But then there’s people like your parishioners. People like my friends back home. We go through shit we don’t deserve because we don’t deserve it. Like, those self-absorbed people take us and throw us down. And then they let us hurt. Or something happens and we end up eating dirt because it’s all we’ve got, in a manner of speaking. People who don’t deserve it end up getting the worst of it.”

  He didn’t want to reveal anything too much to the pastor. He couldn’t let this man have leverage. But he didn’t catch how red his face was and how hard he was trying to keep that mask up. He was exhausted. “It’s like God picks someone and says that person will be a favorite, and they’ll have it good. And then He assigns pain to people who don’t need to suffer. A kid who dies in a car crash. A mom of five who ends up homeless. I don’t know,”

  He exhaled. He inhaled. Exhaled. “Maybe that’s why we’re kind of the same, we just want people to stop suffering.”

  The chuckle he uttered was as bitter as vinegar. Because he knew deep-down that Daniel did all of this for his own gain, for his own self-absorbed pleasure. He was more like the happy petty vain people Algernon had described than the parishioners and those who had Victim Souls.

  He knew this but he still said it, like a fool, like he knew he was.

  For everything that Algernon had just said, Daniel couldn’t help but be surprised at the drastic turn the conversation had taken. His guest was bitter - and perhaps, rightfully so. He’d been locked in a small cell with so little for over a month now. Daniel had been counting the days. Maybe Algernon had too, but Daniel couldn’t see how he’d have much a sense of time in his cell.

  He listened, watching passively as Algernon’s cheeks grew red, the twitch at the corner of his lips giving away much more than he would have liked in the pastor’s presence. This wasn’t what he thought it was, was it? Algernon had spent enough time wailing during his stay at Lamb’s Pointe, but this was just startling. Emotional overload, bombardment that wouldn’t be alleviated so long as Daniel was in his presence. So long as Daniel held a vice grip on his life.

  “Algernon…” he started, leaning forward slightly, closer to the little window that separated them. “Listen… God has our paths. But this world is governed by minute circumstances. We’re all at the mercy of others - always. The driver, the landlord. We were given free will so that our devotion to God might be our own devotion. But along with that free will came human error. What happened to you - whatever happened in your life that led you to so violently reject God’s guiding hand… it isn’t His fault. You don’t deserve it. No one does. But just because these things happen to you, it doesn’t mean God has chosen you specifically to suffer.”

  Even Algernon’s current position, trapped away in a cell in the middle of nowhere, subject to Daniel’s whim, was nothing but human error and circumstances. So many little things could have gone differently. Had Algernon not come to Daniel; had Daniel said no; had Algernon not led Daniel to suspect him, or had he not fell for the trap. All of this could be so very different. It wasn’t God’s will that led them here. It was them. Just two human beings.

  “So you know what? Maybe we are the same.” It was said with the utmost sincerity, and Daniel deeply hoped that it cut into Algernon’s skin like his knife. “Because people like us, all we can hope for is a better life for those around us. You want a better life for the people you know who suffer. I want a better life for people like you. The people who take the weight of everyone else on their shoulders.” There was a pause.

  “Doesn’t it get tiring?” There was a lilt of curiosity to his voice. “Don’t you just… want to be cared for? Don’t you want to have others who can help you bear that load?”

  German Philosopher Gottfried Leibniz once stated that “we live in the best of all possible worlds”. This statement could not be more untrue if he had also stated that “the world is also made entirely of ravens”. This was not, in any way, the best of all possible worlds. The world where people were condemned for believing in peace. The world where people died for no reason. The world where the greedy prospered. The world where Algernon was a rat in a cage.

  The saddest part about all of this was that Algernon wanted to believe him. He wanted so desperately to feel nothing but admiration and love for Daniel, because then his pain would end. He would at least have a shorter sentence to the hell he was condemned to. Accepting the teachings of the pastor to end his inquisition.

  As the other poured his words in Algernon’s ears, he could not believe that this was his reality. He did not want to believe that his life was to be spent in this compound. If he knew nothing else, it was that he was in the worst of all possible worlds, the worst of all realities, and he wondered why in the universe was he sent here to this particular time and place.

  But it was also fault of circumstance; had he not gotten mixed up in investigating cults in the first place, had he not been careless, had Daniel been a little bit denser, he would be as free as a bird and continuing on with his life.

  He looked at Daniel and gave him a tiny grin. “You know? The funny part is, you do all this assuming I have no faith,” He said, “Like you assume I haven’t been at least some part spiritual my entire life.”

  He knew this would have no impact. The pastor had made up his mind. But so had Algernon. “I grew up Methodist. Hell, that part in my email about wanting a better relationship with God? It’s not entirely untrue. But my faith - the way I interact with it, at least - doesn’t require going to church every Sunday or listening to sermons or, I guess even praying every night. Because God knows I still love Him, even when His church has rejected me at every corner.”

  There was a moment where he gathered himself silently, keeping his mouth in a grin even when his eyes were threatening to betray him at knife point. “The point is, I think faith is a really personal thing. Not something you can shove in someone’s face or- or lock them in a cell and expect them to believe. My faith, at least, doesn’t require me to talk to other people about it.”

  In his mind, preachers were just conduits. They were people God could use to give His word and will through. Also in his experience, many of them were dishonest. Were hard-hearted towards he and others like him. They rejected them, despised them. The preachers he had met in the past had been nothing but self-righteous and thought of themselves as divine, and perhaps that was why Algernon despised churches so much. He despised established religious institutions because they stunted growth. They broke him down. They broke others down as well, because they would be told how and what to believe and not permitted their own freedom. Not permitted to grow. Trees chopped down young, deprived of nutrition, unable to grow.

  But then he saw it: the gleam of chance. The gamble he could take. Daniel’s offer. His offer for community. For friendship. Family. People who could care for him. About him. He didn’t know if the chance would ever arise again, and if he were to get out of here, and if he were to survive, he had to take it.

  He slumped his shoulders. He swallowed the lump in his throat and his pride.

  “…You know, though? Maybe I’m-” He tried not to choke, “Maybe I’m ready for… to trust. In people, I mean.”

  It had been thirty three days. Thirty three days Algernon had spent in misery, in solitary confinement, alone with no one but Daniel as his company and caretaker. He was sick of this, there was no doubt. Anyone would be, but Algernon was so stubborn, so spirited, that Daniel couldn’t help but admire him. Of course, his admiration didn’t come with trust. It didn’t come with blindness or with quiet acceptance of his confessions.

  But it came with consideration.

  He looked at the other man through the little window, the absolute misery on his face. No, Daniel didn’t trust him. Not when just the other day he’d spat at Daniel’s feet - not when just this morning he’d scowled and sneered. No one had a change of heart that fast. And Daniel had had so much in store for Algernon. Perhaps it could wait, though. There was nothing behind his guest’s eyes but pain and regret and the tiniest spark of hatred. Daniel would snuff it out in time, but that time wasn’t now.

  Now, Daniel would grand him what he wanted. Relief. Comfort. Let him find these things here at Lamb’s Pointe, among the compound and among the people.

  Algernon heard the scrape of the chair as Daniel stood, reaching into his pocket and unlocking the door. Having gotten sick, it had been several days since Algernon had been given anything of substance. And with the water slowly working its way through him, Daniel was confident enough in his weakness to know he wasn’t much of a threat - and if he tried anything, it would be easy enough to gain the upper hand.

  He stepped into the room, dragging the cleaning supplies behind him and closing the door, letting it lock with a little click hind him. With Algernon still standing, the preacher stood tall with his shoulders pushed back as he looked at his guest.

  There was a hand at Algernon’s arm. It was so strange to feel his touch this gentle, after the force of the baptism. After so long, was it his imagination? Or did Daniel look genuine for the slightest moment? “I’m sorry,” he said. His voice was soft, almost remorseful. “Really. I’m sorry, that you’ve been turned away. But Lamb’s Pointe… we don’t reject people who come to us for help, or for faith. And we never will. And I hope that’s something you find here. Even if it’s not today.”

  And as he’d promised, he started to clean up.

  The look on Daniel’s face was nothing short of enough to make Algernon regret his decision. It was almost pride before a softening on his features. When the door unlocked, Algernon moved from it and waited patiently. He expected Daniel to come in with a rosary and basin and to baptize him. To drown him under the waves of twisted Scripture and false prayer.

  He was surprised when the other touched his arm. Shocked. He flinched because he expected to be grabbed and dragged to water or forced to endure any other punishments-

  But when that didn’t happen, his shoulders relaxed. Algernon could have melted into just a tiny brush of the hand, the gentleness, the warmth. His spine felt like it weakened; just a fleeting feeling. His entire world faded at the edges. He hadn’t- it pained him to admit how long it had been since he had actually felt affection from anything. Anyone. Even before Lamb’s Pointe he was a solitary person. It wasn’t entirely by choice, but it was his cross to bear. It was simply how things went. And it sickened him that Daniel had been the one to make him remember how nice other people could feel, even in the most platonic of senses.

  Just Daniel’s hand on his arm had been enough to pull the emotions right out from his chest. He was tired. The drug was flowing through his veins and he was slowly letting it overtake him. He was so, so tired. He moved to the corner near the door, pressing his back against the wall and slumping down, his eyes full of salt again.

  He did not make a sound save for a tiny whimper and shuddered, his entire body shaking as he silently wept. He had fought for so long to never admit defeat, to keep himself here even if he died here. He expected to, actually. He didn’t think that Daniel would genuinely let him live. The minor affection and the words had burned him from the inside, a tug in his gut, twisting him inside out and pouring all his exhaustion out. He knew he likely wasn’t leaving the cell soon, but he was hoping to further his advancement from here. He just wept, covering his face with one hand, the other clutching his gut. He might be genuinely sick. He was disgusted with himself and with his situation and with Daniel and everything he had been through.

  It would come to a close soon, and that was his only comfort. He would work on learning his way around Lamb’s Pointe and melding into the congregation, like a piece of wax melted down for a candle.

  But one day soon, he would know his way around this place. And the sooner that day came, the sooner he could figure out his escape.

  Daniel cleaned the cell quietly, hearing Algernon’s whimper, knowing without looking that his guest was huddled in a corner, sobbing and doing everything in his power not to let the pastor know.

  Over a month without any human contact; no real kindness or affection from anyone - not even Daniel. And he was sure that the gentle touch had come as a shock to Algernon’s system. Perhaps it was in his favor. Now was the time when gentle kindness wouldn’t be met with aggression or hatred. Maybe it would even be met with gratitude, a gentle turning of the tides as Algernon realized, just maybe, that Daniel wasn’t trying to hurt him. That he didn’t want this cell to be his tomb any more than Algernon did.

  There was very little that reassured Daniel that his friend would give in so easily, with just a few acts of kindness and a voice of understanding. He hadn’t lied, when he’d left to retrieve the water, earlier. Things would be changing for Algernon. But now Daniel’s initial plan had been derailed, it would take a little while for him to get all his ducks in a row and figure out where he’d be taking Algernon from here on out.

  There were adjustments to be done and decisions to be made, but all that would come in due time. For now, Daniel stood, depositing the results of his clean-up in a plastic garbage bag before wiping his hands with a disinfectant towel. Algernon was still half-conscious, the drug only taking its first steps. He wouldn’t break his promise. He’d said that nothing would be done to Algernon - just the clean up. But tomorrow, things would change drastically. He knew Algernon wasn’t going to like it - he didn’t like anything about his stay here, and Daniel couldn’t blame him. But it was for his own good. It was the only way for this to be done. He needed Algernon’s trust. He needed Algernon to see him as a comfort.

  He moved silently to the man huddled in the corner, kneeling down again and looking at him, leveled. “I know. And I’m sorry. But things are going to get better very soon. You have my word, Algernon. You can make it until then.”

  He patted the man’s knee, stood, and left.

Chapter Text

Act III: Confinement 
Chapter VI: Cain

--

"And Cain said unto the LORD, My punishment is greater than I can bear."

Genesis 4:13

--

  Even level, eye-to-eye, Algernon could not help but feel that Daniel was towering above him, ten-feet-tall and seeking to squash him like a bug. He could feel the pressure, practically, weighing his shoulders down. The other’s heel. The weight of a thousand ways the other would use to twist his mind until it took the form of a cross gnarled in bristling thorns.

  The words were spoken kindly but they hit like acid. Algernon did nothing but nod his head very, very slowly. Get better. Things will get better. A vision of a man in a white coat. Things will get better. A vision of his mother after a rough night. Things will get better. A vision of teachers. Things will get better.

  He closed his eyes tight and shut it all out. He was starting to feel like everything around him was weightless, formless. When Daniel left, Algernon stood and looked out the window to watch him go, wiping his face on his arm. He had a thousand memories running through his head like film to a movie and they played on repeat, echoing out the words of people who had assured him it would all get better right before it got worse.

  Algernon centered himself, breathing in and out slowly and grasping at the wall, feeling it there under his fingers. The room smelled faintly of bleach and he had gotten used to the smell over his thirty-three day confinement. He did not expect it to end here. He knew Daniel was smarter than that, and thus he prepared himself for the end of the world to come. This world inside a cell would end, come crashing down around him in embers and flame, and his new world would rise out of the smoke. A world of carefully-crafted lies and not questioning anything around him. He would choose his words wisely or not speak at all, depending.

  He would not lie in that he ached for the other parishioners. He ached knowing they had been desperate enough to come to Daniel, to hear him and think that he was what they wanted. And Algernon knew that if he had had no prior knowledge of Daniel’s existence, there was a possibility they could have been friends. He could have been blind and tripped over Daniel’s deceit. But he had trained himself off of research from years of other’s work to spot the signs of a cult. And Daniel was ticking every box of a leader.

  Algernon leaned against the wall, barely able to stand on his own two feet, the drug coursing through him. He was weaker and weaker every day, no matter how much he tried to build his strength. He would be without food for a few days. Water would probably all be drugged.

  He slumped down with his blanket and curled up in a ball to keep himself together, and he let himself drift off, allowing the world to blacken around him and the hum of the lights to turn into nothing but a lullaby.

  Things would change soon. He was sure now that things would be changing. He had to trust Daniel on this, only this, because if nothing else he was deceptively honest. The kind that came with a knife. But he was still a man of his word, even if it were a twisted version of his word, chewed up and devoured. Algernon in the lion’s den, devoured.

  The moment Algernon’s window was left behind him, Daniel rushed through the halls. His stride was long, fast, and he felt like his head was full of static. He wasn’t quite seeing, gaze cast down to the neat pattern of the linoleum that sped past, falling behind him with every step.

  Things would be changing. Things would be changing. But how? Daniel hadn’t
been able to wrap his head around this part, yet. He’d told Algernon, before fetching the water, that things would be tough. Things were going to advance, going to escalate, going to be hellish before Algernon was granted reprieve. The man was coming apart at the seams. He’d allowed himself to break in front of the pastor - that alone was a sign of weariness. He was tired. He didn’t want this life. And the more tired he got, the harder he was pushed towards the edge, the more easily Daniel would be able to reach his hand out, snatch Algernon from the drowning, swirling waters he had fallen into at Lamb’s Pointe, and save him.

  But things had changed, now. Not for Algernon. For him. This wasn’t according to his plan. This wasn’t how Algernon was supposed to act - not yet, at least. And Daniel couldn’t tell if this was a blessing or a curse that had been handed to him with a few simple words.

  ‘Maybe I’m ready to trust people.’

  Those words alone crumbled his plans. The things he had in store for Algernon’s prolonged stay in solitary. But maybe it was for the better. Daniel had always been quick to think on his feet - to adapt, to survive - and this was no different.

  There would be a lot of work to be done, in order for him to pull something off on such short notice, but he supposed it was doable. With the news, he was sure Algernon wouldn’t mind another few days in the dark. A week tops, he supposed, just so he could get everything sorted in place.

  The psychiatric ward far behind him, he sped through his parishioners. More than one tried to stop him and ask what was wrong. He was visibly shaken, that much was certain, and while his mind was on other things, some part of him, some tiny voice in the back of his mind was keenly aware of it, and he hated it.

  There was nothing in Lamb’s Pointe that wasn’t at his disposal. Funds, objects, people, everything the compound encompassed was his. Perhaps not directly, no, but who really owned what rarely mattered in the end when his congregation followed him so faithfully. He’d have no problem finding the help he needed in the next week, making sure everything was ready for Algernon. In fact, Daniel hoped that with the right tools, they might even pull out ahead of schedule.

  But that still left the issue of his guest. This was a good start, yes, but he wasn’t nearly the person Daniel wanted him to be. He still needed some adjusting, some fine tuning to become the perfect parishioner Daniel knew he could be. That part would be gruesome, there was no doubt, but if he played his cards right, he could mold Algernon into anything he wished.

  Daniel pushed through one of the great double doors that separated the hospital wings, barging into the residential hall and taking a sharp right. A polite knock on the door, and a bright smile as he was greeted, looking down at a little girl hanging onto her mother’s leg. For as long as he’d known her, she’d been a shy little thing, but the moment she saw him she lit up, attaching herself to his leg instead as she babbled and tugged on his pants until he finally picked her up.

  “Well, hello there, Red!” He received a pat on the cheek. “Do you mind if I talk to your mom for a bit?” Ruby was a fickle child to say the least, but she adored Daniel. He was more or less an uncle to her, and she rarely fought with him. After a moment of thought, she nodded, and went to get her book for him, leaving the two adults lingering in the doorway.

  “I need your help with Algernon, Amy. It’ll only take a moment.”

  If Algernon could know the effect his simple false-admittance of defeat had on Daniel, no matter how much energy he burned, he would be dancing around his cell and laughing and mocking the man. Making a show of his triumph, theatrics in his motions and in throwing his voice across the room and down the halls and singing it.

  But for now he was sleeping, allowing the drug to take it’s course. He didn’t like being awake and disoriented, it always ended in him dissociating and floating above himself, out of this world, into something not-quite-daydream. Listless, weightless, and nothing all in one. He was a wistful spirit in those moments, rattling with his anxiety and numb all the same.

  For now his mind was like water stirred and waves lapping up on each other, a whirlpool swimming together to funnel all his dreams to him. They were the ghosts of memories and days; the ghosts of things he had been- seen- done. The lackluster and the lasting impression and the silver linings. The faintest whisper of what he could have been had he not fallen down this hole, all-consuming and wholly his fate and faithfully dedicated to he and he alone. He could always sleep knowing he was part of his own narrative, perhaps not the one he would have written, but his own nonetheless.

  He wondered in his dreaming state if someone had filed a missing person’s report on him. Had anyone known where he was? The other theorists on forums and the ones who visited his website- did they know he was even missing? He had a very bad habit of abandoning his internet presence for a few weeks at a time to try for a reality like that of others he knew outside the bright blue screens. But those realities ultimately crumbled. He was not made for them and his fate was tailored to be one of strangeness. The remnants of a Goosebumps protagonist, all grown up.

  He could blame his parents. He could blame his peers. Genetics. Environment. But ultimately it came down to him. How he spent his time. His life. How he was the one to stop everything while everyone around him was pressing fast-forward, go, go, go. They were the ones growing older and getting married and he was the one lingering in the corner, a reminiscent spectre, a memory come to life.

  And then the scenes shifted. Translucent images came to life. And then his dreams were flooded- no, polluted, by Daniel. His unholy word-strangling hands soaking the edges of the faded photographs. The water piling up like bricks higher and higher and above them both. And he was polluting it all. Black ichor. Ink. Soaking everything until Algernon could not see. He could only hear the prayer and the muffled garbling of it all from every corner, every which-way which was the exit? He could not see and it was all so low and suffocating and encompassing and he tried to swim but it all rose, rose above him…

  He didn’t register anything around him as his eyes cracked open. Just a tiny moment. A blink. He groaned a soft sound of waking.

  Despite the dreams, despite the images of Daniel, grinning and leering, that flashed through his head amongst the swirling blackness, the drugged water kept him soundly under. In his state, with how weak he was, how little he’d been able to move over the last month alone, Daniel knew that he was in no position to be fighting back - which made things all the easier for the preacher.

  Things would slowly come together, but for the moment Daniel needed to make peace with Algernon; it wasn’t likely he would, not entirely, but if he could even achieve so much as a civil talk with the man, without the sneers or the spite or the lies, then maybe they could get somewhere. They could work together. It would be nice. It would benefit the both of them, and quite frankly Daniel didn’t think that Algernon would put up much of a fight, at this point. Daniel wasn’t entirely sure he had it in him. Not outright, at least.

  It was a fine line he was walking now, knowing that Algernon didn’t trust him. knowing that Algernon was putting on just as much of a facade as he was, pretending to gain the upper hand. It was no surprise, really. He’d been cornered, beaten, dragged through his own personal hell and devoured by the demons who lurked there.

  When Algernon awoke, groggy and slow, the world spun around him as he tried to focus on reality through the haze of intoxication. It would be another half an hour or so before Algernon’s head was completely clear, which is why now was the perfect moment to leave the man a bit of a surprise.

  The walls where white, the light was white, everything was white and blinding and far too bright for his eyes as he came back to himself. Maybe that’s why he didn’t notice; or maybe because of how little sound there was. The humming of the fluorescent lights overhead was loud, filling his ears, drowning out the sound of his own heartbeat; the sound of breath being drawn.

  But it didn’t drown out the quiet, cheerful little “Good morning, Algernon!”

  In the corner of the room opposite his guest, Daniel leaned with his shoulders back against the wall, a smile on his face and a gentle, friendly a wave of his hand.

  Head thrumming and humming and droning on and on, Algernon woke up. He took a moment to gather his bearings and when his brain snapped into place from wherever it had been, he caught sight of the blurry figure before him. The blurs became lines and light and edges and shadow. He could make out a face now.

  He didn’t make an expression at him. He made a conscious effort not to. He just sat blank-eyed and tired, and he shifted his position just slightly.

  “…Morning.” He mumbled, stretching his shoulders, a pop and crack emanating from them. He didn’t want to admit how happy the other seemed. He was just going to take the moment to get used to his surroundings. He looked around the room and took in a breath.

  He always woke up hoping it was all a dream, a horrible nightmare. Whenever he woke up to the cell and Daniel and his new hell, he was disappointed but not surprised. He was adjusting to everything, but he would never admit that his heart was constantly shaking in his chest and his lungs always felt too tight; his head always felt too full and his shoulders were too heavy. He was slowly becoming something else, a shadow of himself, and he would remind himself constantly that this was not the way things were. This was not normal. No matter how adjusted he got to his situation, this was not normal.

  He would never be one of Daniel’s pawns, no matter what happened. But he would surely act like one.

  “You know, friend, you really got me thinking last night!” He chirped, his voice bright as ever. “And I was hoping if you’re feeling up to it, we could have a little chat!” Daniel sunk down, back against the wall as he sat, pulling his knees up a little bit. He looked perfectly at easy in the little cell, almost sinking into the background with his white clothes, light hair, light complexion - He was a phantom of a human being, the only thing that really defined him was his bright, piercing blue eyes.

  “I’m going to be completely honest with you. And hope you can believe me.”

  Daniel fiddled with his watch, examining the face. He couldn’t imagine what it was like here, no outside world, no sense of self, no time within the white walls. It was something he would make certain he would never endure. He looked up at Algernon, taking the pause in his words to examine his guest. He looked terrible. He’d lost a lot of weight, a lot of muscle. He looked like he could use a shower, a good night’s sleep. The floor and a blanket wasn’t the most comfortable accommodations. But it’d all been necessary, because even though he could see that spark of defiance in Algernon’s eyes, it was masking a bone-tiredness.

  He spoke frankly. There was no point in beating around the bush now. He locked eyes with the man, deep and blue and cold. “I don’t trust you,” he said. It was a heavy statement, one that sunk into the cold white floor between them, splintering towards Algernon like roots trying to climb their way up his legs and drag him down. “And I planned for you to stay in this cell for a long, long time.” His voice was chilling, talking about Algernon’s imprisonment as though he were talking about the weather, or the news.

  He worried at his lip, looking displeased with himself. He didn’t care to be here with Algernon, he didn’t care to deal in possibilities.

  “But,” he said, holding up a hand, one long finger held up, begging Algernon’s pause. He knew this wasn’t something the other wanted to hear, and he fully expected a protest. “I’m willing to give you a chance.”

  The other’s presence itself was unsettling, a chill to the marrow. He did all he could in his current position to subvert the feeling, avoiding Daniel’s eyes for moments at intervals. He used that time to stop his heart from leaping from his chest, so his pulse would not visibly scream through his skin.

  He listened and nodded. Daniel thinking was a bad thing. Algernon could feel the impact of the mere idea the other was thinking about him. It made Algernon sick to know the other even had other conscious thoughts about him aside from the horrible things he had done. Perhaps that’s what was on his mind. The vines of wrath sickening and gnarled as they twisted up Daniel, planting thoughts of murder. Of baptism. Drowning. Poison.

  And of course he did not trust him. Algernon was, frankly, unsurprised by this. It was no divine revelation to him, it was merely his fact of life. He did not expect Daniel to ever trust him, which all the more sealed his tomb. The third day would not come for him, however, if he did not take his time and measure out his actions carefully. He could make an escape now- a jump for the door. The drug ensured he was ensnared and trapped from this, and even if he tried to stand he would doubtlessly fall to his knees and his world would spin like a top above his head.

  A chance. Daniel would give him a chance. He didn’t want to believe it, but his tired eyes betrayed his need for the other to give him that moment, that tiny bit of trust. He nodded his head slowly, shifting his position, resting his elbow atop his knee. He kept the other leg down on the floor, his other arm draped into his lap, palm upwards, exposed, half of a gesture of prayer. He was half-follower half-corrupter in his position, and he only had to tip the scales a little bit to make Daniel believe he was something willing to learn. Like a mouse reprogrammed to be intelligent, he was seeking all of his options and he was silently walling up his mind against impulse. He would have to be the model parishioner if he ever wanted to see the light of day again. Things were getting desperate.

  “…A chance?” He whispered, the words leaving his lips like he had not spoken; like they came from far off and far outside him. “I’m… I would be lying if I said I wasn’t worried,” He forced an airy chuckle, a wheezing sound. Then after a moments silence, he bobbed his head in a tiny nod. “But I am listening.”

  He did not expect this to be a simple thing. He did not expect anything short of being drowned or forced to ingest poison or told to do any manner of horrible things. The situation was desperate enough, however, that he would do whatever it took to get himself out of here. He didn’t know how much longer he could take pacing his cage.

  Daniel was quiet for a long moment. It stretched between them like an ocean as he leaned his head back against the clean white walls and examined Algernon. He knew that his guest was expecting the worst.

  “You’re cautious, I understand that. You’ve been through a lot, this month. So here’s the deal, friend,” He said, shifting to sit in a more upright position. “I want to get you out of this cell.” The statement was flat, factual, cold. “The thing is, as much as I would like to, I can’t let you out just yet. We’re not ready for you. Things to be done, you know.” He chuckled, an easy smile on his face.

  “So in the mean time, I thought we could… build our relationship together. Trust exercises, of sorts. I need you to trust me, and you,” he gave a short jab at his guest. “need me to trust you. So I’m making you another offer.”

  He knew that Algernon wasn’t going to like it; there was even the possibility that he would refuse, as he had everything else up to this point. “I suspect it will be a week before we can get everything ready. This was very last moment, you understand. So, if you can behave, Algernon, then you’ll never have to see this cell again. I’ll make things better for you.”

  Daniel hoped it was an enticing offer; he’d not yet laid down the terms and conditions that came along with this little agreement of theirs - Daniel had had some time to think bout it since last night, and was fairly confident that they could come to some agreement or another.

  “Now, this is a partnership. If you hold up your end of the deal, I hold up mine, you don’t have to worry about that. But in return, I need your trust.” He looked over at Algernon, steady and smooth, like this was all well rehearsed. The plan was laid out before Daniel very clearly, shifting and adapting to every decision and outburst he’d had to endure from the other. “And your complete obedience.”

  Algernon was a glass statue. A window broken open. The pane in pieces and scattered around Daniel. Been through a lot was phrasing it all lightly. And gosh, this month? Did he mean longer than a month has passed? And where did it all end? He could not see the end of this winding road and he was navigating in the dark without headlights.

  The other’s proposition was the serpent offering a fruit to Eve. If Algernon wanted to survive this he would take the temptations and he would let man become folly and blunder. Because in the end, he had no more choices. He had made his final decision the moment he made it up to Lamb’s Pointe, and he was going to have to keep up the act. He had defied Daniel for all this time, however long it had been, and he had done so because he knew what would happen if he jumped the gun - too eager, suspicious - or kept back too long - not obedient, imprisoned longer - and thus he made up his mind.

  He cleared his throat. It felt like he had swallowed mud. “I understand,” He replied, “I guess I was a little bit of an idiot before, if you wanna understate things.”

  He deliberately dredged up images from the back of his mind. Make this convincing. Make his reactions happen. He dug deeper and deeper until he saw Holland’s face, all sun-warm and moonlit. Illuminated by the orange flame at the end of a cigarette. Illuminated by the lights of a party. The moments Algernon had spent with him had been some of the best of his life. And he used this, focused all of his emotions into remembering this boy, enough that before he knew it his face was hot, his eyes were spilling over and the entire room sunk into the wet streaming down his face. He didn’t explain why he was crying. He didn’t say a word. Just brought his hands up to his face to wipe away the tears in vain.

  He would hope his weeping would be an indication of giving up. Of giving in to whatever Daniel demanded. Of breaking down every wall and letting the other’s righteous light in. Letting him in and letting him do whatever twisted thing he wanted.

  At the end of the day, what did it matter? He’d been long dead before he’d even set foot in Lamb’s Pointe, all it took was a catalyst to seal his fate.

  The second time in two days Daniel had seen his tears. He remained unfazed, watching the man closely. A show of submission wasn’t going to be enough. Not nearly. Daniel’s hand reached out for complete control of the man, and he had a few ideas of where he could start.

  This wasn’t quite as extensively planned as Daniel’s schemes usually were. But the tricks up Daniel’s sleeve were fine-tuned over the last several years, and he knew different ways to weaken a man psychologically. Keeping Algernon physically unfit was one way of controlling his body, his autonomy, but the time would come very soon where Daniel would get his hands on the man’s mind, his sense of self, his will, his loyalties.

  He would sink his claws into everything that Algernon was, carving it out like a rotten core and replacing it with his words, his ideologies - nothing but trust and love for Daniel. There would always be mistrust, but at the very least, there would be compromise. Daniel wasn’t a cruel man; he was just practical. And over time, he was sure that Algernon would come to understand this. Over time, he would come to see that everything Daniel did was for him; for his happiness, for his safety, for his salvation here at Lab’s Pointe. And over time, Algernon would come to love him for it.

  “You weren’t an idiot,” he said softly. “You had no idea what you were doing why you were brought to me. But you know better now, and we can move forward. I need you to prepare yourself for the coming week. It’s going to be hard. But in the end, if you do as you’re told - you don’t fight me, you don’t question me - then you’ll get to leave this behind. So!”

  Daniel stood up, hands on his hips. “I’ll leave you with your first order. It’s simple. Painless! Won’t be a bother at all.” That alone should have been enough of a warning, but combined with Daniel’s wide, delighted grin, there was no doubt about the severity of whatever he was going to ask Algernon to do.

  He clasped his hands together, standing tall over his guest and looked down at him with a bright look in his eyes. “From now on, you will answer to ‘Cain.’”

Chapter Text

Act III: Confinement
Chapter VI: The Death of Algernon Rosewell

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"For a cup is in the hand of the LORD, and the wine foams; It is well mixed, and He pours out of this; Surely all the wicked of the earth must drain and drink down its dregs. "

Psalm 75:8 

--

  He wiped his eyes and took in as many breaths as he could to steady his heart. He was careful not to hyperventilate. The burning in his chest from last time had not stopped for quite some time, to Algernon what must have seemed like hours. Algernon- no. Cain now. He heard his new name clearly and he realized that he should stop thinking of himself as Algernon Rosewell. If he wanted to survive he was now Cain. He closed his eyes and the images of blood spilt on hallowed earth protruded from the back of his mind, soaking every edge.

  Genesis 4:10 - 11, “The Lord said, ‘What have you done? The voice of your brother’s blood is crying to Me from the ground. Now you are cursed because of the ground, which has opened its mouth to receive your brother’s blood from your hand.’”

  He was resigned to the fact he would have to let himself be molded. If he ever escaped, he very much doubted he would ever recover from just this month alone, but whatever Daniel had in store was much more intense. He could smell the fire of the other’s ire chasing up the halls and rings upon rings surrounding him. The levels of hell found in one man, one cell, one object of a man.

  His chest was a hollow space for Daniel to creep around in when he calmed himself, letting everything slip from his hiccups and eyes and the slow breathing he now let occupy his thin lungs. Everything felt too slight and bright around him. The world was void of color and he allowed himself to sink into it. This was his home now. If he could ever accept that, he would be better off. This was home for now. A temporary resting place for his bones before they became interred in eternity. And they would be, he knew, and along with his deeds he would be cast to be fed upon by the vultures. He half expected it to be soon. He was weak and tired and he could barely find his own mind inside all of that space he called a skull.

  He knew the name was a battering and an insult, splattered like paint all over his face and covering his mouth. He swallowed and he let it singe him. Cain.

  "…Okay.“ He agreed, knowing now was not the time for struggle. He could not put up a fight if he wanted to leave. The sooner the better. The sooner he was part of their world he could see it for what it was, what Daniel made it, and what he had known it to be within those first minutes he had been there. He did not know whether he was the same man who walked into Lamb’s Pointe, but that was the man he had to leave at the door and kiss goodbye for now. He would be back in time, but for now the old Algernon had to wait while he crawled around like a phantom in another’s skin, a poltergeist in another’s walls. Just for the time being. Until he was well.

  “Good,” Daniel said. His voice was soft but solid, the quiet acknowledgement that this was the beginning of a long partnership. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Cain. I’d suggest getting some sleep.”

  Daniel was, if nothing else, a man of his word. He’d promised no harm would come to his guest when he’d come to clean up. Daniel’s promise that things were going to be better would be held to truth as well.

  Saying that things were going to become difficult was an understatement. The sermons ceased entirely, and every night at seven pm, sharp, Daniel paid his visit, carrying the basin along side him every night. He remained chipper as ever as he watched the bubbles rise, counting the seconds before he drew Cain upwards, letting him gasp for breath before dunking him again, over and over, a blur of swirling water every night for a week.

  Daniel barely let him sleep, barely let him eat, maintaining the man within an inch of his life. He remained tied, hands strapped behind his back with his wrists bound in medical cuffs that were hard to break even if Cain had had the strength to.

  But each night, Daniel reminded Cain that he had to trust him, that he had to obey, that even the slightest disobedience or struggle would put him right back at square one. Each night, Daniel reminded Cain that he was so close, that he was doing so well, that things were going to get so much better if he just survived this. Daniel promised, he would survive this. For as hard as Daniel pushed him, Cain was in his hands, and Daniel would take care of him.

  It was a miserable week; it felt almost as long as his imprisonment thus far, contained in a never ending swirl of water and weakness and pure, stark white.

  Daniel’s prayers were burned into his mind. ‘I now baptize you in the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, for the forgiveness of your sins, and the gift of the Holy Spirit.’

  I baptize you. I baptize you. I baptize you. As if Cain would never be free of his sins, never reach purity through Daniel’s hand; and maybe that wasn’t too far off. Daniel would have him believe that he was the serpent in Eden; that he had come to uproot the tree of knowledge and poison his parishioners. Daniel would have him believe that he was irredeemable but through Daniel’s forgiveness, and that this - the burning in his lungs - was the only repentance.

  How many days it had been since they’d started, since Daniel had gifted him his new Holy name? It felt like forever. The days melded together and the only sense of time that Cain was granted was his daily baptism.

  It was the seventh day, and Daniel unlocked the cell door; he’d long ago lost his concern for Cain fighting back; he had nothing to fight with. Every expectation he’d established had been shattered. There was no basin, no rosary; just Daniel, and a box. It was plain, a solid white like everything else in Cain’s life.

  He set the box down in the middle of the room before stepping up to his guest; the cuffs were removed, giving the man the first chance in a week to move freely; he helped him to the box, letting him sit in front of it. Daniel took the spot across from him.

  “You’ve done so well this week, Cain,” he said. His voice was always soft, kind, calming despite the horrors Cain had been forced through. “And we’ve got everything ready for you. There’s just one last thing you have to do for me.”

  Without another word, He lifted the lid. A glass, a bottle of wine, and a little box of white pills.

  Algernon-Cain-no, who was he again. Who was he. Who had he been? Before Lamb’s Pointe, reminder, who had he been? He knew. No matter what Daniel did to him he knew. Even when he had never had a solid grasp of an identity he clung to the old name in the back of his brain. The internal fact-checker.

  FACT: Your name was once Algernon Rosewell.

  FACT: You are prisoner of a dangerous cult leader.

  FACT: This is all your fault.

  FACT: There is nothing you can do.

  THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT, the back of his mind would shriek with each Baptism. Each submerging under the water and the waves slamming his head and the other’s hand-

  The few times he managed to doze off he would only find blankness where the cogs and gears of his mind used to be- no no no no this was not right no no no no-
The few times he ate he felt like throwing it all up again. A couple of times he did, with his stomach rejecting not only the food but himself but his own body and the white, white clothes and the bleach-white walls and the reaper that came for his soul every night- the man in white. Reapers wear white now. Black shrouds would be comforting.

  I BAPTIZE YOU I BAPTIZE YOU I BAPTIZE YOU I BAPTIZE YOU-

  Would he ever be clean? Daniel seemed to think not. Algernon was beginning to see that behind the monster was another mask of a kind man and behind that, enclosed in another mask, another monster. Horns and teeth as piercing as death and a smile so wide it could break the world in half. Algernon- Cain- Algernon? Cain. Cain. He was. He was he was he was he was a rat pacing his cage with his legs pinned, his mind outside his body and his brain inside a cavern that could have once been his skull but he didn’t remember.

  He thought he had died a few times only to know that Daniel had returned, to keep him under control.

  He would have preferred death. Each night he cried out silently for it, begging that if there was a God above to please please PLEASE PLEASE KILL HIM because he would rather DIE than live in this place for the rest of his life- branded already heretic and monster and serpent. The one to bite the heels of the sacred prophet.

  Each night when he was refused death he did not take it as a sign to keep going. He saw it as a curse and he was cursed and blamed and he was unclean, unclean, oh Lord, he’d beg, Lord please cleanse me of my sins if I have wronged You so wildly and horribly as to deserve this.

  And on the seventh day, God rested, did He not?

  FACT: You might die tonight.

  FACT: You no longer care.

  FACT: When did you even care before?

  FACT: You didn’t. You didn’t. You don’t. You never will care.

  He looked at the pills and the wine- stark red-purple-maroon in a bottle against white and white and white and white everywhere he looked. It was drowning him. Daniel was drowning him. Every time he saw the other he expected his death to come swift and come painfully. He expected to die every time Daniel baptized him and oh how he wanted to- a couple of times he had intentionally inhaled water, much to the other’s displeasure, and passed it off as his own fault for not holding his breath well. Suffering through. No not suffering no no no no, not suffering, no, for not “being holy”. He had choked but he made certain that the full extent of what he was doing was never discovered- he was still an actor on a stage but how much longer could he adhere to the script?

  He closed his eyes for a second and then opened them. His limbs felt strange. Everything felt strange. He tasted his own tongue and battery-acid anxiety. He inhaled.

  “…Yes?”

  FACT: Your name is Cain, and you are no longer afraid to die.

  Daniel sat, cross legged, across from Cain. His features showed no signs of the horror he’d just pulled from the box. He only uncorked the bottle, setting the stopper aside as if it were the most natural, casual thing in the world. To him, there was no threat; to him, there was nothing out of the ordinary. This was his gift, his place, his purpose in life.

  The wine was deep and rich, swirling in the glass like a whirlpool, flooding, filling, pooling at the bottom of the glass that Cain would be drowned in. The last time he’d seen the wine, he’d stained Daniel’s clothes. He’d resisted, he’d fought back. And now, Daniel was pleased to say that all the fight had been squashed out of his little lamb.

  All that was left now was the wine.

  The neck of the bottle tipped slowly, and Cain watched the drink flow like blood from the throat. Deep red and endless, spilled by Daniel’s hand. He spoke as he poured the drink for Cain, keeping his voice quiet. He didn’t want to disturb this moment. It was perfect. It was sacred. “Once a person has become cleansed of their sins, devoted themselves so wholly to God that they’ve reached their fullest potential as a human being, the Lord calls them home.”

  Very carefully, Daniel crushed the little white pill, spooning the powder oh-so-delicately into the wine. He refused to touch it. It seeped into the drink with a little swish of the glass; it dissolved effortlessly, and if Cain looked the other way and pretended that this wasn’t hell, then it might have even looked like any other glass of wine. Innocent, deep, smooth and elegant against the white on white on white on white on–

  Daniel set the glass on the box between them, corking the bottle again. There was silence between them for a moment, and Daniel placed his hands in his lap, looking up at his guest with a smile.

  “Your sins were deep stains on your soul, Cain, but you’ve allowed yourself to be cleansed. You’ve done so well, and I’m proud of you. God is proud of you, for how far you’ve come.” There was the hint of pride in his voice, the tone he held with all of his parishioners. Pride in their growth, pride in their fealty.

  “Now,” he breathed, the very sound of his voice carrying a holy lilt, like glittering sunlight. Daniel’s fingers lighted upon the base of the glass, pushing it forward ever so slightly. “Drink.”

  FACT: Your name is Cain and you are no longer afraid to die.

  No longer afraid to die no longer fearing the embrace of death no more no more-

  Survival instinct and his wish to die swirled like the wine, curdled in his body, rotted deep inside his chest. He felt them battling it out between his ribs. They crushed each other and arose and they burned each other and brought each other back again. Fight or flight or fight or flight or fight or flight or fight or freeze. He was frozen in this moment as though all time had stopped just for him, special pause, just to make him realize where he was.

  In that moment, for the first time in weeks, his mind was entirely clear. Because he knew if he downed it, he would gain at least a smudge of trust. And if he downed it and  died, he would be free.

  He swallowed the fire in his throat that threatened to spill over to cries of not being able to, not wanting to, no no no no! 

  NO.

  Every inch of him objected, revolted, revulsion ricocheting as he slowly took the glass in his hand. His fingers looked long and lithe and small and- gosh they looked so weak. He felt so weak. He was a helpless lamb in the jaws of the big bad wolf. He looked into Daniel’s eyes, his lips parted very slightly, barely pink. His mouth was just a blending in of the pale once-peachy tone of his skin, now whiter than a sheet from the torture and anxiety of the month.

  Then he downed the entire motherfucking glass.

  He tipped it back as quickly as he could, a tiny bit of the wine splatting on his collar, blood of his sins still bleeding through. He chugged it down and then he set the glass delicately down, like he had not done something that could only be described as suicide. He wiped his mouth on the back of his arm and he gave Daniel a smooth and warm smile despite his disposition; his eyes looked frantic and cold and his hair was a matted mess and his body was everything a human body should not be in that moment.

  “I am honored, I want nothing more than to please God.”

  When he got to hell, his tongue would be the first to go.

  Daniel wasn’t blind. Cain wasn’t the first he’d had in his claws, he wasn’t the first to drink themselves to death. The pastor saw the fear in his eyes, the sheer terror knowing that he was going to die here, that Daniel had just handed him the means for his own suicide. Daniel told him to drink, and Cain froze.

  The man didn’t twitch. There wasn’t a smile or a blink or a breath out of place, nothing. He was as blank as the white walls that surrounded them, as cold and steely as the door that had trapped Cain in here for forty days. He had no choice. He’d come to realize that a long time ago, Daniel was sure. The way he stopped fighting, the way he did everything Daniel asked for him, the way his thin fingers touched at the stem of the wine glass, pulling it towards him with some hesitancy. Daniel would forgive him that much. He was about to die, after all, and even his most faithful parishioners needed reassurance from time to time, that their deaths would be painless, that they would be welcomed into God’s Kingdom with a warm embrace as they returned home at long last.

  He watched the few drops of wine spill from his lips, staining his pristine white collar a dark red. It was an eerie sight, like the splatter of blood at his throat. No, no, Daniel wasn’t that cruel. No blood would be spilt. Not even Cain’s.

  He downed the glass as if it were the first liquid he’d been given since he’d been brought to his new home. The first desperate gulp of water he’d been granted after his first three days. Daniel watched, eyes bright and intrigued as Cain drank himself to death.

  Cyanide poisoning wasn’t a pleasant death. The victim remained well aware of every moment. Muscles seized, the lungs stopped working; starved for oxygen, your brain shuts down and then there’s simply nothing. It was gruesome, but fascinating to watch.

  The wine he gave to his parishioners was strong, but the pills were stronger, and within minutes the ascended would be gasping for breath on the floor. Struggling. Fighting. Dying, right in front of him.

  There was a sharp, terrifying light in Daniel’s eyes as he looked at Cain, a gentle smile on his lips as his guest placed the glass down. His hands were shaking; his smile was hollow. He wanted to please God, perhaps, but the satisfaction that raced through Daniel’s veins was the only thing that mattered.

  “You have, Cain,” was all he said as he took the glass, packing his things back up and standing. “You’re due for your nightly prayer. I’ll be back to collect you in a half hour. Should be plenty of time.”

  And he left.

  Genesis 4:13 - 15, " Cain said to the LORD, 'My punishment is too great to bear! Behold, You have driven me this day from the face of the ground; and from Your face I will be hidden, and I will be a vagrant and a wanderer on the earth, and whoever finds me will kill me.' So the LORD said to him, 'Therefore whoever kills Cain, vengeance will be taken on him sevenfold.' And the LORD appointed a sign for Cain, so that no one finding him would slay him."

  Like his namesake he had been driven from his Eden and into the desert. But he had to think of this as his Eden now. It was the only way to survive.

  As he stared at Daniel he could sense a radiant, pleased shock about him, the satisfaction was almost infectious. He kept his face calm as Daniel left, watching his figure disappear down the hall.

  Then he took in a breath, started to suck in the air. He had no clue what was in his wine- no, no, no, no what if it really was poisoned was he really ready to die? Was he legitimately okay with this? Yes, yes he had to be, he had to be after all he went through! There was nothing but pain here! He was only to suffer a punishment for sins he had not committed- perhaps he was a martyr perhaps, perhaps a victim soul no, an angel- no, angels are too holy. He was unholy and burdensome and a stain like that on his collar. A stain on the world.

  Daniel had taught him so, perhaps not in such direct terms, but in saying he was unclean. Impure. He was not right. He would never be at the feet of God like that.
He composed himself despite his vigorous shaking. His entire body felt like it would collapse around him- perhaps it was the lack of strength. Perhaps it was his fear. He could no longer tell the difference.

  All he could do was lay flat on his back in the floor and close his eyes. He hoped death would take him now when he was settled on the matter. It would be easy for him to let go, give up the ghost, instead of haunting and hanging around if he could just die here.

  Slip away.

  Slip away.

  Daniel had promised him; he’d promised that things would get better. It was his sick idea of a joke, a promise upheld but twisted into a malignant monster ready to devour Cain in one swallow, now that he lay still on the floor of his cell. The world seemed to cease moving around him, still and cold and quiet. Unreal. Damned, either way. A dead man, either way. Daniel had failed to mention that.

  The world was quiet, here, and the silence rang horribly in his ears.

  Cain had gotten so little sleep, so little care over the last several days. The alcohol was running through him now, his cheeks warm and his eyes heavy as it fell over him like a soft blanket. The world grew dark around him; dark, within the blinding white walls; dark, like the wine he had so readily drank so deeply from.

  There was no quiet sigh, no shed tears as the world ended around him, and consciousness left him. There was nothing but blackness and a dull ache, something from deep within him that pulled at his insides, trying to remind him that he was there - his body was there, screaming for him, screaming to be remembered. It cried for help, begged for life despite Cain’s quiet acceptance of death, and soon it, too, fell silent, until he was silent, unmoving, on the stark white floor of the cell.

  Daniel was only gone briefly. Less than a half hour, even, though he would admit it was perhaps out of his own eagerness to return to his little lamb. Long strides down the hallway. Things were finally falling into place, and now all there was left to do was remove Algernon from the tiny cell he’d spent his last days in.

  The door swung open - there was no need for Daniel’s care and paranoia anymore - and Cain was there, flat on his back. The pastor wished he could say that he looked peaceful, but there was nothing but fear and pain on his features, unrest that had settled in him even as the world left him behind.

  Hands in is pockets, shoulders relaxed and head tipped as he looked down at his lamb. So obedient. So still. It was an incredible feeling, seeing him like this. Algernon, who had once been so defiant, so fiery, so spirited and willful.

  All dead, now.

Chapter Text

Act IV: Revival
Chapter I: The Long Sleep

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 "He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.” 

Revelation 21:4  

--

The eyes of God watched him, careful. Perhaps God pitied him. Perhaps God loved him. Perhaps he was one of His many children made of light to come to earth and suffer to bear it, only to return with knowledge and become enlightened and become the sun itself.

  Because Algernon felt something under his palms. It had been hours he estimated, it was hours later and he felt something smooth, warm beneath him. He could believe it to be the floor of heaven, the surface of the ground, all cotton and flattened out. With his eyes still closed, not wanting to pull themselves from sleep, he ran his hands in very small motions over where he lay. He could almost make out indented shapes, like stitching. He knew that if he died he could not prolong his meeting with the Almighty forever.

  He cracked open an eye, then another. He felt… real. He was present, like he had slept. He had slept. There was pressure over his body and he thought that perhaps he was just too weak to move his legs until he did, and felt them respond. He twitched his toes. Everything was working so far.

  He looked down and the only thing that came to him to feel was shock. Blankets. Real blankets. A mattress. A bed. He was in a bed. He sat up quickly and regretted it, dizzy-sick (he shouldn’t have downed the wine that quickly on an empty stomach) and took a few moments to collect himself. There was a blue tint coming into the room and when he looked to his left he could see a window, though he would not be able to open it, for wiring cut across it like vines, it was a window nonetheless. Everything was just too bright now, with sunlight soaking it. He found himself squinting as he groped at the bedding, feeling that his limbs were indeed there.

  Did heaven have use for beds?

  He reached down the side and felt polished wood-grain and would have wept for joy were he not so tired. He had not felt new texture, new sensory details, in what felt like an eternity. Everything was too much and too little all at once, he couldn’t get enough and he was also drowning inside it. He laid back and stared at the ceiling. He still felt disgusting, rotten, old and used and worn, but he had a tiny glimpse of what he could have now.

  His only coping was his mind drifting back from him, outside of him, third-person. If he were dead, did he really get to heaven? How? What worked? Why? He didn’t understand how he was here. Heaven was something he had been told he’d never achieve, never be able to see, but here he was. He wanted to laugh in the faces of all of the pastors, priests, family members and old friends and their old family members about how wrong they were, how very wrong! He was here! He was dead but he made it and he was not damned!

  His breath stung his lungs but he didn’t care. Because his mind was so far gone from his body that he didn’t need to care. When it came to an end, when an angel came to collect him, he would happily go. He would go quietly into the night. At least he had put up a fight.

  The eyes of God did indeed watch him; they always had. They had witnessed every horror, every injustice done to this poor man, a soul who never deserved to suffer in the first place, but a soul who had suffered nonetheless. Now was the time for repentance, for making amends and taking care of His child after so long. God had reached His hand down to pluck him from his cell, to lift him from his miseries, to lift him from the torture that had been inflicted on him in the last few weeks.

  Forty days, he’d lasted. Forty days resisting, fighting. It had worn him down to nothing, to nothing more than the rat in a cage he’d been so convinced he was, until he’d finally said, ‘no more.’ Until he finally said ‘I refuse.’ Forty days struggling to hold onto his life, only to drink it away.

  No one blamed him. After all that he’d been through, didn’t he deserve reprieve? Didn’t he deserve freedom? Didn’t he deserve to be welcomed into God’s Kingdom, loving arms opened wide, beckoning him, calling him, waiting for him?

  Of course he did. He had pleased God with wine on his lips.

  This new world felt so kind, as if every moment and every inch of his reality had laid itself upon him, whispering: ‘It’s okay. You’re okay.’ As if it were apologizing for every terrible thing he’d felt since he’d stepped foot in that cursed place; every ounce of fear, of pain, of misery, all lifted from his shoulders as he’d been laid to rest in the soft sheets.

  Whatever hell he had gone through was far behind him now; the white walls of the cell, the hard floor, the glowing, ever-humming lights, the absolute oblivion of it all, washed away behind him. This world was new. It was a world of creams and browns and the gentle kiss of real sunlight shining upon his cheeks. It was like being reborn into a new life. A fresh start.

  There was a softness to the edges of his world now. A lovely and feather-light tenderness. The sun was the kiss of an angel on his cheek and he closed his eyes into it, eyes that had seen too much. He begged the heavenly lover to envelop him, to make him pure of sins, touch his lips with the coal of the Altar so that he may be clean. The sins to melt into puddles at his feet. He could almost imagine the arms of a celestial being around him, holding him, stroking his hair and making him pure. ‘You’re free,’ they’d whisper and he would cry into their shoulder, ‘You’re safe now, you’re safe,’ and he would do nothing but nod and hold tight.

  He wondered which angel it would be to lead him through the palm fronds to God. The Father, The Son, The Holy Ghost. Would it be Raphael? He hoped so, Raphael was patron to the sick; the healer. He could imagine emerald eyes and robes of deep and never-ending green, fingers light on his forehead as he healed Algernon of all his sick, all his fear. No more shame or fear or dread or anxiety. No more fixations, obsessions, compulsions, no more not knowing who he was and no more adopting other’s personality traits and losing himself completely in them. No more dependence on others. He would be branching off into himself, roots planted firmly, growing and growing and being new.

  Forty days and forty nights he’d weathered the storm, and it was now over. He closed his eyes and let the colors of the room lead him up and up into the world of his dreams. A living daydream, vibrant. He almost walked in it, like walking to God slowly and happily, because it was all behind him now. He had no need to be afraid. He was here. He was in heaven now, safe, safe from Daniel and the compound and all of those doe-eyed parishioners. He pitied them, deep down. Would they know this light? This warmth? Would they ever know what it was like now, to wake in heaven and be safe from their false-prophet with fire on his tongue and fire in his hands?

 There was a quiet, delicate knock on the door - whoever was on the other side sounded afraid that they might wake him. It had been nearly twenty four hours since the wine had been poured, nearly twenty four hours he’d been asleep, completely still in the soft embrace of the bed. From the outside, there was no telling whether he was conscious or not. The man, who had been so full of pain and anguish and misery, was home, and no being in Heaven or on Earth wanted to deprive him of the rest that he so rightly deserved.

  And with the knock on the door he thought he felt it; an angel. A real honest-to-heavens angel come to take him away. They were shy, understood, and Algernon- Cain? Which name would God call? He waited. He was patient for them. And yet, after a moment of hesitation, the door cracked open. Light streamed in from outside. Everything was so, so bright, so warm, so soft. The voice came quiet, full of love and light and care.

  “Cain?”

  With the sound of a voice it all was snuffed out like a flame. A gasoline fire and an explosion. He knew that voice.

  And then it occurred to him that heaven would have no need for wire over the windows.

Chapter Text

Act IV: Revival
Chapter II: The Long Road Home

--

"Arise, shine, for your light has come, and the glory of the Lord has risen upon you."  

Isaiah 60:1

--

  It was the phantasm of a human, the spirit of something cold. For a second Algernon believed firmly he was hallucinating, but then it spoke, and then it moved, and he knew he was no longer dreaming.

  He was not in heaven. He was sent straight to hell.

  Daniel stood in the doorway. He could see the life snap back into the man, the sudden hyper-awareness of his surroundings just at the sound of his voice. The preacher didn’t move; didn’t speak; barely breathed. He wanted to give his guest a chance to come back to himself, a chance to wake up fully, to take in where he was and gain his bearings again. Daniel didn’t want to startle him.

  They had moved him just shortly after he’d drunk the wine. He’d fallen into a deep, dark sleep - one that, for a moment, even concerned Daniel. But he was alive and breathing, and as promised, the cell was left behind, and Cain was brought to his new life. A softer life, one that would treat him kindly. One that Daniel himself would ensure was worth the horrible wait. Things were going to get better, he’d said, and he’d meant it. This room was only the beginning.

  “Cain…” Daniel’s voice was soft as silk. There wasn’t a trace of the man who had met him in the cell day after day, who had forced his head underwater, who had starved and suffocated him. That man was cold, cruel, unforgiving. This man - this heavenly version of Daniel - was warm, exuding care and tenderness. “It’s okay. I won’t come near you.” His words were slow and steady, each syllable carefully measured, hoping that they would reassure his guest. He wanted him to feel safe here - he was safe here.

  “You trusted me. I can’t thank you enough for that. And I promised that things would get better. They still will. Things will change for you, you’ll see.” And they certainly had; there was no more stark white or hard floors or empty oblivion surrounding him. Just warmth and light.

  Daniel fell silent for a moment, looking at Cain’s figure frozen on the bed. This would be a difficult transition, between the two of them. From captor and captive to father and lamb - the lamb that Daniel had molded him into. But they would do it together. They would find the middle ground, safe and solid for Cain to stand on after so many weeks of having the floor collapse underneath his feet.

  “I’m not here to do anything. I’m not here to hurt you.” His voice was sincere. He knew what hell Cain had gone through this week; he knew it was the necessary sacrifice that the man had had to make to gain favor into the flock - but he was not quite there yet. Now, he had only proven himself to not be a wolf in sheep’s clothing. “There’s a bathroom and a shower. I’ll bring you something to eat, and we can talk, then. You need your strength back. Get some rest, now, please.”

  And the door clicked shut once more.

  Being catapulted out of heaven and into hell was a jarring experience for him. He wondered briefly if this is how it had felt for all those angels who fell. It was a sick, twisted-gut and lightning-struck heart feeling, pain ensnaring him. He was an animal caught in a bear trap right before the wolves came.

  He felt even more unsafe when the pastor reassured him. After all he went through, this was his closure? If this were a book he would have thrown it out in the trash and lit it on fire, for a protagonist to forgive a captor so easily. Then, speaking candidly, was he such a protagonist? He had come to this man - a man of God or so he claimed - to learn about his cult and hopefully dismantle it board by board. Faces flashed through his mind, and he saw those dopey-eyed parishioners drinking the liquor of his captor’s goblet, lies and undiagnosable disease of the spirit.

  Even more disturbing was how kind the man seemed here. Algernon tried to resist- he was still Algernon, no matter how much Daniel called him Cain. He was? He was. No- he had nothing to attach himself to now. And in some ways it was relieving. No bills, no mortgage, taxes, nothing! The only thing he had coming for him was death! But how soon it would be was entirely his own decision. Or perhaps it was Daniel’s. Depending if he obeyed or not.

  He flinched any time he began a new sentence. He wanted to squeeze into himself, make himself smaller and more difficult to strike.

  At the mention of a shower, his face lit up just a touch. A shower. He could be warm and clean and comfortable in his own skin again. He was too weak to go to it now, but when Daniel mentioned bringing food he only nodded.

  He would need his strength for just basic tasks. But he was determined to do as much as he could to get from this room, to be part of them, because Eden was something to be experienced and not to be watched or day-dreamed about.

  No one would have expected Hell to be this soft. The bed was soft, the pillow was soft, the light was soft, and Cain finally was granted true rest. It might have even been peaceful, if he were anywhere else. Everything was quiet, calm, lending itself to his rest, telling him, ‘sleep, sleep little lamb; all is well,’ despite his insistence that it was not.

  Daniel returned not long after. Cain was weak; the last week had wreaked hell on his body and his mind. His meals in the last week - his meals since his arrival - had been meager, just enough to keep him alive. But now, Daniel returned with more than his guest had seen since the heavy door had swung shut behind him.

  He carried a tray with him; thin matzo crackers, fruit and nuts, and a small pot of green tea. He knew that Cain would find the concept of ‘dinner’ a little hard to swallow, having not eaten in several days, but having food, putting nutrients back into his body, was the most important thing right now. He never wanted Cain to waste away; he never wanted any of this for him. But the threat of force and violence and fighting was too great for Daniel to leave to chance. He had to subdue the man somehow. That part, at least, had never truly been about power.

  This part, however.

  He set the legs of the tray on the bed, over Cain’s lap. “I know it might not seem like a lot. I just don’t want you getting sick. We'll work you up to full meals, okay?”

  In the corner of a room was a small chair, seat and back cushioned with smooth wooden arms and legs, all bolted to the floor. “You did so well, last week,” was all he offered at first. “And I intend to keep my promises.”

  It took all the strength he had not to scream for Daniel to leave him alone, to leave, to go and never return, but it was also strength motivated by the sight and smell of food.

  Wondrous, really, what hunger could do to a man. He had not realized he was as hungry as he truly was until the tray was presented and Daniel sat away from him. The agonizing, clawing feeling in his gut had never been so awful. He could endure it in white-walled rooms where he knew there was no chance of relief, but in this room where it was all cream and warm sun and soft fade-edges, he was sick from it. He stared at Daniel as though hoping that he would pipe up that it was drugged, this was the real test, this was the end for him. Then he could really die, and leave this all behind.

  When no such mention of poison came, he decided to take his chances. He couldn’t eat fast, he really did not want to get sick and ruin this room, his only comfort, so he started with the fruit and nuts. These were the easiest things for him to digest right now. They still hit like bullets to his body, surprise at real nutrients rattling his senses, but he just sipped the green tea and continued. Everything felt warm now, and he swore that the more he ate and drank the more blood circulated his system. It would be a while before it was all back, before he was whole again, but he would get there.

  Everything in this room was the vision of a dream where he was alive and safe and he swore he was watching himself from a mile up, but it was no matter. He was more than a little uncomfortable with Daniel’s kindness. It was odd to be so distrusting at the first show of gentleness, especially knowing his own personal history, but he did not trust him. His praise was mute and his promises all just lace adorning the fabric of his misdeeds. Algernon kept his eyes averted, like staring at Daniel too long would blind him. If looks could kill.

  After some silence he cleared his throat, and made a minor gesture at the foot of the bed. “Why don’t you sit over here?” He mumbled, his voice still foreign in his own mouth unless he were screaming or weeping, “I can hear you better from here.”

  The main reason he wanted Daniel close was to observe him, his eyes. Algernon could read people by their eyes and he was not going to stop even when his life was just coming to be good. He would like to get a look at the other, get a clear view, and know that this was real. He wanted to touch him. Ensure this was indeed not a dream.

  Daniel had kept his distance from Cain for a reason. More than one, if he were honest, but at the forefront of his mind was the knowledge that Cain feared him. He expected pain and cruelty and suffering, even in this room - most likely to him, just an extension of the hellhole he’d been trapped in for two months.

  That’s not what Daniel wanted for him. He wanted the man to feel safe; he wanted him to know that no harm was going to come to him here. Daniel was not out to get him; Daniel was not here to crush him under his heel, to twist the knife in his back. He was here to offer safety and return of health. So when he asked him to move closer, Daniel couldn’t help but be surprised. Surely he didn’t want him closer? It didn’t make much sense to him. Was it a trick? Was it genuine? He couldn’t tell. After everything that his guest have been through, it was difficult to tell.

  He answered with a solid “Are you sure?” He didn’t want to trespass on his guest’s space, not so soon after he’d endured so much. But Cain insisted once more, and Daniel stood, slim form actually looking hesitant as he walked to the foot of the bed.

  There was a slight shift as he sat, his eyes on the tea to make sure there were no drastic movements that might disturb it. Cain had just gotten here. Spilt tea wasn’t exactly a great start. Daniel examined his guest more closely, noticing how gaunt he’d grown since coming to Lamb’s Pointe. He hoped that he’d regain his strength soon, feel more confident in his health, that Daniel wasn’t going to snatch it away again with several days of starvation. He didn’t want to.

  “I’m glad you’re awake. You surprised me, last night.” He was talking about the wine. Cain had thought it was poisoned - not drugged, not meant to subdue him - meant to kill him. “You were never in any danger. There was nothing lethal in your drink - as I’m sure you’ve guessed, by now.”

  His face felt odd to his own touch. He’d brushed over it with his fingertips, just a gentle reminder that he was alive, but each time he did his cheekbones seemed to protrude further from their usual spots, his eyes felt deeper and his body was a ghastly portrait of what it once was. He didn’t want to see himself in a mirror any time soon, but it would be unavoidable. He looked to Daniel with those dark eyes that once were alight with fire, now only smoldering ashes beneath, and he made his small gesture of motioning the other over.

  He could catch the man’s eyes now. The look in them. They were bright and cerulean, the color of a hot summer sky when the sun’s force turned the atmosphere almost bleach-white, light and echoing with memories of spending his afternoons in the shade on his grandparent’s porch. He closed his eyes. He didn’t want to believe the Algernon that grew up in the hazy noons of Ceres, Mississippi was also the Algernon who sat in this bed with this cult leader speaking- cult leader. No. His pastor. His pastor speaking to him. He studied the other’s expressions and while his brain felt muddied and heavy, it pieced together the portrait correctly of an honest conversation.

  He did not want to trust him. But he had no choice under these circumstances. He swallowed down more green tea, and he reconciled with himself that to gain good favor he would have to be as obedient as possible. A little lamb in the shepherd’s flock. He would be subservient and submissive and everything Daniel wanted him to be, bowing whenever the man walked into the room if he so needed. At the end of the day he was still stuck here, with no way out, and he was in no hurry anymore.

  He laughed, it was a morbid sound as it rattled through his throat and his lungs, the air pushed up. “Yeah, I figured, I just…” He trailed off and bit down on his lip. He could taste iron but he didn’t stop. He was paler than he’d once been, his face had lost it’s rosy color and his lips were cold. He was cold. “…I don’t know. Perhaps I was eager to know that God loves me.”

  He stopped, laughed again, and pressed his head into his palms. “That sounds really stupid, of course He does. He led me here, didn’t He?”

  The edges of his mouth were twitched up in a tiny smile, but it was the smile of a corpse laid out for an open-casket funeral. He would be careful with his ways and his words now. No need to rush anything, no need to cause trouble. He was no longer going to be of issue for all of the residents in this Eden, because he was going to ensure he was good and kind and the perfect son of God. The perfect student of the prophet. And Cain saw himself in a small vision years from now, happy here, working alongside the people here, being a good man. Having a good life.

  And then he stomped the vision out with his heel. Not yet. There would be time for that. Focus on the tasks at hand, Cain.

  Daniel watched him. He was a hell of a sight, quite literally. The pastor wouldn’t deny the fact that he looked ghastly, but what else was there to expect, after so long suffering alone in the cell? After what Daniel had done to him? It would be a long road home, but Daniel would guide him to the best of his ability, making sure that Cain received the help he needed, making sure that he made a physical recovery and resembled a person once again. It wasn’t a lie or a trick for him to say that it saddened him to see his guest like this. Daniel had a taste for control - complete, unquestioned, given willingly or not - but he wasn’t cruel. He didn’t think so.

  He kept the people here healthy, gave them peace and a home and a family. He would do anything to preserve that. For his own gain, perhaps, but that didn’t lessen the way these people prospered here. Most of them led perfectly normal lives, happy and safe and devout. Children were raised here. Families found refuge. The only time his parishioners were met with punishment was when they threatened the empire Daniel had built.

  All for their own good, he told them, and in a way, it was. There was nothing out there for them, not anymore. Like Algernon and the church, the world had beaten and rejected them at every turn. They would never find rejection here.

  And yes, Cain had been a pain in his ass since his arrival, but he dearly hoped that this was a turning point for the man. He didn’t want to put him through any more hell than he already had - he didn’t want to discipline his flock any more than was necessary. And he hoped, as well, that Cain would realize that in time. What Daniel had done to him was not entirely out of spite.

  It was all for his own good. Otherwise, he would never have made it here - to this room, to the beginning of a new life.

Chapter Text

Act IV: Revival
Chapter III: Solicitude  

--

"Have compassion on me, Lord, for I am weak. Heal me, Lord, for my bones are in agony."

– Psalm 6:2

--

  Daniel considered Cain's question carefully. “We all question God’s love, sometimes. And after what I put you through… that doesn’t surprise me. But know that God does love you, Cain. Even when you doubt it yourself. God will always love you, no matter what. He wants what’s best for His children on Earth. That’s why I do the things I do. I know you might not see it yet. And that’s okay. But I’m glad that you’re willing to give it a chance. I’m glad that you trust me - that you trust God, enough to stay here.”

  As though he had much of a choice. But Cain’s cooperation was enough for now.

  “It won’t be like before. It will be slow, but I want you to get used to life here. Get healthy again, become part of our community. I want you to like it here. I know you will, if you’re willing to. The others… I love them, I truly do. And I would hate to see them go. But they’re all welcomed to leave if they wish. I’m not stopping them so long as they’re not a threat to the church. You have to see, Cain, there’s a reason most of them have stayed.”

  Algernon was witness to the look in the other’s eyes, and for once he was not afraid of what he saw. He saw concern, genuine and certifiable concern. It was certainly unexpected, and for a moment a wave of guilt threatened to wash over him. He made Daniel concerned. He made the other feel something that was unpleasant, something aching to the two of them. Algernon could only blame himself now. He was the reason he was even in this position, all his own fault, all his own doing. His hands were the ones soaked in blood, Daniel had merely handed him the knife. Gut open his own suspense. Spill the stomach of his own sin.

  He could only hope that the other’s twisted desire for absolute control over him ended now, when he had relinquished it to Daniel. He was Cain now, Cain. Cain Rosewell. No. Just Cain. Nameless otherwise.

  He vaguely remembered the faces of the parishioners, but if asked to name any he would be unable to. His voice would catch and he would feel nothing but failure at being unable to name the very people who would make up his family from now on. But there was still time, there would be time, to learn every face. He would do all he could to ensure they suspected nothing of him, because in the end, he would not be dressed in white with the lot of them.

  If he went to hell for what he was planning he would be unfazed, but all the more intrigued by it. Did God support and shelter this false Eden? Or did He condemn it all, as Algernon, as the outside world did?

  Then he felt it, the growing rift between he then and now. Algernon then, wild-eyed and free. Flying west and east and back and forth between every world. He was the beloved conspiracy theorist online that skeptics could talk to on level, because he was not the one who believed he was being followed by the CIA at every turn. He merely wanted the truth of everything, and while it was true he did have a number of people who wished him ill, he knew that at the end of it all there was someone out there who rooted for him when he told the world his newest plan.

  Which begged the question, did anyone remember him now?

  Would they remember him if they heard his name tomorrow on the news? Or tonight on Coast to Coast? The disappearance of Algernon Rosewell was not something many people would likely pry into. Conspiracy theorist goes missing would mean nothing. Just that he got what he deserved.

  His heart almost stopped when Daniel admitted he’d put Cain through hell. He felt his face tighten, his expression harden as he remembered all forty days and most vividly the seven that he had just spent restrained, barely alive, fully awake at almost every hour just by Daniel’s force. He looked down at his dinner and his appetite disappeared. Even though it was also ripping holes in his stomach, begging for some sort of sustenance, a wave of nausea hurled itself at him like a cannon ball.

  He made a motion with his hand, limp as it were, to reach just slightly for Daniel, and he vaguely resembled a dying man reaching for their friend on their death bed. To whisper one last confession. Montresor recounting Fortunato’s demise. Requiescat in pace.

  His hand fell short and just rested at his side. He felt soiled, rotten, like he was coated in layers upon layers of skin made of clays and mud and concrete. He didn’t want to contaminate the other just by reaching for his hand, but the idea of seeing his own reflection was starting to send jolts into his heart, shudderings of angst in the oldest sense, but he wanted to at least know that this was real. This was all real. He was not hallucinating and dead on the floor, suffering from cyanide poisoning.

  He knew the others stayed here because they adored Daniel, but for some reason Algernon could not force himself to be so blind if he tried. Perhaps because he had come here a skeptic. Perhaps because he had come here and been locked in solitary the very first day. He would never forgive Daniel, not if the man were begging on his knees and bound and restrained and malnourished as he, when honesty was all a man had in the world. He could not forgive him for the horror he had become, had witnessed, would remember for all eternity. This was the first time Algernon knew he could not forgive someone, and he was okay with that.

  The pastor was not concerned with what the outside world thought of Algernon Rosewell. For all intents and purposes, Algernon Rosewell had died, tragically, in his cell. Algernon Rosewell had committed suicide by cyanide without even drinking so much as a drop of it. What was left over - Cain - was not the same man. When - no, not when. If. - If anyone ever came looking for Algernon, if anyone were to ever ask his beloved Cain where his former self had gone, he would tell them that he did not know. That they had never met. They hadn’t really, though, had they? Algernon had died long before Cain started to take form. The cyanide was just the nail in the coffin for a body that wasn’t there.

  Daniel watched in something resembling awe as Cain reached for him. That’s what that was, right? It wasn’t just wishful thinking, was it? His eyes flicked up to examine his face, just for a moment before Daniel closed the gap between them. There was a moment of hesitation - just a moment - before his hand rested lightly atop Cain’s, where it had fallen. His touch was warm and gentle, everything you would never expect from him in a thousand years.

  But God, he was real. Solid and honest to God alive - everything was real, and Cain was alive, he was safe, he’d cheated death and been welcomed into the gates of heaven all in one motion. And if Cain felt impure, then Daniel’s touch was the touch of an angel - full of warmth and a soft light that emanated from his fingertips, sinking into Cain’s skin like a gentle shower to the parched earth surrounding the dying roots of a great tree, struggling to bloom again.

  His touch was comforting, and after a moment where Cain didn’t pull away in revulsion, Daniel took his hand in earnest, clasping it in his. The man was so frail, now, too thin. He feared he could wrap two fingers around his wrist with ease. His gaze lingered for a moment, a soft frown knitted between his eyes, the gentle downcurve of his lips as he thought about the time Cain had spent wasting away.

  But his grasp was delicate as he met Cain’s eyes.

  “You’re a good man, Cain, and you came here thinking you were doing good things. Your heart was in the right place, but you were misguided.” His voice was barely a breath, “But I’m proud of you for that. For wanting to help people. And I hope that you continue to.”

  There was a weight in his voice like lead, his words dredged up from somewhere deep in his chest. There was no sadistic glee on his features, no mockery in his voice, no force in his grip. It was an odd tenderness. He knew the state he had left Cain in. He knew he had hurt him, and more than anything Daniel didn’t want to cause any more pain, any more fear. He prayed this was the end of that, almost as much as he suspected Cain did himself. And it would be. They would start fresh here, together, so long as he was given that chance.

  He wasn’t expecting forgiveness. Not any time soon. Maybe never. He was okay with that. It would be as much as he deserved. But all he wanted now was for Cain to find a better life here at Lamb’s Pointe. The world had opened to them both, now, and this world - Cain’s world, a new paradise free of fear or hatred or rejection - was theirs to build together.

  “We are all destined for something in life,” he said. “Maybe we’re destined for the same thing. To guide. To protect. You can do that, here. But for right now, I just want you to feel safe. That’s all.”

  The immutable truth was that Algernon could melt into the man’s hands, just at the simplest touch he could be moved a thousand miles, his head a dizzy carousel of thoughts. He was resentful but his chest was turned upside down. He missed being someone people did not think of as untouchable, as something strange like his words radiated a disease. Like his simple need for the off-kilter was enough to catch torches on fire and set his stake aflame.

  He tightened his grip on Daniel’s hand as much as his weak wrist allowed, as much as his trembling palms could, and he kept his lips sealed shut. He was pulling weights of thought around beneath his face, the blank spaces of his mind slowly being watched over. In his head he was perched like an owl to observe the white space, to keep vigilant gazes over it all as he reorganized himself. He would need to eat more. He would need to shower and gain his strength. With physical strength would come the gears of his mind to be reset and pressed back into place.

  But then arose the question; did he really want to leave? Daniel was being kind. He was so kind to him, so gentle with every touch and every word like feathers dusted over his nose, cheeks, his eyes. He could close his eyes and imagine himself truly dead and in the touch of an angel, with one sitting at his side, watching over him before the final curtain.

  Then he set off to scolding himself internally, pouring gasoline on every new thought that cropped up of Daniel as someone he could adore, someone who could protect him. He had always had this problem, black-and-white thinking. You do one bad thing and you’re awful. You do one good thing, I’ll love you forever. Algernon had been working on it for years, to see the shades of grey, and they painted themselves over Daniel’s features. He was a portrait in grey scale with the awful reconciliation that he was also human. Algernon never liked this about knowing cult leaders, knowing they were human as well no matter how awful. Human beings with complex lives, backstories, with traits that defined them and deeds that did the same. He felt often like he was betraying his own nature when he hurt them, when he took them down, but he did so because one dead man was better than five hundred, so to speak.

  If he were asked to solve the trolley problem, he would throw himself in front of the machine and save all six.

  His voice trembled when he spoke next, perhaps because he was wasting his energy, perhaps because he was frightened, and perhaps because his fright was not because of Daniel but because of himself. “I thought I was dead when I woke up, you know,” He could barely get the words out. “I thought- I really thought you killed me.”

  No no no no don’t make a mistake don’t accuse him of murder NO! DON’T DO THAT, his brain screamed at him at top-volume, ears ringing like bells, telephones unanswered, a touch tone phone ringing. If you say such things he may throw you in the cell! He may kill you! STOP!

  He just kept his eyes down. Whatever came would be the end of something or the beginning of another. Winter and spring tangled in a delicate waltz between them. Whichever one they chose to dance with was just another roll of the dice.

  “I just wanna do what’s right, Daniel, I just want to do the right thing,” He added on, fearing retribution for his prior statement, hoping this would distract. “I don’t know what that is yet, but I hope you can teach me.”

  He was pouring flour on an oil fire. Just enough to settle it down, and break it up.

  Hearing him confess like this, there was a long moment of silence between them. Daniel did not pull his hand back from his. He did not lash out or scold him; he did not sweep himself up in a fury like Cain expected him to. He simply sat there, quiet, his thumb tracing a little crescent against the back of his palm. It was a delicate motion, one that seemed almost habitual for him. A gentle back and forth, barely brushing over Cain’s skin. Despite the silence that had shrouded the two, it was a reassurance of compassion. Daniel wasn’t angry for his words; he was simply quiet, trying to gather his thoughts as his guest’s words really sunk in.

  Cain had dragged the words from his throat, no doubt feeling the barbed edges of every syllable pass his lips as he spoke. He struggled and faltered, his voice breathy and paper thin as he averted his gaze.

  He felt small among a giant, expecting some sort of punishment or retribution for his words, and all Daniel could offer for the longest moment was just a quiet consideration.

  Daniel simply watched him.

  “You thought I killed you,” were the first words from his own lips. It sounded funny in his own voice, an echo of the quiet admission that sent ice through his guest’s veins. “Cain… I don’t–” His own voice faltered. Cain had no reason to believe him now. Not yet. Not for a long time. He swallowed thickly and continued, pushing the words from his chest. “I would never.”

  His own voice was airy, almost uncertain as they sat together. Not for all the night he’d spent in that cell - not for all the sleeplessness, not for all the hunger, not for all the water swirling around him - did Daniel wish him dead. No matter what had happened, Daniel would never have let him die, left his body to rot in that cell out of sheer hatred. Daniel never wanted that for Cain, not once since they met, no matter how difficult things had gotten.

  He hoped he could explain, someday. But right now, words failed him. Anything that tried to come out of his mouth got stuck in his throat like molasses, a terrible sputtering as he ground to a stop.

  “I’m sorry, that I made you think - that that’s what I wanted for you. I never did. I never would.”

  They had a long road ahead of them. There were things broken. Things that maybe were irreparable. But Daniel owed it to Cain to at least try. He would give him a good life here - there was never any question to that, and the pastor hoped that he knew that. Daniel kept his word. He always would. And Daniel had promised that he would find a wonderful life here at Lamb’s Pointe. He so badly wanted that to be true.

  “But you’re safe. You always will be.” he breathed. “We’re not supposed to know everything, and that’s okay. But you have other people looking out for you, now; people who want to help you. I want to help you. I want you to thrive, and help people the way you were meant to. And I’ll be along every step of the way to help you find that.”

  Now was not the time for smiles and chipper attitudes. Now was the time for quiet honesty, to give Cain a chance to step into the new reality where the cell was left behind him. It was his choice to make, but Daniel would lift him up no matter where he chose to remain - one life or another: the constant smothering of fear and confinement, or security and peace in the light of new growth.

  And Daniel sincerely hoped that Cain would find peace in the garden.

Chapter Text

Act IV: Revival
Chapter IV: The Polarity of Man  

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Lamentations 3:32

--

  The silence was an alarm. Algernon- Cain? He could sense a shift in the other and hoped, he hoped and prayed that it meant he was not in for another baptism. Drowning. He would make sure to inhale all of the water then until his lungs were full and there was no room for survival. He remembered vaguely, in a fog, being on a park bench and cowering in front of Daniel. It was a million years ago, in Algernon’s mind. He could barely place the memory, but it still stung and it placed needles in his arms and spine.

  He could not believe the other. Even when he reassured him that he would never kill him, even when Daniel attempted to soothe him, the injuries felt fresh and they were sore. The nights of being locked away with nothing but his mind racing at top speed down his own highway to hell were like open stab wounds in every part of his mind. He was Caesar before the senate and he could do nothing but wait for Brutus to stab him. To take him down.

  If this were the time for honesty, then Algernon would speak candidly, only so that he could stop the words from suffocating him. They were a stopper in his throat that he was pulling out, a cork popped to let the truth flow freely and to be drunk from so indulgently.

  "I’d like to think in another life, I wouldn’t have been such a hassle,“ His shoulders were slumping, his dinner sat forgotten. He couldn’t stomach most of it either way.

  The words were not meant for Daniel. He was reminded only in this moment of every time he had been a hassle. Medical bills. Doctors looming over and asking how he felt, how did this make him feel. Peers who barely listened to a word he said because they no longer held interest. Years of existing and only existing, living was for other people. And for Holland. The words were for him. Algernon had asked him not to go. Holland said he was fine.

  But Algernon- Cain, he sat, and then he let go of Daniel’s hands. He fidgeted with his fingers and was amazed still at how tiny they looked, how little there was to him. It was a funny thing, how the human body seemed to shrink in on itself in times of crisis. How every muscle was stinging and bludgeoned with effort. His body and trust were a shattered wreck, and if Daniel wanted to rebuild it - or build rather, what he did not have in the first place - it would be more effort than before. Algernon could have been foolish, fallen into his traps much easier, or never once aroused suspicion.

  The wine, the tape recorder. The car. The note cards. His jacket. His hat. Little images flashing here and there, lights in the corners of his vision. He just sunk in on himself and sipped his tea which was colder now. He reminded himself to breathe.

  Soon he would be better. Soon he would be able to move well and easily and on his own, and Daniel would not have to be so soft. Then he could look deeper, reveal the man’s true colors for everyone to see. He would grow and plant love and adoration in this garden, reap the trust that came with it, and pull the shroud from his head.

  There was still a part of him that barked not to hurt Daniel’s standing with the world. To leave it be, and live and let live. Algernon wanted to so badly, he was begging part of himself to stop this nonsense. This would be much harder than he’d initially anticipated, but perhaps he could get his mind together enough to make it up.

  For now, he sat before Daniel with his frail hands gripping a cup and his eyes staring far down. Daniel was warm, a light of heaven shining on him, but behind heaven was the ever-permeating shades of hell. Tainting him. His eyes. Clothes. Hair. Everything. All from the pit, a leviathan, a ghoul. Algernon was the corpse, the recently departed, being led astray before he could even catch his death and know that he had passed.

  Daniel was not a ghoul. If Algernon had died, Daniel saw himself as merely the ferryman. Quiet, benign, come only to guide the departed across the river to a new life free from mortal concerns.

  No such danger came. There were no more baptisms, no more sleepless nights, no more torture. Over time, Cain would come to realize this. He wouldn’t expect pain at every corner, but Daniel knew this wouldn’t happen overnight. He didn’t expect it to. He wanted Cain to heal, and he knew that was going to take time. But it was something that Daniel owed to Cain, now; real care, truly and wholly dedicated. Daniel wanted to see him recover. He wanted to see him flourish again, to start to live a life that didn’t have to be spent in fear every time he saw a rosary or heard brisk footsteps come rushing down the halls.

  Desperate times called for desperate measures, and Daniel had found himself caught in a very desperate time indeed, but that didn’t change that Cain had found himself on the wrong end of a desperate measure. In the end, what little trust he’d had in Daniel coming to meet him - if there even had been any - had been obliterated the moment that cell door had swung shut behind him. And rightly so.

  That’s why this was going to be a long and arduous road. Daniel didn’t fight when Cain took his hand back; he didn’t reach for him, grab him, keep him there; he simply let him recoil, let him protect himself from whatever he perceived Daniel’s actions to be. There was no threat; Daniel was not a threat to Cain, that much he was certain of no matter what his guest thought he was going to say or do. Just the fact that Cain had allowed him so close - close enough to touch, to grab - was more than Daniel had expected for the first day - for the first week, the first month. He had no idea how long it would take to rebuild Cain, to pick up the pieces that Daniel had scattered around with his own hand and delicately shift them back into their proper places.

  But Daniel was a patient man; he was understanding, and he knew that all of this had been his fault in the first place. He’d only done what was necessary, but that didn’t change the fact that Cain had been broken by his own hand.

  “You’re not a hassle,” Daniel said, and his words might have been shallow if he’d left it at that; if he’d taken Cain’s words as though they were a personal confession to his pastor. Daniel had no knowledge of the man that Cain had used to be. He knew nothing of the Doctors, or of Holland. He knew nothing of the trying past this man had face. He had no way to, of course. But still, there was a sigh, and Daniel drew his hands into his own lap, loosely lacing his fingers and examining the lines of his own palms. And he continued. “Anyone who tells you otherwise is selfish. You’re not a hassle, you’re not a burden.” There was a pause, and he tilted his head a bit to look over at Cain. “You… know that, don’t you?”

  Algernon’s pauses were a thinly veiled attempt at denial. To say he knew he was no burden was a lie. He had only ever been told in subtle ways, whether it be words or movements, that he was something made to agitate others. A creature beckoning humans for their attention at times, or a human among the multitude of other creatures. He could not speak frankly even if he tried, for words seemed to drift out of his grasp as soon as he thought he had them. When Daniel asked if he knew he was no burden Algernon could only remember how the years had passed for him in hazes of feeling the weight, the fault of everything that traced itself down his family line. The sins of them all.

  “Selfish?” The word traced itself on his tongue, and he was not exactly clear on why. The why was lost among the how and the when’s. Anyone who called him a hassle was selfish. He did not believe that. He could not explain to Daniel exactly what instance made his statement hard to believe - it was a long life of instances all strung together with Algernon as the common thread - but the world was in reverse with the idea of not being what he had been for so long.

  Algernon wanted to go home. He wanted to go back to Ceres, Daniel in tow, and show them that someone had told him he was not a hassle, a burden. To see how they reacted. To see if they remembered the exhausted-eyed boy who tended to babble on and on too much in their opinions.

  He did not want to dwell on this for too long, the idea of wallowing in his self-pity repulsive, like nails covered in thick ink scratching his neck and bleeding him for his misdeeds. Missteps. His missed words and skipped words and words that tangled up in his throat.

  "I don’t think they’re necessarily selfish,“ He admitted with sheepish slump of the shoulders, “There are situations where someone can be a burden to the others. It happens.”

  It happens. It happened.

  "Sometimes people can’t handle another person and then they become burdensome, y'know? It happens.“

  It happens.

  He was afraid to give away too much, give the man leverage. He could see it now, Daniel wielding a hammer formed out of Algernon’s fears and weaknesses, keeping him in line until the day he slipped, and the hammer being brought down upon his head and splattering him and his words everywhere for the world to see, to be judged and prayed over and cleansed again and again until he was whole. The pieces of his mind would shift back into place, maybe not instantly, but would shuffle together and make something resembling himself again.

  His internal fact checker screamed from the back of his mind, a tune melodic and in minor key, burdening his shoulder blades.

  FACT: Talking about yourself in a negative light makes yourself less likeable.

  He tried to push that into the back of his head, because at the end of the day, things were different now. Daniel was not hurting him, not actively, and he was sitting here speaking in a kind voice. It warmed Algernon’s head, the feeling of lightness, of being part of something he had only glimpsed outside looking in. Then a twisted-knife feeling struck him.

  FACT: He may be a pastor, but he cannot absolve you.

  Daniel barely looked at him. He kept his eyes trained on the palms of his hands, simply listening. Things were so much quieter, now. No yelling, no hoarse scratching in his throat as he tried to speak, no echoes bouncing off the bare concrete walls, everything concrete, hard, unforgiving.

  Things were softer here. They were softer and even Daniel felt the stark difference between them. Yes, Cain knew what had been done to him. Yes, it was still by Daniel’s hand. But here, just for a moment, they were two completely different people.

  A pastor, and a survivor. Not of Daniel’s trials, no, but of all the trials that had come before. Every little thing that had placed itself upon his shoulders in the twenty-odd years that Cain had wandered this earth, every little thing that had led him to allow those words to pass his lips.

  He didn’t need to answer, truly. Daniel didn’t need a yes or no. The hesitation, the pardon itself, was enough to answer the pastor’s question. He’d long ago accepted that sometimes, people were just burdens. Things to be put up with, pitied, tolerated for as long as one could bear it and not a moment longer. Cain thought of himself as a burden. Someone in his life - a life long left behind, now, but his life nonetheless - had made him feel a burden. Daniel felt his breath leave him for a moment as his words settled between them.

  “But to tell them that, Cain. To treat someone like a burden, like a misfortune - to do that to another person…” He made a little half-hearted gesture, no more than the shrug of his shoulders and the slightest shift of his hands. “It’s not right.”

  Daniel knew very well that, for all the faith and community and kindness in the world, none of it would erase the past, the words Cain must have heard over his life, or the deeds done, that brought him here, to this moment, admitting himself a burden. Those things could help a person reconcile, perhaps, but the memory of those days, of those feelings, would linger. The most Daniel could hope for Cain, now, was a new acceptance. He was no burden. He was no misfortune. He was nothing to be merely tolerated or carried one one’s shoulders like cinder weights.

  The pastor finally looked up.

  “I don’t think you’re a burden,” His words were spoken softly, but there was a conviction behind them that could crush diamonds. “And I hope, that with a little time, you come to feel the same way.”

  Algernon wanted to believe him. Every word he said was honey and sweet and it was hope, hope that all of Algernon’s life could be erased and replaced by a life here at Lamb’s Pointe. A life where Daniel was someone to be trusted, held close in his mind, his friend. His guardian angel in white.

  He had seen too much, been through too much, felt too much to think of the other as his savior. Where the other meant comfort he only saw deception. Where the other gestured to light he only saw carefully disguised chaos. He wanted to rip the deceit from him, twist and grind up his words to make them all genuine so he may find a semblance of comfort in them. All he could do was sit and think and wait silently.

  His breath hitched in his chest when the other concluded his statement. He had tried for years and years to make it all right on his own, make his mind calm enough that he could finally learn how to handle the world and the thoughts that found him like thieves in the night. He perked the corner of his mouth up, then the other, the tiniest smile. The muscles in his face felt tight and tired, like all he had done was scream for years. He was tired, he wanted a shower, he wanted to be alone.

  "It’s nice to know you think that,“ He only let past his mouth, forbidding the other words that came to mind. He looked down at the tray and his dinner that was doubtlessly cold now, but he still tried to shovel more of it down his throat, wanting more than anything to settle the ache in his stomach. He swallowed more of the green tea, and he kept his eyes from Daniel’s.

  He did not want Lamb’s Pointe to be his home, but the other was persistent, and he was in no position to object. And in a lot of ways, he was fond of Daniel. This Daniel. The Daniel that brought him dinner and told him how he wasn’t a burden and told him how he was proud of Algernon, proud of him for staying alive through all of his trials. The Daniel that raised him from a forty-day perdition. He had grabbed him and pulled him and brought him back to life. He would be weak for a long time, but he would be better one day.

  And all the more, he had a bed at Lamb’s Pointe. He had the possibility of a community. People who would not turn their backs on him. Arms that would fold over him in warm familial embraces. Eyes that would meet his and not be strange, not give him a look of agitation. Hands that would hold his and lead him down to the river, praying and laughing and singing hymnals louder than the birds in the morning.

  But rivers could both be his salvation and his grave. Baptism or a drowning. Flip a coin.

  The air was still, heavy with the weight of the words exchanged between them. Daniel hated to speak, now. He hadn’t expected their conversation to go here, and quite frankly he wasn’t entirely sure how it had. Daniel felt strangely exposed, more open than he could remember being in quite a while. It’d been some time since anyone new had come to Lamb’s Pointe, since someone with so much on their shoulders had wandered into their Eden. Cain was different. Cain was cautious and reserved and even now in the quiet moments, was speaking in half-truths, biting the words that tried to make it out of his mouth.

  Daniel wouldn’t pry. He wouldn’t force Cain to speak of any more than he was comfortable with. Confession was not always an admission of sin, but it still needed to be made freely to lift the weight from one’s soul. And Daniel got the distinct sense that Cain was being crushed.

  But all in due time, he hoped.

  The pastor took a breath, trying to clear his head for a moment. “The, uhm… it’s going to take a little while for you to build your strength again. At least two weeks, I suspect?” He offered, trying to offer some kind of reassurance that this new life would be kinder, that Daniel wasn’t going to gift him a false hope, only to snatch it out from under him again and leave him here to rot. “I’m going to make sure you get back on your feet as soon as you can. In the mean time, I hope you let yourself get some rest.”

  He stood, unsure if he should leave. Just the fact that Cain had asked him to move so close was an astonishment to him. But this was the first time that he’d visited since pulling him from the cell. He didn’t want to overstay his welcome more than he was sure he already had. He hoped that over time, his presence wouldn’t be a threat. He hoped, at least, that Cain could feel comfortable with him, even in the most basic sense.

  He clasped his hands together as he gave him a smile - it wasn’t the bright, beaming smile that he’d been greeted with when he’d first come to the church. It was so much more gentle than that. The facade had fallen, the showmanship cast aside.

  “I’ll be back in the morning, eight o' clock.” He hoped that Cain believed him. Furthermore, he hoped that Cain didn’t despise him for it, for coming back. “Is - is there anything you need before then? I realize the room is a little… bare bones.”

  Most of the residential rooms did start off that way. Most of the people who came to him had so little to begin with, that their rooms weren’t truly theirs until they made them so. But everyone found some way or another. And he was sure that Cain would too, however temporary these accommodations might be.

  Algernon sat there, quiet at first, and it appeared that he too was afraid of disturbing their silence. It was the swirling of the dust in a haunted mansion, and he didn’t want to rouse the ghosts. He looked at Daniel and his eyes traced his motions, his moving from the bed to the door, and he kept his mouth closed. When he saw Daniel he was torn in two; the man and the monster. Cain and Abel tied by a string. He did not understand how the man who tortured him could be the man speaking with such kindness in his eyes. The polarity of man was something that Algernon had never quite understood.

  He shook himself mentally. Not Algernon. Cain. He was Cain now. Stick to the script.

  He nodded. “A spare change of clothes,” He mumbled, “I need to shower, I feel like I’m covered in mud.” Cain shuffled out a laugh, minute though it was, enough from his throat to resemble one. He had a breathy sound to him, like he’d run a mile when really his lungs were stressed, nerves rattled by Daniel’s presence.

  In truth he could find himself happy here, had he not come here under the circumstances he had. Had he not been dragged in by the mere force of Daniel’s will, by the other’s methods, he would be easily able to adjust and be happy. The hell Daniel had put him through likely would never have happened, and he would be just a normal follower. The damage, however, was done. It had sunk it’s fangs into his throat and ripped him limb from limb, and he felt each bit of himself devoured whole by the pastor. Like pieces of meat cut into slivers, his brain was being poked and prodded, and he could feel it.

  Or perhaps he was being paranoid. He had had that tendency in the past, to believe every camera was on him, and every eye was facing him and every mouth was laughing or gaping at him like he was nothing but a source of entertainment. Perhaps Daniel viewed him as nothing but a puppet on a string, and he renamed him to indicate he was now Daniel’s prized possession. He could not lie, he was angry with the pastor- no, angry doesn’t cover it. Cain is furious, was and is and will be in the grips of outrage. He did not understand why it had been him, of all of the people, to be the one to suffer in that cell and just now be released.

  Human circumstance. Human tragedy. It had been something he and Daniel had discussed during his imprisonment. Everything they had, everything they did, everything done unto them was all result of human circumstance. People could not exist without the influence of other people, and that influence was what landed him here. Human error. It was merely human error.

  That human error had almost gotten him killed, and all because he wanted to warn the world about the dangerous cult in the hills of Sleepy Peak. And now he may be one of them, were he to let go.

  Daniel shook himself. He partially hadn’t expected Cain to request anything, even if just to keep the pastor as far away as possible. It was like walking on eggshells, talking to Cain now. He didn’t want to say the wrong thing, did want to make the man think that he was mocking him, speaking out of spite, trying to pull the strings to make him feel helpless and dependent.

  But he knew that being moved here, returning to something that resembled the real world, Cain would need more than he had in solitary. Daniel wanted him to be comfortable here. It was a room, not a cell, and he deserved to be comfortable after everything he’d been through. Daniel rocked back and forth on his heels, bouncing a little as he actually processed his words.

  “Oh! Oh, yes, of course!” he chirped, giving Cain a smile. “I’ll be right back - and some towels, I’m not sure if there are any in the bathroom there.” He cleared his throat. “Just a moment!”

  And the door clicked shut behind him.

  He left Cain alone again; it was something he was well accustomed to, having spent so long with Daniel as his only company. But it felt different here. Everything felt different here. It wasn’t cold abandonment, anymore. Daniel was actually taking care of him now.

  And, as he said, he returned to Cain a little while later with fresh, cleanly pressed and folded clothes, and a few bath towels. “There we are! Gosh, sorry about that.” He set them on the chair, keeping them tidy for Cain. “I know you want a shower, but hot water’s going to drain you. Please don’t over-exert yourself.” There was a concern in his voice. He knew Cain was weak, and his eagerness to get up and move freely again made him impatient, and that had the potential to be dangerous.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Chapter Text

Act IV: Revival
Chapter V: A Different Cage

--

He will not let your foot slip—
he who watches over you will not slumber.

-Psalm 121:3

--

  The surprise was a twitch of electricity in the room, sparking from Daniel and evident in Cain’s eyes. He could see it - a flash of a moment where the other did not know what to do, where to go, how to react. And for a moment, Cain wondered if Daniel had expected anything of him other than the man to lay there, ignore him, push him away.

  He could push him away. It wouldn’t be difficult. In fact, he wanted to. But he did feel a need to be on good terms with the pastor. Maybe so Daniel would never hurt him again. Maybe so the congregation would trust him. Either way, no matter what he had to do, he would make the attempt. The real world was a lost world to him now, all that there was was Lamb’s Pointe. He had to remind himself of this time and time again and he had to be certain to tell it to himself time and time again. Repetition was his only hope for survival. Cain Rosewell. Lamb’s Pointe.

  He could hear the other but he felt far away now, drifting off from himself, part of Cain’s brain being back in the past, left alone in that cell and left alone a million times before.

  Being left alone by Daniel now, in this room, was different. When Daniel left and the door clicked shut he didn’t feel this sense of impending doom, anticipation as to what was coming next. He no longer thought that the man was returning with a basin and a rosary, but the thought wormed its way through him a few times. Easier to squash now. He also did not feel a wave of relief. He did not feel a sense of calm enshroud him. He was merely alone. He could not fully relax, he could never be sure, but perhaps being in this room was enough to help ease him. Just enough so that he was not in constant fear, constantly shaking. His pulse quickened but he knew it was only out of habit.

  And when Daniel returned, despite the sudden thrump-thump-dump of his heart, his chest walls feeling too tight, Algerno- Cain. Cain calmed. But even though he was calm he could not make eye contact. The warm crux of his mouth was all he could focus on, bring himself to look at. He didn’t want to know what the other’s eyes were saying. He was more scared now of his genuine kindness than his hard-handed cruelty. He did not know what was encrypted in his kindness, what was expected of him, but he knew his cruelty and wrath and could face it. He was familiar with it, like his old house, like his desk back in his apartment. Dented and scratched surface he could run his fingers over, the texture of his unholy anger was much like the desk. Sharp. Angular.

  “Thank you,” He spoke just as Daniel left, just when the door was nearly closed. “You didn’t-” He swallowed, his throat thick and muddy out of the blue, “You didn’t have to do anything for me- so, thank you.”

  The door was nearly closed, and the preacher wasn’t quite quick enough to catch it before it closed once he heard those words, but they ran a shock through him like an live wire. A few steps down the hall, just out of the narrow view of the room’s window, Daniel stopped.

  You didn’t have to do anything for me- so, thank you.

  Thank you.

  Not even seventy two hours ago, Daniel had held his head under the water so long Cain had nearly gone still. He’d watched the breath leave him in violent bubbles, doing nothing but holding him under.

  Forty eight hours ago, he’d watched as Cain nearly committed suicide under his watch.

  Daniel knew that no matter how bad things got, that Cain was never truly in any danger. He had kept him in extreme conditions, but he never would have let anything serious happen to him. For all forty days, Cain had been no closer to death than Daniel had.

  But he wasn’t entirely sure that Cain knew that. He’d been through hell, just so that Daniel could be sure that placing him in this room wasn’t a misstep, an error. To make sure that it was safe. The person that he’d used to be - Algernon - had been too great a risk to keep him here. Willful and angry, Daniel could have easily seen Algernon fighting, clawing his way out of the pit he’d been trapped in. It defeated the entire purpose of the cleansing. It made him dangerous - to Lamb’s Pointe; to the congregation; to Daniel.

  He was sure that Cain wouldn’t see it, but it had been for his own good, in the long run. It meant Daniel really could make things better for him. Cain was staying at Lamb’s Pointe, that part wasn’t up for contention. Every moment that passed was just another weight on Cain, furthering the necessity of his imprisonment - no, his residence. The longer he spent here, the more damning Daniel’s actions were, the more dangerous Cain’s presence in the outside world would be.

  He had to collect himself, staring down at the tips of his shoes for a moment before taking a deep breath. Tomorrow would be another day. Slowly but surely, things would get better. Cain would return to health, and maybe over time he might even find comfort. He seemed to be adjusting well, at least. There was no violent outburst, no protest when he’s learned he was still at Lamb’s Pointe. It made taking care of him easier, at the very least, and whether or not Cain believed him, that was all he wanted to do. End the misery that he’d endured for two months, plant the seeds of life to blossom in his body again. It was the least that he deserved.

  Thank you.

  He shook head, stepping with fast paces down the hallway, back to the lively heart of the compound. He needed to clear his head. That one, tiny act of gratitude, after Daniel had put him through so much.

  Hmm. He couldn’t dwell on it now. He smiled at those that he passed, greeting those that greeted him and discussing the evening with those who stopped him to talk. The bright faces, the look in their eyes - contentment, security, hope and the knowledge that they were safe and loved in God’s gentle hands. So wildly differed from the tiredness and despondency in Cain’s eyes, a dark, empty look like embers that had been burned to nothing.

  Daniel hoped, desperately, that this would change.

  When Daniel left, Cain took his time getting out of the bed. He got used to his legs again, and as soon as he pressed his feet down onto the floor, he felt the softness beneath them and it took more strength than he’d like to admit to not sink down into it and curl up for a while, sleep there on the carpet, the sun still streaming in. He took his time walking to the chair. Since when was walking so difficult? He assumed it had to do with the undernourishment. And he wondered if he’d ever feel the same about himself, about the world. He couldn’t go back in time and change his situation, so he tried to adjust. Make do.

  He slowly pulled the clean clothes into his hands and he felt like touching was contaminating. He grabbed a towel, thumbing it softly, and he marveled at how many different little textures there were in one bath towel. Softness, a sharpness, a dull feeling, a rigidity, all in one little object. He shuffled himself into the bathroom, closing the door and holding his breath. He would have to face his reflection eventually. He knew it was bound to happen. He stepped to the mirror.

  He had to hold in a loud sob. His chest hurt, lungs stopping, heart shrieking. His face was gaunt, his mouth was paler than before. His hair was a matted mess of brown strands, oil weighing the curls down. He felt sick, stomach knotting at the sight, and he stood back.

  But most of all were his eyes. His eyes were cold. What once had been vibrant, youthful light, ambition and hope, now was a dulled smoldering pile of ashes. It was like swallowing wet sand, seeing himself, the way it made him feel. He felt disgusted, he felt ashamed, like a creature left in the woods. Perhaps being obsessive-compulsive made it worse.

  His knees were wobbling and he dodged away from the mirror, darting over to the shower. He’d be clean soon, soon, just a minute more. Being in a cell for nearly two months with only meager baths in a basin twice a week had done just enough for his body, but his hair had been a harder thing to clean, and the past seven days had been nothing like before.

  Taking Daniel’s advice, he slowly worked the water up to a room temperature. He peeled off his clothes, feeling like he was removing a skin, and set them aside. He stepped under the water, shocked by the warmth on his back. He inhaled, exhaled, and got a grip. He couldn’t dissociate, not now, he had to be present for this.

  Cain took his time scrubbing himself down, and then curled his fingers into his hair and scrubbed furiously, like he was scrubbing a tile floor with so many stains over the years it would never be fully clean. He barely had the strength to exert, but he put all his effort into this. He wanted to be something presentable, something like he once was, something good. He scrubbed and scrubbed until suds were hitting the shower curtain, and he went in again and again until he thought he was at least clean enough.

  His lungs were burning and he realized he’d overexerted himself. He sat down in the water, letting it slam against his back, running down his shoulders. He closed his eyes and struggled not to fall asleep, just sitting, just thinking. He had been through hell for the past seven days, and his imprisonment was finally over.

  In a way, had he not entered another prison? A prison of dependence upon Daniel? This would be his undoing. Surely, and he knew it.

  He stopped the shower and toweled off, slipping into the new clothes. He finally felt clean, the grime all gone from every inch of his body. It was like breathing after being underwater for so long- and trust him, he knew.

  Even after his disgust with himself prior, he stepped in front of the mirror. This time, he did not shirk away, did not flinch. He had more color to his cheeks, lips. He brushed through his hair with his fingers, shifting it away from his forehead. He could almost be considered pretty if he weren’t so malnourished; with long, dark lashes and large, warm eyes. He had high cheekbones that looked higher still with how gaunt he was, but in due time he would regain what he’d lost and his face would again be soft and gentle in appearance. He held onto this hope that at the least, he could look like himself, even if he did not feel like himself for a very, very long time.

  He made his way back to the bed, stumbling, legs weaker still. He slumped into the mattress, the sun having shifted only a few inches but nonetheless hitting the bed, and he placed his face under it. Daniel would not be returning until eight the next morning.

  Which gave Algernon plenty of time to scope out the room. To learn more about his new home. To plan.

  Cain had not fallen asleep easily.

  He had been careful not to exert himself, but he spent his time learning about the room, getting a feel for the space. If it came to be a temporary room, he did not mind, he was still learning where he was. He found himself running his fingers over the walls to feel their texture, to get some sort of sensory input, to understand more about his surroundings. Everything was a surprise, a jolt to the system, the new world around him bare and cold but all the more welcoming than his cell.

  Sometimes, it was hard for him to believe that he had jumped drastically from a barren cell to a room. From being drowned and nearly allowing himself to greet death with a kiss, to being in a soft bed and treated kindly, like he was a patient in a hospital. He didn’t understand how. Why. Did he even deserve it? He was quick to shake these thoughts; of course he did. He deserved to be treated like a human being, not a prisoner guilty of a crime he didn’t commit. False accusations of sin, false accusations of wrong-doing, all breathing down his neck.

  In many ways though, were they so false? He had done wrong in the past, absolutely, but he always sought a resolution. This was something he could not resolve. This was something for which he could not be forgiven. Letting himself come here, being stupid enough to fall into the traps and the various little games Daniel played with his mind. He couldn’t trust the man in the slightest, wouldn’t trust him.

  At the same time, when he thanked him, he meant it. Daniel could have let him die and he didn’t, and Algernon- Cain? He was no longer sure-Daniel had not let him die. He let him live. Saved him. Mercy. Mercy. Glory Hallelujah.

  When he’d laid down to sleep his eyes fixated on the ceiling. He could imagine himself a spectre here, a ghost haunting the halls of Lamb’s Pointe. The thing that goes bump in the night. He wouldn’t mind it. He’d give Daniel hell for what he’d put him through; retribution one way or another. Through life or through another’s death.

  There was a weight on his chest when he remembered his life before. The world before he’d arrived here, a world he wanted to protect. Perhaps he had a bit of a Messiah-complex. The need to save people. This awful, gut-wrenching need to be the one to help people out of tight spots or out of the fire. He was foolish for it. He was a fool, he was stupid stupid stupid stupid-

  He had closed his eyes but his heart was thundering away, and barely let him rest. When he dozed off, a subtle noise - the pipes, the wind - would alert him and he’d jolt awake as though he’d never been asleep at all. Then he’d spend another hour drifting into his own personal void.

  And then he woke up, likely around two in the morning, though he could not tell, sweating and stifling a scream.

  His nightmare had been nothing short of familiar. The memories of the cell flashed before his eyes, intensified by a thousand. Rosary wrapped around his neck to choke him, a noose of beads and silver. Choirs of angels dressed in white screaming for his demise. He was abomination, abomination, glory glory Hallelujah. He’d settled back into the bed, and an hour later was asleep, but his brain was still whirring and churning out awful visions. They did not wake him this time, but played, and played on and on and on and on and he felt nothing but an ache in his chest.

  The next morning, eight o clock sharp, there was a knock at the door. Expected. Punctual. There was still no way to gauge time here, not very well. There was the sun, how it streamed into the bedroom at the different times of day, but beyond that Cain had found the bedroom to be bare, bare, bare. The bed, the chair, the bathroom, the meager things - soft clothes and towels, warm comforts that would grow in the future.

  “Hope you don’t mind oats. Wasn’t sure what you’d like.” Daniel shouldered the door open, carrying another tray. Apples, raisins, honey, hot tea. Daniel couldn’t help but absently wonder if Cain had still expected to be fed scarcely. If he did, he’d realize quickly that that wasn’t the case. Daniel was going to take care of him now. There was no more torture; no more cruelty. Daniel meant it when he had told Cain that this was a new chapter in his life, a new beginning. One where he was loved and cared for, where he could find safety within the walls.

  “You’re looking better,” he said with a little smile; it had been a long time since Cain had seen that blinding, artificial smile that he put on for others. What he gave Cain was softer, kinder. It was the kind of smile you might greet a friend with, though Daniel knew that he was far, far from anything of the sort in Cain’s mind. “I hope the shower didn’t take too much out of you,” he said, setting the tray over his lap. It was the truth, at least. Cain had cleaned up, and it seemed to have done him some good. His curls were soft again, a gentle brown that didn’t fall so miserably over his face. He’d regained some color, the pallor receding slowly to return life to his face.

  This was just the beginning. Cain would get better every day, and Daniel was happy to see he was already off to a good start.

  “Did you sleep well? I know it’s probably a little more than odd, here.”

  He’d awoken to the sound of footsteps and for a moment thought he was back in the cell. Saw the floor beneath, saw the bare white walls, and he was so close to panic he could taste it. Then the vision faded, then the light came through and the pastor opened the door to his new world and spoke kindly. Cain was tangled up in the sheets, every inch of his body covered- pinned down, all except his head, his breaths quicker than they had been moments before and slowing gradually.

  While Daniel spoke, Cain swallowed and stared down at his breakfast. There were dried trails along his cheeks but he didn’t let the other get a good look, just nodding. He did agree that he looked better; his complexion was no longer so corpse-like. He was regaining color to his cheeks and lips, his eyes were not so deadened, but he still felt off. Like he had been away from his body and was just getting used to it again, or placed into a completely new one altogether.

  "I did. It’s- it’s fine. I’m getting used to it.“

  He fought the tremble in his voice, the quiver of his lip. He was beyond dissociation now. The shock of being in a room with Daniel, the man treating him kindly, was beginning to grip him by the throat and pull him up and up and choke him until his spine snapped. He was trapped.

  He was still a rat in a cage. Just a new one. A different, cozy cage.

  Still, a cage.

  Perhaps Daniel hadn’t noticed the desperate scramble as Cain tried to kick the covers away, or heard the initial gasp of breath as he returned to the world around him. But Daniel liked to think himself keen, especially where others were involved. He fancied himself good at being able to read people - he had to be, with what he does. Singling out the sinners, the guilty look in their eyes as they regarded their pastor - and Cain was no exception.

  Daniel did not sit this time. Despite their little chat, Daniel was still very aware that Cain saw him as nothing but a captor. And perhaps rightfully so. The pastor was not regarded as a friend, or someone to be brought into your space any more than necessary. To bring food, to bring clothes and other little necessities. Nothing more. And Daniel wouldn’t infringe on that. Perhaps things had been drastically different back in the cell, but Cain was no longer a prisoner, no longer something to be bent and bent and bent until he snapped. Daniel didn’t want him to feel as though that was all he thought of him

  He shoved his hands in his pockets, stepping back, shoulders pressed to the wall across from the bed as he leaned back. He was silent for a long time, watching as Cain picked at the food. No, no - Cain was lying. He could see it. The stress in his shoulders, the way he kept his arms close and his head down. He wouldn’t look at Daniel and, while it was perhaps warranted, it was a stark difference from his demeanor yesterday.

  “You’re not okay,” The accusation came softly from his lips. There was no anger behind it, no disappointment. It sounded more like an observation than anything. Daniel couldn’t possibly know of the nightmare, the screaming choir and the unholy damnation, unclean, unclean. Daniel had no way of knowing, but he could tell that something was wrong. “Cain…” It was almost a plea. Tell me what’s wrong.

  He sighed, a sound of defeat. He knew that Cain wouldn’t be honest with him. Not for a long time - maybe never, as much as the thought hurt. “I don’t know what it’s worth, coming from me,” he murmured, “but I mean it. You won’t be hurt here. And this is just until you’re better, again.” There was a certain tone to his voice, it was hard to place. Sadness? Pity? Each syllable came from his lips carefully, as though speaking with anything more than powder soft words would cause them all to collapse.

  “I want you to get better. What I did to you–” He cut off abruptly. He knew what he did. He knew what kind of damage he’d done, and even if some of it was necessary - even if some of it was intentional - that didn’t mean it wasn’t regrettable.

  It was a delicate balancing act, keeping his world afloat, keeping his parishioners in awe of him while still knowing that he could reign divine fury on them for their sins. He wouldn’t say he despised being feared, but it was an unfortunate fact of taking the role he was meant for in this life. It’s better to be feared than loved.

  If you cannot be both.

  And history was so fond of butchering words. Taking sentences and poems and war cries and bending them to something more palatable. But Daniel didn’t want one or the other. He would tear both from the grasp of his congregation.

  Cain already feared him, that much he was certain of. The way he avoided Daniel’s gaze, turned his head away when there was the threat of being looked in the eye. Whatever had troubled him during the night, whatever had his breath so quick, so hard to control at a moment’s notice as he tried to hide it from the pastor - it was suffocating, smothering him, and no matter how the grip of fear kept his sheep in line, seeing Cain like this - terrified, trapped in this room only to await Daniel’s next return. It was no different than the cell, just kinder.

  And Daniel hated that it had to be that way, but he tried, tried to make Cain understand that he wasn’t going to spend the rest of his life within these four walls. Daniel just wanted him to get better, to rest and regain his strength after he’d endured so much. Nothing more - no tricks, no deception hiding behind the soft sunlight and Daniel’s smiles.

  He took a deep breath, taking a moment to level his head and start again. “I know what I did to you,” he said firmly. “And I know that - nothing that I can say or do will ever change that.” He lifted a hand, rubbed absently at his face as he tried to parse his words. “And I know I don’t deserve a second chance, or a fresh start. But you do.”

   Cain held a very peculiar vision in his mind, a vision of Daniel. A vision of the man clothed in white as a saint, but bleeding, bleeding ink; the sins of his hands tainting his mouth and his eyes and his fingers. Soaking everything and everyone he touched, coating the soil he walked on. Hallowed ground became unholy just with a single drop of his ichor. It poured from his mouth every time he spoke and his voice was a thousand whispers of all the ones led to their damnation with his ways, some quicker than others.

  It was the nightmare vision Cain held in his mind to keep him from trusting Daniel. To keep himself from falling into the pastor’s arms, as a fallen angel descended to the arms of the evil that stretched like vines to encompass their hearts. The vision of divinity melting away to reveal the bones beneath; bones of wrought iron and blackened ashes. Feather-light bones became leaden.

  Cain didn’t want to admit to his nightmares. He felt ashamed to have them. He did not trust Daniel, but he felt shame in that. Like the man showing him kindness should be enough to scrub the grout out of their relationship, to clean everything off and give both of them a fresh start. Clean slate. No. There would be no redemption here. No mercy. Mercy? Daniel was showing him mercy. Showing him the light. No- he was showing him darkness, nothing but eternal darkness- no. Cain was at odds with himself and it was only morning.

  ‘You’re not okay,’ No. No, and I never will be, you fucking monster! You did this to me, you absolute-

  He tried to shirk the thoughts off like a coat, let them fall away. He had to calm himself down. His blood was hot in his veins and his hands rested at his sides, very slightly  squeezing the sheets between his fingers, then releasing, and repeating the motions. The fact the other was trying to reassure him he would not be injured was almost laughable. Cain wanted to knock down the doors of all of his false-kindness and reveal the monster hiding beneath, the one who held him underwater and would have let him drown. The one who forced him awake. The one who starved him. Dehydrated him. The thing that restrained him and kept him locked in a cell. He felt unclean again, like he had not scrubbed his skin raw enough already. Like he was back at the first day, second day, third and fourth, the first week of his imprisonment where he felt nothing but gut-wrenching fear. He was wound up like a spring, and Daniel was just breaking him enough to make a snap, not enough to launch the spring out and cause him to fall. Just enough to stress. Not enough to harm. Not yet.

  The apology felt, to Algernon, like a thinly veiled lie. It lined his words, the deeds he had been guilty of. Admittance. Admittance. He could hear it clear as church bells ringing for weddings- funerals. His own. He heard the words so clear and his throat closed up. His heart was the rattling of chains.

  'I don’t deserve a second chance,’

  No you don’t, you don’t you never will you never can you never-

  ‘But you do.’

  Algernon’s heart stopped and he took in a sharp breath, biting his bottom lip. He had so much he wanted to say. He didn’t want to say anything but he had words filling his head up like The Flood.

  The only thing that came to him were words that belonged to another.

  ‘For so I created them free and free they must remain.’ -John Milton, “Paradise Lost”.

  His freedom had been turned in the moment he’d emailed the pastor. His freedom had been taken the moment he locked eyes with him. His freedom was forfeit. The moment he drove to Sleepy Peak. The moment he ended up in this hellhole. He just sat, and idly poked at his breakfast.

  “You don’t even know me that well, how can you think I deserve a second chance?”

  Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, Cain, stop this stop this stop-

  “You probably would have been better drowning me back in the cell.”

  It was a lie to say Cain wasn’t suicidal. And a further lie to say he hadn’t been, the entire forty days. But he had never truly wanted death.

  And at the same time, he was being his own guillotine. Daniel just had to play executioner.

  There was a shift once his own words passed his mouth. He knew. He knew what image Cain held of him. Poison - purse poison, more deadly than anything he could have ever put in his wine. But oh, if Daniel could gaze at himself through Cain’s eyes - he might be truly afraid of what he’d see. A monster, a demon, death itself standing over his bed, watching him, waiting to swoop down and shroud him in pain and suffering again and again and again.

  Daniel wasn’t a cruel person. No matter how long this charade went on, no matter how many people he took under his wings, no matter how many baptisms he preformed. He was not violent. He was not hateful. He was firm, and perhaps his methods of discipline were extreme, but they had to be. They had to be. But he wasn’t cruel. He would never hurt someone just for the sake of hurting them, for the express purpose of causing them pain. A black eye, a busted lip, bruises upon bruises upon quaking fear. He would never be that man. He would never be that cruel.

  But Cain saw him so.

  He would not say this was unwarranted. He’d put him through so much, too much, and the man’s trust was something he would have to piece back together, a million shards scattered about and embedded in the walls of the cell. How many little pieces were lost to those walls for good? He would have to find out, in time. But here, in this room, was as good a place as any to start collecting those shards.

  He watched, silent as Cain balled the sheets up in shaking fists, releasing, grasping, loosening, over and over as he battled with something deep within him. What Daniel wouldn’t have given to know this man’s thought - follow his reasoning, his fears, his worries, just so that Daniel knew how to placate him. There was no reason for him to fear, here, but to Cain, everything he said were nothing more than empty words.

  And then there was a distinct snap; Cain made the first real movement since Daniel had taken his spot against the wall. His shoulders hiked as he let a tiny, sharp intake of breath fly past his lips, which he bit to keep them from spilling any more damning sounds. He wouldn’t meet Daniel’s eyes.

  But you do.

  He shifted, standing straight once again. Hands pulled from his pockets, he folded his arms across his chest tightly. He leaned forward as he approached the foot of the bed. He knew he was uninvited, but his words had struck a chord with Cain.

  He opened his mouth to speak, his breath lodged somewhere deep in his chest for a moment as he tried to drag the words up - but he was too late. Cain spoke first, not bothering to look up.

  The bottom of Daniel’s stomach dropped out as he listened. Everything felt cold and steely and wrong in that moment. His arms unfolded. For a very long, terrible moment, Daniel didn’t know what to do. It was like he forgot how to breathe - the task was suddenly difficult, his lungs simply refusing to cooperate. His chest ached.

  The words were like glue, heavy and sticky as he dragged them up from the hollow inside of him. “I think–” his voice was thick and awful. He swallowed and tried again. “I think everyone deserves a second chance, Cain. And - and I–” there was no reason this should be so difficult. He scolded himself, shoulders rolling back for a moment as he tried to gather his wits. A thousand possibilities strung themselves together in his head. “We,” the church, the faith, God, Daniel, “would never deny someone a second chance. Everyone deserves a second chance - even if they don’t think they do.”

  The pastor held his breath, and his entire body froze for a moment before he reached out, slow, slow. He was shaking slightly, touch delicate at Cain’s cheek as Daniel raised his gaze. There was something starkly different in his bright blue eyes.

  “Even if you don’t believe a single word that comes out of my mouth - please, at least believe me now.”

Chapter Text

Act IV: Revival

Chapter VI: An Act of Kindness

  Get away get away get away get away GET AWAY-

  Algernon wanted nothing more than to scream. His voice was hitched in his throat. His entire body froze. It had been enough to see from his peripheral the other shifting- his posture looked rigid, forced. It was enough to have this sense of having said just the right words to dig his knives deeper into the other. It was plenty satisfactory. All he needed was to be alone, be alone, be away from this man.

  But when Daniel walked over he felt himself shake, his hands grasping the bedsheets tighter. Algernon couldn’t breathe. He was choking on himself and his own throat and he felt like he’d just swallowed molasses. He was as still as grim death and he sat there, waiting. The strike. A thunderclap to slam into him. A hand on the back of his neck, grabbing. Anything.

  He was surprised to feel Daniel’s hand on his cheek. He was half way to opening his mouth to tell him to leave, but his mouth was a silent cavern. He couldn’t place words where they should be, couldn’t string it all together on the delicate thread, and instead closed his eyes tighter tighter-

  He was… Daniel was shaking. Algernon could feel it. His palm was a trembling warmth on his cheek, which still was sharp and hard from his imprisonment. His stomach turned to lead and his lungs soured and his already-weak body was disintegrating by one single touch. An act of kindness.

  Get away get away get away get away get away-

  The reaper in white was touching his skin and he could feel death singe his throat and scorch his tongue. He was being tainted tainted and tainted again and all holiness left, all semblance of sanctity left, everything of him was now contaminated. He had been contaminated when he donned those white clothes and now he had been contaminated further. He was sick to his stomach and sick to his mind. He was everything he despised and Daniel was everything he despised and everything was a blur of fury and exhaustion and fear and wrath-

  Algernon would scream for Daniel to get away, to stop, to never lay another hand on him. But he wasn’t entirely certain he even was Algernon anymore. Cain. Cain wanted to believe him. Cain wanted to be part of this Eden, part of Daniel’s world, with the other at his side to guide him through. Cain could only see past the blue, blue eyes and into the heart of it all. He saw the heart of the monster and he was afraid. He was afraid.

  He swallowed, and allowed his eyes to very slowly meet Daniel’s, and time stopped.

  He could hear a clock chime a mile away in the silence that followed.

  He wanted to trust him. He wanted to trust him. He lifted his hand, and smoothed his palm over the back of Daniel’s hand, his skin warmer than Cain’s. Cain was cold, ice, Daniel was warm and soothing.

  No, no, no, no- the back of his mind was pounding at the front, shaking the door, jiggling the lock. Stop this! This will only result in death! Cain couldn’t hear it. Or he did and ignored it. The red flags were gone when he put on rose colored glasses. He just wanted everything to be okay again.

  But it had been okay, Algernon could hear in his mind, it had been perfect before this. Even after all the shit he went through, things had been well, he was doing well, he was alive and breathing every morning and that had been enough and he shouldn’t want anything else-

  And then he met Daniel, and then he ended up here. And in a new name. A new home, home, no this would never be home-

  Images of the cell burned into the back of his memory bubbled up to remind him. They were old sores that would never heal, spilling out in his mind to remind him what this man had done. He could see the white, white walls and the blinding light and the door. He could feel the waves lapping over his head, the prayers were muffled by all of the water in his ears. It was like being alive and dead at the same time. Schrodinger’s Mouse. He was in a box and was he alive or dead? He felt a piece of himself was still there. He was still there. He’d physically moved, but his mind had remained in the floor, sprawled out and awaiting the reaper in white to come pick him up, carry him away, and bury him among the hemlock.

  Cain lightly smoothed his hand over Daniel’s, closing his eyes and leaning his cheek into the touch. He had to stop denying that this could be good.

  And at the same time he wanted to cry, to lash out, to rip this man’s arm out of his socket.

  "I wish I could,“ He spoke lowly, averting his gaze once more, “It’ll take a lot more time for me to- to believe anything you say.”

  He wanted to rip Daniel to shreds, and at the same time, Cain wanted to listen. Piece by piece, Algernon had been ripped apart and devoured. Maybe he would be back together whole when he died, but he could not imagine himself being okay to any degree any time soon.

  It had been three days.

  Three days since he had been pulled from his own personal hell, stark white and cold and hopeless. Daniel couldn’t say that he expected anything more from Cain. Just the fact that he allowed the pastor in the room with him was more than he could have asked for at this point. Not once had he entered did Cain shout, or scream, or cry, or demand anything of Daniel. To leave him alone, to get out, to drop dead. It was surprising, quite frankly. It was the very least that Daniel expected. It would be justified. Cain had every right to despise the pastor.

  And yet he remained silent. He allowed Daniel to come in, to bring him food and clothes and other necessities, and Daniel would have easily believed it was purely out of self-preservation, the realization the denying Daniel over and over and over would do nothing but weaken him further and rebuild the cell of suffering that he’d just escaped. But beyond this, Cain allowed him to linger. Cain allowed him to speak, and last night he’d spoken back. It seemed not too long ago that Cain had barely been able to hold onto his own voice after spending so long in silence.

  But now, moving closer, he could see it, the way that Cain tensed up, the way he froze like a statue, like someone expecting to he struck. Perhaps he did expect to be struck. More likely, he expected to be grabbed, dragged, suffocated as Daniel lost the last of his patience in a final snap that simply wasn’t coming. That part of his life was over, Daniel would reassure him over and over, keeping his promises no matter how Cain believed him to be a liar, no matter how Cain thought Daniel wanted nothing but his suffering.

  That wasnt what he wanted. Prolonged suffering, pain and fear and a terrible, chilling terror that coursed through his veins, it was all so unnecessary. But he knew that Cain didn’t want him here; he knew that Cain feared him, feared his presence and his hand by which he’d been held underwater for so long. Daniel couldn’t blame him. But again, he did not pull away. And again, Daniel reached slowly. He was hesitant, wholly unsure whether or not this was the right thing to do - the right gesture, the right message to be sent through Cain’s terror.

  His cheek was cold. It sent a strange sort of shock through Daniel’s system. Everything about Cain was cold, detached, trying to find something solid to grasp onto as though he were just floating. The chill sapped the warmth from his fingertips, but he was okay with that.

  Daniel felt his heart unclench when Cain tipped his head into Daniel’s palm. It was a heart stopping movement, the moment’s uncertainty of what he was going to do. He knew there was every possibility that Cain would lash out, grab Daniel’s arm and fight back despite everything. He knew that by now his touch must have held a burning electricity to it - the jolt that came along with the brush of his fingers at neck just before he was forced down.

  But that time was gone, and Daniel’s touch was gentle. It would remain so, and over time he hoped that Cain would realize this. At the slightest tip of his cheek, Daniel grew a little less afraid of the man lashing out. Slowly, his thumb traced the same line at the top of the man’s cheekbone as he had on the back of his palm the day prior. Cain’s hand over his, and the pastor held his breath.

  It was little things - his grip when Daniel took his hand; the way he pressed his cheek into Daniel’s palm, now. They were warm things, no matter how cold Cain was. They were quiet things, gentle and simple among the turmoil of the last two months.

  “I understand,” was all he offered back, barely a whisper. And he did. That’s why they were here, now. Daniel wanted to earn the trust he’d never had in the first place; since the moment they’d met - since well before - Algernon had distrusted him. Had been recording, planning, interviewing Daniel for all the wrong reasons. It would be all the harder to build anything between them, but Daniel still wanted to try.

  He hoped Cain did too. Or, at the very least, that he would allow himself to.

  To survive was his only game, and he had to play it right. He couldn’t allow himself to be one of Daniel’s little lambs, helpless and mild. He didn’t want to know how this story ended. He only looked to the back of his mind and found that the little boxes were unpacking. Slowly, slowly, he was stringing the red threads between the locations and the people and the words he’d heard. He was coming to himself. To become himself again.

  And he hated it.

  Cain did not want to be himself again. He walked to the back of his mind and tried to shred up the documents - Jonestown, Heaven’s Gate, Scientology - but his hands were always stopped short. His balled fists slammed the boxes, but the fragile contents inside would not break. Shatter. Crash to the ground. He could not destroy it. He could not deny any of this. He could not be his old self again and still, yet, he was.

  Algernon was. He was. He was a man who wanted his freedom. Freedom or die trying, freedom from this hell he’d stepped into. He was in the snake’s den, with the serpents biting his heels. He was in the lion’s den. He was under a watchful eye and he knew it. And so every motion was measured carefully. Every little movement of his body was either involuntary or calculated with no room for error. Even when Daniel’s precious lamb ‘Cain’ was willing to bend to his will, Algernon was here. He looked at Daniel with peaceful, sleepy eyes. He couldn’t let the other catch what his mind was turning out, words and re-plays of the past forty days. He had weathered his storm. The olive branch was extended.

  And Algernon would flick a lighter, a match, and burn the olive branch while it was poised so delicately in the other’s fingertips.

  But he could not. Because all there was was the present, with Daniel’s hand on his face, and the momentary clarity he experienced. His chest was a sports car racing down the highway with absolutely no reservations about how others were likely in danger.

  With every right to despise Daniel, and the other likely aware of this, Algernon was determined not to show his fury. He could not let it slip that he was ready to rip his arm off at any moment, bite the hand that fed, quite literally. He would make every effort to flip the script, take lead in their dance. The waltz would end and Algernon was determined to be the one Daniel was hanging from, the one that could just as easily lift him as drop him to the floor.

  So he was biding his time and biting his tongue. Daniel brought him food and necessities and Algernon was thankful. Truly, he was thankful, because it was nice to feel like a human being again. And he greeted him warmly now, even through his fear. When fight-or-flight was his only choice, he was going to choose fight. Fight with kindness and acceptance now. With sublime submission. With care-filled smiles to Daniel. How was your day. Did everyone listen. Did you get new converts. Did they care about your church.

  Algernon for all his stupidity was resourceful. And now he was seeing his resources, and his options, and he would build his fire and kindle it well. The embers behind his eyes would be alight once more, when he could, when he wasn’t so tired. He was dragging his mind behind him and feeling the exertion. The strain.

  And of course, there was Cain to deal with.

  He was a part to be played delicately. But he was also himself. Cain was, in of himself, a way to cope with this. Cain was someone who cared about Daniel, about this church. All purely out of survival.

  Always the fighter, Algernon.

  He was delicate with the pastor, like he was made of glass, as he traced his fingertips over his knuckles, feeling the bone beneath. Daniel had a halo of dripping ink and soaked in the blood of those who died for his ways, and Algernon was determined to expose the monstrous teeth and claws this man bore.

  In this moment, however, it was Cain who was prevailing. The clarity was still ever present, but Cain was soft in his touch. He was putty, and how long had it been since he’d been shown affection? He had not felt another man’s touch on his face in months, years, he could almost count them. And it was easy to fall into Daniel’s hands, to melt into his gentleness. Even if it were just a touch on the cheek it was a million different nerves spiking like static in the air after a storm; like the world churning and grey. His mind was muddled and grey. His mind was matter and a matter to be dealt with, if he so minded to.

  “Daniel,” His name left Cain’s lips like a prayer. Soft-spoken. Balancing on the tip of his tongue. “Can a sinner like me ever even reach Ascension?”

  It was a legitimate question. At the end of his life, Algernon wanted holy holy holy and glory glory Hallelujah. Cain just wanted to know if Daniel would accept him as a soul saved and purified. Cain. Algernon. What did it matter. The same face, same body, same eyes and voice and-

  No. Cain’s eyes were always softer, always tender when gazing at the pastor like in a daze, a trance, a beloved friend. Algernon was the one who feared. Cain was the one who embraced.

  Daniel, for all his softness and his delicate care, was not an idiot. His serpent had been fighting his entire life, and while Daniel knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that he’d broken Algernon - perhaps beyond repair - that Cain was not entirely his. Not yet. The way that he still cowered before Daniel - the cold in his touch and the steel in his gaze - it was all too distant. Cain was slowly coming around, but it would be a long time before Algernon was snuffed out all together.

  But that didn’t matter. It could be dealt with later. Right now, the only thing that mattered - the only thing Daniel truly cared about - was Cain. The man needed his care, needed his attention, even if just for the moment, until he could get back on his own two feet. And the pastor was there to provide it to him. Happy to, even, wanting to see Cain return to health no matter how the turbulent things had been between them.

  He could feel Cain melt into his touch. It would be a lie to say that he didn’t feel a warming sense of satisfaction, but the gentle brush of Algernon’s fingertips across the back of his hand, the slightest ghosting as though he were afraid to feel anything too solid in the man, stirred something much different in his chest. It was a terrible dichotomy between the man Algernon knew he could be and the man Cain knew he could be - and perhaps he was both. But the wires would never cross. Cain would never know the man that Algernon knew, and vice versa. Who Daniel was lay entirely on his shoulders. Who Daniel was depended entirely on who Algernon - Cain - decided he was.

  He didn’t want to be the man Algernon knew. He much preferred to be soft, kind, full of compassion and surrounded by a glowing adoration - both the adoration his parishioners felt for him, and the adoration he felt for his parishioners. For all that happened behind these walls, Daniel was not the hopelessly heartless monster that Algernon would have so easily believed. He twisted God’s Word and manipulated every person who came under his gentle care, but that didn’t change the fact that he cared about these people - how could he not? They were his congregation, his neighbors.

  He much preferred this man. The gentle pastor. Cain’s Daniel.

  He did not move his hand from the other’s cheek. He took another half-step forward, sitting at the edge of the bed at Cain’s side. He felt distinctly like a trespasser, a demon stepping on holy ground as he took such liberties as to sit with Cain. He spoke. He looked to the pastor with a confession on his lips, a prayer for salvation. Daniel didn’t say anything for a moment; he simply regarded the man with an odd look in his eyes. He worried at his lip as he thought, trying to parse Cain’s words and organize his own.

  “I don’t think that anyone is so far gone they’re past saving,” he answered quietly. “No one’s a lost cause.” His voice was earnest, his words genuine. It was an question he’d answered many times before. So many people who struggled to believe themselves able to be saved at all.

  Slowly, Daniel’s fingers trailed from Cain’s cheek, dropping back into his own lap. Somehow they ended up here, again, and he absently wondered if this was their natural way, if they would fall into this position every time they came together. This room, a confessional.

  “I think you’re worth saving, Cain.” His voice was gentle; patience and understanding, the voice of a pastor who had heard sinner after sinner cry the same cry. “I want to help you. So that, at the end of it all, God will be proud of you, and He will welcome you with open arms.”

  A serpent. A serpent wriggling and squirming it’s way ‘til it’s spine cracked. Algernon was merely that. He was the serpent in Eden tempting everyone with the fruit of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. He carried it on his fingertips, balanced like a feather. Soaked in honey to make it palatable. Watered down. He watered down the truth of his imprisonment. In his mind he was presenting a more palatable version to the media, an easier-to-digest version.

  All the while, Cain was leaning into the comforting touch of a cult leader, the same one Algernon was bringing down. Cain was scared, but he was willing to try to see the other side of things. Let Daniel illuminate the way, and he would walk. He was too weak to stand for long, and too weak to harm the other, so he let himself be gentle in the other’s presence. He became a lamb with the slightest hint of affection, weak and dark-eyed.

  They were a sight from a Renaissance painting. Portrait, Self-Portrait: The Pastor Offers The Serpent Salvation. Portrait, Self-Portrait: The Serpent Split in Two. He could almost feel the oils under his fingers, the paints, the paper, the canvas. Cain could sense the rule of thirds splitting them apart and the brush spreading the light over their forms from the window. It was merely a sense of being, a sense of being Daniel’s, that made his mental snapshot- mental painting of the situation all that more delicate.

  Algernon broke free in his mind, chasing Cain with wolves to devour him so that he would not become his default thinking; the softness with which he viewed Daniel was disgusting, infuriating, and all the more dangerous. He would lose his will to live, to escape, were Cain to become him. He could feel it creeping skeletal hands up his shoulders, the thought of being nothing more than another little lamb to the slaughter. He viewed Daniel as nothing but a butcher. At least butcher’s aprons were often white. Fitting.

  Cain, worth saving, worth saving… salvation. Not far off, and Cain released a breath from his lung-prison. When he felt Daniel’s hand leave his cheek and the rush of cold return he wanted to grab it firm, keep it there, hold it down. But he didn’t and instead just watched it slip. Daniel seated with him, the devil come to sit with the sinner. Cain was Judas and Daniel was his false-Messiah, his discount savior of the dollar store church. The patience in his voice was so measured he could practically bake with it, creating something perfect for the congregation to consume, the words carved and calculated and the most tasteful, artful poison.

  Daniel was the snake in the grass now, the serpent wriggling out of sight in the dark, with a shepherd’s flash light landing distinctly in his eyes. The serpent swallowing his own tail. Algernon let the words ramble through his brain to fill him up, just now, just substance to keep him going. He would need time to form articulate thoughts, developing the film.

  He was like the creature pieced together from another’s corpse. Cain and Algernon shared components and yet their minds felt like a skull split in two, a skull split wide open to be examined.

  "I wish I could tell you how many pastors told me I wasn’t worth salvation.“ Cain bit his inner lip, tearing the fragile skin, iron on his tongue. “They always told me I deserved to die. Guess I believed them.”

  Cain watched Daniel’s hand as it rested in his lap, and it slammed into him how they ended up in the same destination every single time. It was like rehearsing a scene for a play over and over and changing only the lines, but it was the same action and the same blocking and [ CAIN examined his false-savior with a keen eye ] and then, a moment of water-soft clarity.

  Algernon slipped his hand over Daniel’s, brushing his thumb gently over the back of his hand, holding it there.

  Flip the script, take the lead, dip and drop and dance.

  Daniel listened, a soft dent between his brows and a slight downward curve to his lips. There was something darker in his eyes as he listened to Cain’s voice, hearing his confessions, one after the other tumbling out like a waterfall that started to flood the tight confinement of their relationship, building pressure up against the walls and pushing, out, out, out–

  Cain’s words were pins, and Daniel could all but feel them pricking into his back, against his shoulders and down his spine. To speak those words to someone - to rip the hope for God’s love from their hands, lead them to despise themselves, lead them to believe that there was only damnation for them - it churned his stomach. His breathing slowed, and he knew it was going to seem shallow, something to simply appease Cain, but God, Daniel found himself more honest with him than he’d been in a long time. However terrible a liar Cain thought he was, he’d realize someday that the pastor meant every word.

  He swallowed and shook his head slightly, acknowledging the other’s words as he tried to put his own together. It took a moment, but the thin line of his lips parted, and he drew a breath.

  “Those pastors are cruel and hard-hearted.” The words flowed effortlessly from him, and there was something rigid in his gaze as he looked at the other. He wasn’t sure what Cain was willing to believe, now - if he would take Daniel’s words at face value or if he would hear even this as nothing but lies spilling from his lips like tar. But he had to try. “No one so devoted to the Lord can claim their love for God and their hatred for men in the same breath.” There was a long pause, and Daniel frowned softly again. “I’m sorry they made you feel that way. I hope you know it’s not true. I hope you know - or, that you come to know - that you really are worthy of salvation, and God’s love.”

  A moment passed where he wasn’t quite sure what had happened. He felt something, a light brush at his fingers, but it took him a second to truly register what had happened. Daniel looked down, seeing Cain’s hand on his. The shock of it, the shock of Cain reaching out to be the one to make contact - so little hesitation or fear in the action - sent a strange something racing down his spine. His gaze traveled upwards, towards the other’s face. There was a question in his icy eyes, but it wasn’t the accusation one might have expected from Daniel.

  Without a word, he laid his other hand atop Cain’s, accepting the gesture, completing the natural motion he’d learned over the years, a habitual reflex as he gave the other a little smile that seemed to struggle at the edges. The weight of Cain’s words dragged it down, made it nearly impossible, and he let it settle into a tired sigh.

  For all his misdeeds, Daniel was convicted in many things. And perhaps he didn’t know exactly what Cain meant - exactly what sin the pastors past saw in him. But what came out of his mouth was the truth. Daniel took a breath, and leveled his gaze with Cain’s. His voice was soft - his hands were soft - everything about him was so different in this moment.

  “No matter what others have said or thought about you, no matter how they’ve treated you… you deserve better than that. And I know a lot has happened, but… you have a place, here.”

  Cain barely registered the other’s expressions at first. His eyes were focused on their hands, rested, calm. He then looked as Daniel spoke, and studied his eyes.

  They were genuine, they were honest, and Cain was drowning.

  The words of damnation had long since lost their impact to Algernon. He had been told his entire life that his love was wrong, the feelings that would twist and mold his heart were cursed and anathema, he was anathema. His heart was nothing but a fist in his chest now, because he had buried it all and dug it a grave and said goodbye. Love was bitter on his tongue and rosemary-soft all the same.

  He had nothing more to tell the pastor except everything. He wanted so badly to divulge the reasons and the hatred and the pyre that burned up his throat, snaking it’s way to his lips, but he held it all down. He tied it down so he would not give the other ammunition, more knives for his collection to dig between his shoulder blades; excavator of his reason. He could hear the other’s shallow breaths and his only seemed to slow as well, settling into a similar rhythm, a duet of the damned, breathing only to fill the empty space in their lungs. It was a reminder of being alive, not being a machine, no matter how many times Algernon had thought himself one. He knew that under his skin were no wires and metal, but all the same the breathing and his heart were the only things to remind him of this. And slowly his heart was relaxing, because there was nothing striking him like a clock, to bludgeon the hours into his head.

  Algernon could use this moment, a cobra to strike at his throat, to suffocate him. To wrap his frail hands around the man’s marble column neck, around the ivory pillar, to suffocate him with the pillow or to kick him to the floor and batter him as he had felt emotionally bruised. But he didn’t. He didn’t because slowly he was starting to relax. He did not trust him, but he was working to disarm the other, slowly but surely, slowly to make him calm as calm could be. He wanted to quell the storms between them if not for anyone else’s sake but his own. Self-preservation in it’s purest form.

  His words reminded him of the times he had spent alone in a chapel in a town far from his own, where nobody knew his name. He had sat only in the quiet, clutching his necklace of St. Michael and not praying, not speaking, only thinking. If he was wrong, and Heaven’s gates were closed to him, then surely there had to be a way to be right. To change. To make himself what they wanted, to fit the mold. But the mold was misshapen and their visions were distorted, and he could not twist his mind and heart in the shapes they asked. Put the circle in the circle-shaped hole. Put the square in the circle-shaped hole. Why can you not follow basic instructions. Corrupt. Corrupt.

  At the other’s touch, lightning struck his spine. It zipped and zig-zagged up to his brain and everything was a fog, just for a moment, barely a moment, barely half a breath. He snapped his eyes to Daniel’s, and the words were a cadence to make everything alright. Cain had trained himself for years to read body language, to read eyes, and Daniel was so honest it ached. And he wondered how the polarizing differences - executioner and healer - could exist so completely and wholly in one person. And then Algernon thought it was all selfish agenda, and his heart faltered. And then Cain thought to himself how this was the most he’d felt in a long time, the most emotion the most physical touch the most everything.

  He would not admit aloud to what the pastors had told him he was, the horrible words they’d flung at him followed by verse after verse condemning his life, not yet. But he squeezed Daniel’s hand, and he used his free fingers to tuck an oak curl behind his ear. He had spent years convincing himself he deserved better than what he had received. He deserved better. He did.

  He deserved better than what Daniel was currently giving him, the hell he’d put him through to get him to this point. He closed his eyes, then opened them once more to stare to Daniel’s, dark and world-weary brown against ethereal cerulean. Ethereal. Celestial.

  "I wish I could believe it,“ He replied calmly, breaths like scorch marks to his lungs, “It’s just going to take a long time for me to completely… heal. I suppose.”

  He wanted to relinquish all his cares to this man. Cain wanted to give him everything and more and to drift off into eternity with him, wrap himself up in this man’s sermons. And then he stopped.

  Remember, Algernon, even the devil can quote Scripture.

  Daniel’s fingers were never completely still as they brushed lightly at Cain’s hand. Restless, restless, reassuring, it didn’t matter. His fingertips ghosted across his skin.

  He had no way of knowing the horrors that Cain had been put through outside of Lamb’s Pointe; he had no way of how many people had truly turned against him, called him something wrong and told him he was something to be despised. The question burned at the back of his mind, but he wouldn’t ask. It wasn’t his place. If Cain wanted to tell him someday, then so be it, but Daniel would not try to pry such personal information from the other.

  But still, that didn’t change his words. That didn’t change the honesty that blossomed itself in his chest. Nothing that Cain could have uttered, no confession that could have been made that would have made Daniel tear his hands from the other. No word could have passed his lips that would have caused him to recoil in disgust. Cain was a good man, Daniel was already sure of this. There was no unrepentant blood on the hands that Daniel held.

  "That’s why you’re here. That’s why I’m here. I want you to have that healing. I want you to know that God loves you - and that there are others that love you, here, too.” He didn’t know what any of this meant to Cain. Perhaps it didn’t mean anything. Cain was so distrustful - and with good reason - that every word out of Daniel’s mouth was blasphemy, lie after lie to false kindness into his ears. But his chest ached, and he could only hope that Cain knew he was being honest.

  It’s going to take him a long time to believe anything that Daniel says. He knew it was true - he’d put Cain through so much. Forty days of imprisonment, pushing his body to the limits, always half-alive, head barely above the water, drowning, drowning. But God, if Cain would believe anything he said, he hoped it would be the things that mattered. Even if he had to repeat himself over and over and over.

  Daniel breathed slowly, mind racing as he tried to gather his thoughts. He stared down at their hands in his lap, feeling Cain’s grip tighten. Daniel examined his hands. He was frail, hands soft, but thin and bony. That would change, with time. He ran his fingers gently over the deep waves of his joins, the length of his fingers and back. It was an absent little movement, but mindful at the same time.

  Seconds ticked away between them, but neither of them moved. Daniel could stay like this. It was so much nicer than the fury, the struggling. His chest still ached for whatever Cain had been told in the outside world. Twenty odd years of having his head filled with such cruel words. An apology was on his lips, but now it wouldn’t do anything. It would be useless and empty coming from him. But still, it caught in his throat and spilled past his lips in a breath.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, and struggled for a moment. There weren’t enough words. He wanted to apologize for every pastor Cain had met. A thousand things wanted to rush from him at once. A moment passed, and eventually, Daniel settled on one.

  “A while back-” a while back? It had been just over a week. God, it felt like a lifetime ago. “-you told me that… your faith isn’t something that you needed to talk to other people about. And, that - to me, at least - isn’t… right. Faith should be something that you be able to share and revel in with others, celebrate your love of God and embrace His love together.” His hand came to a rest, splayed across the back of Cain’s palm, covering it with a light touch. “And I’m sorry that was taken from you.”

  He couldn’t quite get used to the other’s touch, no matter how much he tried to settle into it. It was being hit by a train and melted into infinity all in one. He struggled to keep his eyes off Daniel’s hands, but couldn’t help but shift his gaze to their fingers, both held calm and warm. He moved his hand from under Daniel’s, then slid his fingers between the other’s, like fitting keys into locks and notches into each other to strengthen a structure.

  The confessions lingered behind his shoulders, rested against the wall. They whispered that he should confess with his mouth and believe with his heart, that he was damned. That none are free from sin, yet he should be tainted more. And why? Had God chosen this role specifically for him? Was he meant to play the part of the sinner, heretic, serpent? He wondered. He felt like Adam fallen from grace and favor. He had been expelled from his Eden and cast down into the mud and mire below.

  The weight of memory stood on his shoulder blades and weighed him down to the river below, like he traveled a death march to drown himself alone, alone among the reeds. The lack of motion, only words shared, was unusual for him. He was used to fighting Daniel at every turn, having the other try to change him, the two going back and forth and battling for the high ground. For now, Algernon would submit to fit in, to be part of this new Eden he had discovered.

  The apology was strange. Foreign to his ears as someone speaking Latin would sound, the words rolling into the air and slipping through his fingers. He saw them only as falsification of an apology, just good enough to placate the spirits that might listen in. And part of Cain hoped there were ethereal witnesses, to hold them accountable in the court of death for their actions.

  A while back was a million years to Algernon, who had paced his cage diligently and quietly for weeks. He had been nothing but patient even when he felt the world around him was burning up and drowning and dying. He had filled his head with humming until his throat gave out to give himself some noise, to give himself some peace. And now he was here, and he listened, and he nodded. He tightened his grip to Daniel’s hand, their interlocked fingers warm and smooth now. Though his hands were weak and bony, he was delicate in the sense an oleander could be delicate.

  “The reason my faith is something very private,” Cain began, “Is because I actually read that established churches were something Jesus had a problem with. I did my research, Daniel,” His name slipped off the tip of Cain’s tongue, light and smooth and the final stone crushing a man to death all at once, “I know why I do the things I do. I guess we’ve got different opinions.” He said very softly, and he was afraid he was testing his limits. He felt too restrained, too scared to say much else, but he wanted to. There was something biting his ankles, the thought that honesty may never be a policy they could share, and he was used to it but all the same it ached him. He was aching, his chest tight, his lungs on fire. And radiating from his palms was this sensation of electricity, the fear striking his gut.

  “Perhaps so.” Daniel sighed, bringing his eyes up to Cain’s. “I can’t fault you for that. Our experiences with our faith have been very different. But I’ll still hope that you find kindred spirits. I’m not sure it’s possible for me not to.” It was rare that Daniel was this soft-spoken. The voice of a preacher was so different from the normal cadence that his voice held - his voice, not the Daniel at the pulpit. His voice lacked the overbearing energy that so many were used to, and perhaps that’s what made it so striking for the few others who had heard it. It was gentle, low, deep within his chest as he spoke. It didn’t sound anything like him.

  Everything around them was quiet. Daniel could hardly believe that they had only been here, like this, for a few minutes. It felt like eternity. An eternity he’d spent weaving in and out of carefully constructed lies, following the glowing line that was, for once, honesty. So much of his life was spent twisting words and building facades, putting on a show. Even if his care as a pastor was, in some ways, genuine, there were seldom times where it was this raw. Cain was, in every way, an unusual presence. He was a man rebuilt, but he was still, in some small part of him, still Algernon. The conviction, the towering walls that he hid everything about himself behind.

  Daniel didn’t want to knock them down. He wanted Cain to dismantle them himself. Even if it was brick by brick, slowly over the ages it had taken him to build it. And once it was conquered, Daniel hoped to be the one beckoning him from behind the walls, letting Cain take the first steps outside of the impenetrable shelter he’d built for himself. Not dragged; just beckoned. It wasn’t something Daniel could rip from him even if he’d wanted to. It would only be painful, in the end.

  “Whatever happened,” he said. It was surreal to hear his own voice so hesitant, like someone else entirely had slipped their words through his lips. “I… I don’t know what happened. Why they would do something like that to you. But I hope you find reconciliation. Maybe you already have. I don’t know. I don’t know.” He heaved a sigh, eyes closed for a moment before looking back to the man. “I just know that you deserve better.”

  With his gaze level with Cain’s, he never missed a beat as the other laced their fingers together. It was a simple, fluid movement, as natural as anything. For once, the gentle motion of Daniel’s thumb against his hand stopped. No need, really. The slight pressure as Cain tightened his grip, and the gentle squeeze back as Daniel did so in return, was more than the gentle movement he’d ghosted over Cain’s hand.

  There was a long pause.

  He held out his other hand.

Chapter Text

 Act IV: Revival
Chapter VII: Building Bridges

--
"Repent, then, and turn to God, so that your sins may be wiped out, that times of refreshing may come from the Lord."
Acts 3:19
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  Lies. All of it, all of the words the pastor spoke lies pure lies pure venom meant to corrupt his thought. His way of being. He wanted to slam the other into cement and all the same he wanted nothing more than an embrace. He was so close to saying other hideous things, regretful things, he could scream. He felt the effort it was taking to keep himself together, and it was Herculean, more than anything he’d felt. His stomach tightened at the other’s squeeze back, and he slowly inhaled. In through the nose, out through the mouth.

  He was speaking so softly and so warmly, a shiver raced across Algernon’s spine. He didn’t hear the pastor in his voice anymore. He heard a man. A man who had convictions and sadistic tendencies, but a man, and he was warm. He was so warm. Algernon was sick and tired of being cold and unhappy on the floors waiting for his newest hell. He had spent a night sleeping in a real bed and he felt warmth for the first time in forever, an eternity having passed between them then. And now another eternity molted in front of them like a moth, like a serpent, how long had they sat here? It had been eight when Daniel came to visit. 8:05. 8:10. 8:20. 8:25. 10:00. He couldn’t guess and he frankly was okay with this. He sat with Daniel and listened to the man and even when he felt the lies burrow themselves into his ears, he let them. They could be welcomed parasites.

  The apprehension in the other’s tone was tangible, like Cain could reach out and pull it like threads hanging from the ceiling. Like he could pull it away from the ceiling and examine it, turn it over in his hands, between his fingers. Slide it down his wrists to his palms, smooth it over his fingers. It was like listening to another person speak, and another person sit with him, and it was as though Daniel had been replaced entirely. He wanted to tell Daniel exactly why everyone had turned him away, but he didn’t. He did not want to ruin this. This was a sacred moment, with the sun as rose-hued as a flower blooming at dawn, with the sunlight streaming through so dewy and daydream light. The cream of the walls was illuminating them, the world was illuminated, and Cain could almost glimpse heaven despite how much he wanted to burn it all down.

  He was living in a painting with Daniel, living in the scene from a movie meant to entice audiences to a dream-like reality. To steal them away to a fantasy world for a tiny bit, make them believe life could be happy and joyous forever. It was a scene from a photograph from the sixties, with the colors blurred and the edges faded and all light turning everything bright, bright, so contrasting with deep blue, green, grey shadows. He would flip the script one day. One day.

  For now, when he saw Daniel present his other hand, he apprehensively took it and locked his fingers to Daniel’s. He pulled his hand up so steadily, so leisurely in pace that if Daniel wished to jerk his hand away he might. He brought it up to his jaw, allowing fingertips to touch before he closed his eyes, pressing the heel of the other’s palm to his cheek. He held his own fingers atop his now, and breathed out. He gently maneuvered his hand over his cheek, and parted his pale rose lips to speak once more.

  “Honey,” He slid from his mouth, the word a reminder of his upbringing; magnolia blossoms filling the streets and the air thick with the sound of mocking birds, “I’ve tried to reconcile myself. The only thing that I know is that if God truly loves all His children, He would never have made me the way I am. So He doesn’t despise me, but… it’s still tough.” He murmured, and his voice felt hot in his throat, dense, like a life form of it’s own crawling up through his neck. He brushed the other’s thumb atop his cheekbone, and his thumb over Daniel’s hand. He was letting a lion hold him, letting a beast that could kill him just as easily touch his skin. But Daniel was all he had now, and he was reconciled with this, knowing that one day it would not be so.

  One day he would know what path to choose. Right now, all there was was Cain and Daniel and the rose-cream light.

  Daniel didn’t pull away, when Cain lifted his hand. It took him perhaps a moment to realize what he meant to do, but very soon the pastor’s hand rose alongside Cain’s movement. The hand at his cheek was soft, almost delicate as he yielded, the curve of his hand shifted, a perfect mold against the man’s cheek as they sat. His hand was warm, comfortable, natural. He felt Cain’s fingers splayed over his, and gently brushed his cheek. There was a moment where Daniel’s hand went still, taking just a moment to linger where he was.

  The world was silent around them. Was there even a world outside this room? It was hard to tell. Everything felt light and ethereal and soft, so soft. It was hard for Daniel to remember the last time things had been this calm, this pleasant. Everything was blinding white and cool tile and rigid life leading the church he loved. He’d forgotten things could slow down to this pace, this breathless crawl where if it weren’t for your own breath and the thumping of your heart, you would feel comatose.

  The man’s words hit him like a freight train. ‘He would never have made me the way I am.’ There was something so terrible about that sentence, the sheer confidence in the thought that he was something bad. That he was what people over the years had told him he was. There were only so many insults and cruelties a person could hear until they started to believe it themselves. Maybe, with enough time, and enough kindness, Cain could come to unlearn whatever loathing had grabbed his heart in its fist.

  There was an agonizing moment as something clearly shifted in Daniel’s eyes. They seemed to focus, to come out of the daze they’d settled into, if only for one moment as he looked at the other. It was still comfortable, but Daniel rather needed to see things clearly for this.

  Cain could see Daniel examining him; His eyes were keen, but there was no maliciousness behind his gaze, slowly panning over every feature, every curl and the curve of his jaw. He didn’t speak, he barely even breathed as he looked the man over;eyes shifting down to his shoulder, his arm, the hand that remained in his lap, locked with his. Every inch of Cain was subjected to this thoughtful examination, and there was one little breath that was huffed through his nose, shoulders giving the slightest little bounce as his eyes met Cain’s again. There was the slightest gleam in them, almost imperceptible as he looked back at the other.

  “That’s funny,” he said, a curious tone in his voice as he examined the other. “There doesn’t seem to be anything wrong with you.”

  And in the moments following his words, Cain melted.

  His shoulders slumped down and the crux of his mouth twitched, a snap between a pitiful Oh, Honey smile and a deeply torn frown. He forced the smile. He placed it on his mouth and he plastered it into his eyes so he could be convincing now. The old sores in his chest were opening, the memories of the boy he had loved before, of Holland’s lips pressed on his own after gym class, in secret. They had laughed and scorned the world and burned their old selves away with a single embrace, with a tiny peck, and it had ignited them. Holland was a boy in flames, Algernon was the forest, and together they were a disaster that streaked across night skies, painting them red.

  But the fire had died and all that remained were old vines, stringing themselves over his memory. He closed his eyes to keep his expression as neutral as possible, and were it not for how sickly he appeared, he could almost be angelic. Saintly. He could almost be that sort of celestial. But there was a bitterness about him, rueful and tightening the corners of his mouth, his cheekbones a bit too blade-sharp.

  Rapturous was the feeling of the other’s hand in his, interlocked, perfectly fitting puzzle pieces. It sent a tree sap thick choking to his throat, the kind of lump that formed when in mourning. He was sick to his stomach to think he could be so comfortable with this man holding his hand, even bringing his hand to his face. He suspected it was the absolute alone-ness, not quite loneliness but not quite over-socialization, that did this to him. He felt accepted even when he had not confessed his world to the man. He felt content and he hated it, like a fist knotting in his gut and twisting his mouth into smiles.

  The questions burned at the back of his mind, and he did the best he could to push it all down. Whatever this was, whatever this bone-deep self-loathing stemmed from, Daniel was almost desperate to know, in the moment. Not knowing - didn’t matter what it was - was something the pastor couldn’t stand. His need for control didn’t end at the people around him. He much preferred to have a tight grasp on the world around him, and not knowing meant that grip faltered, meant that it could be broken, sending him in a spiral of mistakes he couldn’t afford.

  But he held his ground; he wouldn’t pressure Cain into confessing anything he didn’t want to. Having something that, Daniel assumed, was so personal torn from you, excavated from deep within you, would do nothing but hurt. Confession was only healing when it came willingly from you. Cain had to terms with his own confession for the weight to be lifted, for him to take the first steps towards battling whatever this was.

  “Looks can be deceiving,” He only murmured, and he was scared to break any silences between them. In silence it was safe, and he could burrow down. But when he shattered it he was breaking a chain, he was burning it up. He was dousing them in kerosene. Silence was also the compassionate glow of the room. Everything was smooth, smooth, and dream-ethereal. He could lose himself in it, he could be part of this moment and never move from it, and he was afraid of this.

  Daniel only nodded, silent when Cain burrowed deeper into his denial that he could be anything but tainted by some terrible sin. “I would know better than anyone. But eventually… it becomes harder and harder to hide it. If you don’t want to tell me, that’s okay. But if you ever need to, I’m here to listen. Just know that.”

  Looks can be deceiving.

  “Daniel, this all- I guess it all leads me to ask; what led you here? I don’t mean… prophecy, or visions or voices. I mean, who are you, aside from this church?”

  Daniel knew him. He may not know him, but he knew enough. Cain hardly knew the pastor from his harsh methods and then his tender care. Hell, he would venture to say he didn’t know Daniel at all, and he was terrified of what evil lurks in the heart of the pastor. He had already glimpsed it. Algernon knew he was power hungry and greedy and vindictive, but he also felt this sense of discomfort in the other at the fact he was allowed so close. An angel touching a demon’s hand to their face and whispering how they were sorry. An angel and a fallen angel. Alike.

  It scared Algernon how he and Daniel, were it not for this situation, were so much alike. Both striving for betterment of people’s situations - although their motivations were very different - and both believed in redemption for everyone. Algernon truly believed in people. Daniel, from his observations, believed everyone could be better if they were led the right direction. Albeit they had different methods, and they would go to different lengths, but at their core they were the same, and he wanted to erase his mind for such a thought. To be the same was to be him, and to be him was to be the one who nearly drowned him and poisoned him and led him to this hell.

  And all the same, Cain adored the idea of being similar. The concept of similar sin. Similar forgiveness. His heart was a balled up, tangled mass in his chest and he was struggling to keep his breath steady, but he made eye contact with the other again and did not move.

  In the years undertaking this endeavor, collecting his congregation and pouring his words into their ears, his doctrine, his way of life, he’d become very, very good at reading people. It was a necessity, being able to read guilt in other people - the way they avoided your gaze, the way they held themselves and the way they spoke.

  Daniel didn’t mind their voices bending the silence around them. It was comfortable, true, calm and all-enveloping, like a warm blanket over the shoulders. But the quiet exchanges between them made everything seem so close. Cain’s hands on his, Daniel’s hand on Cain’s cheek, it was all so close, but the few words they spoke made it seem so much more real than the dreamy haze of the rose light did. They were real, and it was more than Daniel expected in some moments.

  And then Cain asked of Daniel, and suddenly the warmth was sapped from him, like he’d been dunked in an ice bath and left in the cold. Cain could probably see the slight surprise, and the struggle on his features as he tried to form words again.

  Who was he? He was clean white lines and deep red wine, he was sermons and the old, soft pages of the Bible that sat at his pulpit. He was rooted in this church, all-consuming as he built it from the ground up. But of course, of course he’d been someone before then - surely. It was just a matter of being able to think back before the white hallways and the congregation.

  No, the congregation had always been there.

  “I - well, I really am a pastor. You were… skeptical, of that, if I remember.” His voice was hesitant, as he pieced together some semblance of a reasonable answer. “Otherwise all of this would be pretty difficult.” There was a little chuckle that bubbled up from his throat in place of the confidence and charm that he usually exuded. “I was raised very religious. I’d say that counts as a big part of what led me here. It’s… familiar. It’s easy.”

  Daniel didn’t move. He didn’t want to, of course, but at the same time he found that he just couldn’t. Cain was strangely grounding. He took a breath, mindful of the feeling of the other’s hands keeping him anchored to himself.

  What else was there to him? He loved the taste of power; he was an excellent liar - except when it mattered, apparently, he thought to himself. There were other things. The violin, the dancing, college, home - the home before Lamb’s Pointe - but none of them felt like it mattered.

  “It’s not really much more than that, I guess.”

  The shock in the other’s energy was palpable. Cain gave his hands a reassuring squeeze. He bobbed his head with the cadence of his sentences, his words, and took them and filed them away for later use. He was learning slowly that everything the pastor did or said, he would need. So he tucked them like coins into a purse, away, keeping them safe. The shift of his features - the smallest battle between expressions - rang like a bell. Cain knew in that moment that the man likely had not been asked this before. It was possible his congregation only wanted to see him as the pastor and shepherd. It was entirely plausible that he had intentionally developed their relationship with him in such a way that all personal questions led back to them, their own lives, and a Scripture to help them with their problems. Like a magic charm, to ward off their own fears. He had met plenty of people who depended on pastors for emotional and mental support. And he figured in this compound, it was a more extreme version of that.

  Cain didn’t have the faintest clue who he himself was. He’d always lacked a stable identity, a stable sense of self, and considered himself a man of borrowed traits and patchwork personality. Algernon, Cain, what did it matter, he was the same and yet not. He was unsure where either one ended or began inside him, which one was original and which one made himself from other people’s actions. Imitative. A mockingbird.

  And being a human mockingbird, imitation expert, he leaned just a tiny touch closer. His abdomen bumped at the tray containing his breakfast, and he let go of Daniel’s hands momentarily to move it to the side. He set it away from them, and with just as much fluidity as before, slid his fingers between the others, and gazed at him. Despite the kindness of his expression, there was clear exhaustion over every feature, and his dark eyes - once burning and passionate - were dark, dark, dark, cold. Cold as a fireplace in a haunted mansion, collecting dust. Hard around the edges. The irises seeming darker somehow. Perhaps it was the light. Perhaps it was a result of all Daniel had put him through, that deadened corpse-like gaze.

  The other’s words felt rigid, like if he were to run his thumb over them, they would be lines and indentations. Braille messages detailing his discomfort. He gave out a little bumpy laugh at his half-joke, but all the same felt the awkwardness in the other’s way. Cain, too, had been raised religious. He had been raised strict and faithful and even though he kept his faith, he did not practice it in the way his family would want him to.

  Hence why he didn’t talk to them much.

  He did nothing more than very lightly run his thumb over Daniel’s hand, giving him a thoughtful, minute tilt of the head. “There’s always more under the surface.” He said, so gently it might have been the voice of a spirit. “Do you wanna talk about maybe… where you came from? And I can tell you where I’m from?” He offered. Reciprocation seemed to be the easiest way to get answers. He had done this routine with doctors, people who tried to get him to talk. He would listen to their way of phrasing, and he was glad he remembered. Even when his brain was foggy, the tapes in the back of his head of the varying situations and conversations, all of which half-corrupted, out-of-order and sequence, still gave scratched-noise words. He would use them, play them like cards, and memorize the phrasing like he was questioning from his notecards again.

  And for once he felt in control. It was like Algernon was grounding himself in his body again, anchored to the moment, tethered to Daniel’s life. He wanted to pry just a little, humanize the other, so that he could handle him better. Cain wanted to know. Genuinely, truly. He wanted to know. And perhaps if he discovered something equal to his own measured aches, he could sympathize and they could meet somewhere in the middle of the darkened street. It was a self-indulgent way of thinking, that he could ever understand. He could not. He would not. And that was okay. But all the same he would make an effort, because in Eden there could be harmony.

  Harmony between the serpent and the false messiah was a tangled web of lies, but they could also create a simpler construction of truth if they tried.

  There was a moment of surprise when Cain bumped into the tray. He’d partially forgotten it was there. He didn’t tighten his grip on the other’s hands, releasing him as he pulled away, but for some reason he kept his hand poised, maybe expecting Cain to return his hand to lace their fingers together, maybe hoping he would.

  Daniel knew the tricks, the tactics. He was a cult leader, for God’s sake. He’s done this dance a thousand times, with a thousand different faces. Cain - no, Algernon - thought he was pulling the wool over Daniel’s eyes, gaining the upper hand by maneuvering his way to the top, to where he was the one leading Daniel on.

  And, you know, he was okay with that.

  Everything in this moment was so nice, like a dream. He didn’t want to disturb it, not even to keep his grip on the situation. He already had his fingers laced with Cain’s, and right now that was enough. Somewhere in the back of his mind was the muted concern that Cain’s oatmeal was getting cold. He almost laughed, the smile making it’s way onto his lips at the absurdity of the concern among these moments.

  Daniel couldn’t see what Algernon would benefit from knowing anything so personal about him, although the questions now burned in Daniel as well. What could be the harm in making a little conversation? Of letting one little thing go?

  Dangerous thinking, Daniel. Keep yourself in check. No matter how comfortable these moments were, he still had to remember his role, here. Cain’s role.

  He would allow little things - things like his life before Lamb’s Pointe, that would help build a bridge of familiarity between them, that would make him seem all the more human to the man who thought he was gazing up at the face of a demon.

  A moment passed, and his lips parted, trying to form words out of his scrambled thoughts. “I’m from-” he could lie. He could lie, make something up on the spot, extend a false branch, false, false, everything was false. Or, he could be honest.

  “I’m from California, actually.”

  It came out of his mouth clumsily, like something he hadn’t really intended to say.

  He’d grown up a normal boy in a normal family in a normal town. There was nothing spectacular or special about any of it - no grand backstory that led the pastor to a life in a corrupt Eden. Everything had been perfectly normal. He’d hated it, there.

  He frowned, slightly, remembering the things that had happened in the perfectly normal neighborhood on a perfectly normal night, and felt the weight of his knife on his body.

  He hated some parts more than others.

  “Grew up Catholic, went to school, became a pastor. I had a little disagreement with the church and ended up here.” He shrugged it all off, focusing his attention back on Cain. The room slowly began to reform around him, warm and dreamy - wildly different from the cold parking lot he’d found himself standing in for the briefest moment.

  “What about you? Algernon Rosewell sounded like he had an interesting story to tell.”

Chapter Text

Act IV: Revival
Chapter VII: An Honest Man

--

"Do not lie to each other, since you have taken off your old self with its practices."

-Colossians 3:9

--

  It was sickening how familiar Daniel’s hands felt on his own. How he could feel at home when his home was somewhere far, his soul lodged in the morning before all of this. The morning he had been preparing for the next day, the day of the interview, the day his trials began. He considered them trials of character, test to be sure he could truly survive this world. And he was barely making it through. The moments were so carefully balanced that a breath could shift them one way or another, a feather tipping along the edge of a straw.

  He only breathed as he listened to Daniel now. He was here to learn. He could use this situation to his advantage, but this room seemed to be neutral territory. They had equal footing here, no power-grabs, no shepherd and lamb. Daniel and Cain were equal here, with their own baggage in their hands or strapped to their backs. Algernon- Cain, he continued to hold Daniel’s palm to his cheek, and realized that he wasn’t exactly holding it there anymore. It was there, whether Cain wanted it or not now, and his distrust waned and wavered like a moon on the surface of a lake. This man was unforgivable, but he was also being kind for now, and for now that was enough.

  He slowly let his fingertips slide themselves down Daniel’s wrist, and his heart was in his throat. He slid them back to his palm, his knuckles, and brushed them over his fingers. He was smooth and warm and Cain wanted this moment forever. He didn’t care about the church outside - he really didn’t, no matter how much he knew he should - and he didn’t care for or about the white blinding halls and the ground so cold it could numb a bruise. He was now involved in this narrative. He planned to be a poignant chapter in this man’s life, and he would be the one that made a reader stop for a moment, draw in breaths, only to find themself lungless at the horror and the dream-like quality. Nightmare and daydream and it all blossomed at Cain’s throat, at Daniel’s throat, both spilling stories out into the air. Ink splatter across the page of time.  

  California. Cain had been to California a few times. He remembered driving all night to get to a field in the middle of nowhere, strange lights. Stranger lights. Sounds. Echoes of something inhuman but not mechanical but not organic. Echoes of a forest fire and a freight train mingled, the lights. The lights.

  He hadn’t found anything that night and left empty-handed, except for a feeling like being only partially alive.

  Cain could remember the times he’d driven through perfectly normal California neighborhoods on perfectly normal nights. Nothing spectacular other than the taste of something bitter in the back of his throat, threatening him to spill over to a scream of something else. Spill onto the dashboard, the steering wheel. He half-wondered if he and Daniel had crossed paths before and not realized, been interwoven from the start, their fates and destinies tied like cloth.

  He was, however, intrigued. Disagreements with the church. He’d had a lot of those.

  He hummed a little sound, something between audible breath and a noise of waking from a dream. He felt stray syllables form up at the middle of his neck, and he felt sick to hear his name. Algernon. Algernon Rosewell. He swallowed.

  “I don’t know if he did,” Cain murmured, “I…” I. ‘I’ felt odd in his mouth. He was talking about his past that he felt so disconnected from that he almost didn’t believe it was his own life, were it not for the vividity of detail. “I grew up a few hours from Kosciusko, went to school - as you did - and had my own problems with the church. Got into some strange work and ended up here.”

  He wanted to gesture to the room around him, but he didn’t, because it would mean letting go of the other. His lashed flitted as he looked about the room, then to the pastor, then to their hands. He could remember the moment he’d left home, his parents thinking he was going to a friend’s house. Then they called his phone two weeks later. He was in Memphis with half a pack of cigarettes - not his, borrowed, for show - and liquor swirled in his mouth. He had returned home only because he realized he couldn’t cut ties that way. They would not let him.

  “Things have a funny way of working out.” He only tacked to the end like a footnote, a little prompt. A prompt for more from both of them, from Daniel. He was greedy in his way, of needing to know more once a story was started. And he was hoping that Daniel could be the one to satiate this need for knowledge, information, understanding.

  The one thing that Daniel desperately did not want to do - it had nothing to do with Cain or with Algernon or with his church or with the outside world. The one thing Daniel didn’t want to spend time thinking about was the stepping stones that made the false prophet. He’d tucked all that away when Lamb’s Pointe had been founded. That was done, it was never coming back, and he had the knife to prove it.

  Moving on.

  Daniel allowed his gaze to follow Cain’s, down to their hands. It struck him how quiet Cain was with Daniel’s touch. There was no fighting, no recoil, not even once. For someone who had fought so vehemently up until this point, the idea struck the pastor as entirely strange. And stranger still - when Cain moved his hand from Daniel’s, his own hand remained at the other’s cheek. He watched as Cain ran his fingers down his wrist and back. It was such a strange sensation. It was delicate, full of care and kindness that Daniel never expected from him.

  “Yeah, funny,” Daniel agreed absently. “Kosciusko,” he repeated, trying to shake the thought about how there wasn’t really anything funny about it. “Kosciusko - where’s that? Somewhere down south?” It was the best attempt at an educated guess he could make. Cain didn’t have a particularly strong accent of any kind, but that one word, honey, glared like a beacon in his lexicon.

  “Yeah,” Cain nodded slowly, not wanting to shift their momentary position, “Mississippi.” He didn’t like letting people know where he was from. That state had a reputation for it’s intolerance, it’s bigotry, and he’d done all he could to cut the ties. But they still grappled at him, the memories of his childhood snagging him like vines. They tripped his feet and tangled him up and swallowed him whole, the kudzu that lined every street. He’d grown up surrounded by the greenery, how it invaded every corner of land, how it ensnared the world. He swore he could see it move every once in a while, a glance in the dark, the momentary motions.

  It was a new piece to the puzzle. Cain had grown up in the South. He’d grown up in the South and he’d done something so terrible, so sinful, that church after church had denied him, told him he deserved to die. All pieces, some fitting together, others leaving gaps to yet be filled. Daniel rearranged them in his head, a mental jigsaw puzzle that would slowly piece together a portrait of Cain’s life before Lamb’s Pointe.

  Despite the sense of control that Cain - Algernon - had found, Daniel was more than happy to wait in the wings and watch the other. He already had a head start, with everything that Algernon had told him in the cell, everything that Cain had told him already. There was no need to rush. Not now, at least. He’d simply listen, and offer what pieces of his own story he deemed appropriate.

  But for now, he simply kept his touch steady. Feeling the other’s fingers travel the hand that still lay at Cain’s cheek, the feeling of their fingers interlocked in his lap, the way Cain leaned just a tiny bit closer, the doe-eyed look he wore. Daniel couldn’t help but wonder how much of it was for show - or, rather, how much of it was genuine. Surely he knew exactly what Daniel wished to see in him - trust, admiration - but surely still, he knew that Daniel would not so easily accept it. It was nice, true, and Daniel wouldn’t ruin these moments. No accusations of plotting or planning, no harsh words, just… this. This was enough. It was almost a feeling of contentment between them, and it was enough.

  Maybe there would come a day where this was the norm, where none of this was for show, or part of a grand scheme, part of a desperate game of cat and mouse where they each played the role of both. If Daniel won, it would be the end of Algernon; if Algernon won, the end of Daniel.

  Daniel hoped that this would be how it turned out in the end. And if that meant the death of Algernon Rosewell, then so be it. He was willing to sacrifice Algernon; and maybe, someday, Cain would be too. Maybe it was wishful thinking. But then, Daniel had always been the optimist.

  He was silent for a long time, the words burning his throat. He swallowed the fire and looked Cain in the eye. “Do you miss it, there?”

  Cain had leaned a bit further into the touch, the tilt of his head, the curve of the other’s palm. He could hit Daniel. Now would be a good time. He could fight back and knock him down and make him realize that Algernon was no fool. He was not here solely to be a perfect lamb, led by Daniel to his death.

  But strangely, just at this moment, there was nothing in him saying to act. He exhaled a deep and tired breath through his nose, his lips in a neutral line. In his head was the cork-wood board he was piecing everything together on, lining snapshots of Daniel’s life with red thread. He connected the dots and where there were gaps, placed his carefully made question marks. They could be taken down and replaced with a snapshot, a document, later. He was quiet when Daniel spoke, and the only noise he could dare make was a tiny breath.

  “I don’t miss it,” He admitted with a tiny chuckle, “It wasn’t a great place. I mean- well, I grew up in Ceres, about two hours from it, so Kosciusko was fine but…” He trailed off, feeling exposed suddenly, his past bare before the pastor. He felt like Adam upon realizing he was naked in the garden. He did not want to be discovered as Adam had been. He closed up in that moment, quiet, mouth shut. He looked down at Daniel’s lap, at their hands, and focused on getting his heart under control. He slowly began to move his fingers, the ones interlocked with the pastor’s, soft motions meant to be massaging and calm, the motions he remembered from years ago. From someone now gone.

  “And you?” He piped up, “Do you miss your home?” He was in equal parts genuinely interested and also hoping to level their playing field. Couldn’t let the other get too ahead. Algernon was not willing to let Daniel get too much of a hold on him. He could see something simmering beneath in the other’s eyes and he was not here to let it fully boil over. He couldn’t. It would mean dissolving into the plot the other had made, however carefully tailored.

  Even then, he still craved a new start, reconciliation with his past. He had been to churches in the weeks following the first time he’d kissed a boy, soft-mouthed and rough-lipped all the same. He had cried and cried for forgiveness and then been told there was no redemption for him. He had begged in a cathedral an hour from his town, so as not to let them know fully who he was. He had asked multiple pastors if they thought he was wrong. If God could still love him.

  No, they had told him, God condemns people like you. Repent. Repent.

  Algernon Rosewell, repent, he heard blasting in his head even when the conversation had never shifted there. Mentioning his home town had been a bad idea. He had never told his parents about any of it, and they had not fully understood the extent of his ache when he woke up at four in the morning to the highway patrol talking to the parents of his friend, his first love.

  He didn’t realize he was squeezing Daniel’s hand a little harder than before until he snapped back into the room, his mind returning to him, and he softened his grip.

  He was patient. there was something waging war inside Cain that had nothing to do with Lamb’s Pointe. Daniel would not interrupt, he would not cast judgement on the other man or make him feel under scrutiny for this.

  Daniel did not move his hand; he did not speak; he didn’t draw any attention to it at all, simply letting Cain speak. It wasn’t until Daniel’s gaze traveled down to their hands, his grip so much tighter than before and Daniel’s remaining gentle, did Cain realize.

  It only took a second for Cain to readjust his grip, to release the pressure and ease back. But it lingered, between them. He had opened his mouth and screamed, and the sound rang in Daniel’s ears. He looked up at the man, and the hand at his cheek lifting, ever so slightly, to raise his chin, tilting his gaze up at Daniel.

  “Cain.” There was a deep concern in his eyes, blue like pools that dropped off into sinking, endless depths. “Whatever it is - whatever happened - you can tell me, if you want. It’s just us.”

  ‘It’s just us’ came out of his mouth heavily. He knew how it would sound. He know that it was going to raise all kinds of red flags in Cain’s mind. But this was him, reaching out. Their hands were already clasped; this was a different kind of reach. He wanted to meet Cain halfway. These walls were safe, and Daniel wanted him to know that. Whatever was weighing on him so heavily, it could be said here.

  He gave Cain’s hand a gentle squeeze, thumb brushing just below his eye. There was care in his touch, and Daniel dearly hoped it would be enough. Not to convince him, not to goad him - just to reassure him, that it would be okay.

  It would be okay.

  “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I understand, and I don’t want you to feel like you have to. I won’t be mad. I won’t pry. But whatever this is… I want to help. I do. Really, I do. You shouldn’t have to feel like this.”

  And Daniel meant every word.

  The honesty in his words was the sharp blade of a knife, steel against his neck, steel against blood. It was the hole in the head Cain didn’t need. His chest burned and swelled and deflated. He was a hot air balloon filling and then being shot down on the horizon, a zeppelin.

  And then his cheek was lifted, his chin was lifted and they locked eyes, and his heart dropped. It stopped and it launched itself from him. It hurt. It hurt so much that he felt so much at this one moment, one motion, everything.

  When he brushed his thumb under his eye Cain wanted to lose it, to lose himself and be part of Daniel’s world, this ethereal room, this warm touch forever. He could swallow up himself in the eternity he foresaw, for it was good. They came and they saw that it was good. The other’s skin was so soft, and he could almost feel the compassion radiating from him. The halo of ink was gilded. He closed his eyes, then when he opened them his brow as knit and he looked tired, sick, heavy.

  It wasn’t just the weight of his love. It was the weight of the death thereof. The one person he knew had loved him back but put it all on hold, the car that slammed his body and the way he’d turned and tossed and thrashed about. He swallowed hard, a deer in headlights gaze in his eyes. He pressed his hand to Daniel’s, and stretched his fingers along the length of the back. Then to his wrist, and he very lightly held there, thumb rubbing from the warmth of his pulse to the ball of his palm. Daniel had every possible moment on earth to strike him, to harm him. And he wasn’t.

  “I don’t know if I can tell you yet, but… in time, maybe, in time.” He repeated, his mouth feeling cold and achy and his lips red and echoing his pulse. He bit them and lowered his gaze, shifting it to the left, half-lidded dream-soft eyes. His eyes were a simple brown, but they were dark and cold and warm all the same, lined by flecks of gold in the sun.

  “Tell me, have you ever experienced something you wish you didn’t?” He regretted the words as soon as they left his lips. But he spoke them nonetheless. “I mean- do you have any regrets?”

  He wanted to rip out his tongue and stomp on it.

  He could almost see Cain’s heart stop. He looked up at Daniel and there was that palpable moment of dread, of realizing exactly what he’d been asked and realizing what it meant to speak the words that were no doubt reeling in Cain’s head.

  It was a terrifying moment, and Daniel could see it in his eyes. Cain still expected pain and fear and wrath from the pastor, and the lack of it all - and, Daniel hoped, the comfort he felt in this room, in Daniel’s hands - was, perhaps, alarming. He knew that Algernon didn’t want to be here, in such a vulnerable position, but he knew that Cain was settling in against him. His thumb at Daniel’s wrist, his touch gentle as he ghosted his fingertip across his pulse.

  It brought a sense of triumph for Daniel, to feel Cain so close. But that was deep, deep in his chest, tucked away to do nothing but claw and thrash at the walls as Daniel looked deep into Cain’s brown. They shone in the sunlight, flecks of Heaven glittering in them as he spoke. Daniel could see it - the world-weariness, and knew how part of it was his fault. He’d taken whatever fire had left those burning embers of gold and snuffed it out, doused it and smothered it and stomped on it until there was nothing but a small pile of smoldering ashes left behind. His gaze was cold despite the warm colors, and Daniel knew that this, too, would change over time. Cain had a lot of adjusting to do, and the pastor hardly expected him to really, truly recover any time soon

  But they were going to be patient; they were going to work through this together, rebuild everything that Cain was together, and govern a new world together as Cain stepped into Eden. And then things would be perfect.

  What Daniel had done to him had been horrible, but it had all been necessary to protect Lamb’s Pointe, his congregation, and himself. And now, that was behind them. If Cain let him, they could move forward someday, hand in hand as they built a new world from the bottom up; a new life at Lamb’s Pointe, free from the aches and pains of the outside world.

  In time, maybe. It rang in Daniel’s ears. Good. Someday, maybe, Cain would be ready to lift the weight from his shoulders. He took so much on his shoulders; it wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair, for him, to have to bear the load all on his own. Daniel hoped, hoped, hoped that Cain would find relief here. So many people did. He knew that Algernon was scared to; he knew that Algernon saw releasing his pain to Daniel as a weakness, as submission. And maybe in some ways, it was. But the pastor didn’t necessarily see that as a bad thing - not in the sense that Algernon did.

  And then Cain spoke, and the gentle compassion and concern in Daniel’s features shifted into something darker, more grave. He didn’t know how to answer that; it was too simple a question, and yet things swirled in his chest and clawed at his throat all the same.

  “Of course I do.” he said softly. “A lot of things I’ve said and done… things that have happened that I wish I could change… people I miss.” One person, the person he told everything to except when it mattered. His shoulder burned. “We all have regrets. And for what it’s worth, it’s not something you have to bear alone. When– if you’re ready, I’m here.”

  The hand at Cain’s cheek pressed lightly, just a touch closer, pads of his fingers brushing over his skin. He was warm and soft and the light in his bright blue eyes made him seem like a different person. He felt like a different person. A man who had no connection to this place. For a moment, he wasn’t Daniel, Prophet of the Lord. For a moment he was just a gentle pastor from a normal little town in northern California. For a moment, it was almost like he was the man he’d been before the spiral.

  It wasn’t a man that Daniel missed. But it was a man that he wished had made better choices.

Chapter Text

 Act IV: Revival
Chapter VIV: Adapt and Survive

--

-

  There would always be time for more questions, Cain kept reminding himself. Don’t try to pull too much out in this one moment, this one momentary peace. He could slip easily and dissolve in this moment, cotton candy on a child’s tongue. Rose all around them, cream all around them.

  This day was still fresh as well. There were people no doubt likely looking for where the pastor went, or if they knew where he was, being patient for him. Cain could almost imagine people asking about their new convert. It was a terrifying feeling. It was the feeling of a thousand eyes on him, watching from the distance, lurking.

  There was a light slump in Cain’s shoulders as he listened. He could read his eyes well, the twitch of something there, the snap of something back like a rubber band, the pain that it caused. And it was not about Cain anymore. Now he was pushed to ask. Now something- the fragment of himself, the only fragment he was able to hold now, it was igniting.

  "People… like who?“ He latched onto that. People. People. One of the only things, in his mind, that made people so very human was their knowledge of other people, their relationships with other people. Closeness. Comfort. It was something that rang out in the way he said the word that perhaps ignited his curiosity. The way it slipped out, splattering, like an eel. It could sting and it could burn at them and it was the one thing that he could focus on - people. Who had Daniel met before? Who had he been before? What had he been? The man surely had to have had a life. A world. His own place to be, exist, to act as he did. To be as he was. He wanted a glimpse of that.

  And in return, he may offer Daniel a glimpse of his own past, the dark horizon at dusk, sitting on the porch with the chorus of cicadas screaming, screaming like they were all damned to die. And they were. And they did. He remembered August back in Ceres like it was burned onto his skin. A branding. The humid hot air and the screeching at dusk of every form of life in the wilderness around them. It rang in his ears if he thought too much about it, like it was following him forever, wherever he went.

  He returned to the present and focused on their hands, one interlocked, the others just pressed with one against his cheek, Cain’s on the outside, massaging with his thumb at the other’s wrist. He bit his lip. He felt stupid and half-dead and his heart felt different, his head felt different, dizzying. Everything was dizzying. Maybe it was how this felt like a dream, a walking dream that could sweep him away. The way the other had such a soft voice now, the way Cain’s was creaking like a rusted gate and slowly smoothing out, like rust chipped away layer by layer.

  It was nice to get used to speaking again. Holding conversation. He had hated talking to people before all of this. Unless it was necessary, or part of his work, he had no real love for conversation. But now he was discovering that it was more than vital for him. He felt like he was bursting at the seams when nobody was there to listen to him, when he had to bottle every little thought up and store it for later.

  In the back of his mind, Cain and Algernon - both parts of him, whole-yet-separate - were unpacking boxes of thought. They were lining them up neatly in the space. Getting used to them again. Fingers running over them. Things would be easier soon, he just needed to become used to his new surroundings.

  Adapt and survive, all he could do at this point.

  This was a very fine line that they were walking. Daniel was so unused to sharing much of anything; it was all too delicate - facts about his life like bullets against a glass house. Peeking at these things would strip away the facade of the prophet he’d so carefully constructed around himself - and it was something that he refused to let slip, even for Cain. It was the entire basis of his life now. Even if he wasn’t a prophet of god, he was a prophet of god in his character - it was the person he’d constructed, the person he’d become over the years.

  People like who?

  It was very plain on his features that Daniel did not want to talk about this; but, he supposed, it was only fair. To ask Cain to share the weights that bore down on his shoulders, it was only right for Daniel to share that which bore down on his own. It was a show of trust, forging something more meaningful between them than the simple role of caregiver and charge. Something personal that the other could latch onto.

  He took a deep breath and sighed heavily, eyes cast down to their hands in his lap. His thumb moved idly again, the contented stillness interrupted for a moment as Daniel’s thoughts reeled. It was hard to determine where he would even begin here. How far back would he have to go for it to make sense to Cain? Did Daniel want it to make sense? Did he want to be honest here? What difference would it make, except all?

  “Believe it or not,” he started, and gave Cain half a glance with a wry smile upon his lips. “I used to have friends before Lamb’s Pointe. Before I spoke God’s Word. We grew up together, closer than anything. And when God chose me, it terrified her. And it hurt.” In every sense of the word. “We lost touch, and I miss her.”

  There was so much more to the story than that and he knew, to Cain, it was going to sound shallow and impersonal. He knew that it was going to sound like crocodile tears, but it was all he was willing to offer at this point. He didn’t need to know about the pastor, he didn’t need to know about the wine, he didn’t need to know anything about Evelyn, and yet here he was, her name almost on his lips again after so many years.

  “That knife, that I showed you, used to be hers. She was kind enough to… gift it to me before she left, if that’s any summation of how things went.” It sounded almost like he was trying to make a joke - more of his humor, falling flat as always, but any semblance of humor shriveled and died in his voice when he caught sight of Cain again. “Suppose you think I deserved it. Sorry.”

  Cain had been a man of many personalities in his life. He was no social chameleon, merely he borrowed traits here and there and imitated them for specific situations. It was his way of survival. It was his only way. And sometimes he didn’t know who he was anymore, originally, who was Cain and who was Algernon and who were they? Facades were all he knew, all he maintained. And he was seeing something, just the tiniest crack. He didn’t bring attention to it.

  He studied the other’s expression, and he gave a small press of his thumb into his wrist, prompting the other. He was curious, but most of all he wanted to feel like he wasn’t the only one exposed in this serene moment. It would be a while before he divulged any of his own personal monsters, the things that haunted him in the night. It would take time before he was comfortable enough. But slowly bringing words from Daniel, slowly pulling the strings out of him that wrapped around bits of his life, information, tiniest little moments, it would help the process along.

  There was a weighted frown tugging down the corners of Cain’s mouth. He felt something in him at seeing the other struggle with his words, and it made him sick to feel anything at all. It was almost akin to seeing an old friend upset, but it was a bitter feeling, like that old friend had tried to drown you multiple times, kept you physically restrained, barely let you sleep or eat and kept you barely alive. Cain attributed his odd emotions in this moment to his exhaustion, to his humanitarian nature.

  He didn’t think the story the pastor offered was… shallow. It wasn’t touching, surely, but there was something deeper under the surface that Daniel was shoving aside, shoveling a hole and burying deep in his chest. Cain would one day learn what it was, he wanted to assure himself of this. He wanted to know, when the time came, what had really happened.

  When the time came, as though he was going to be here long. But if he was, would it be that bad? He considered it, and then he didn’t, snapping back to reality.

  At the mention of the knife, he tensed. Gosh, the knife, the fear, the anxiety the dread the horror in that moment the breath-stopping heart-wrenching-

  He blinked, staring at Daniel, quiet.

  In some ways, yes. He did think Daniel deserved it. For all that he’s done. Everything. He thought very much he deserved it. Algernon would love nothing more than to be on the wielding end of that knife.

  Cain, however, felt a twinge of pity. Maybe it was Stockholm Syndrome finally setting in, sinking it’s fangs into him. He couldn’t be sure. He slid his hand up from Daniel’s wrist, so delicate and slow like he was scared he would scare the other, and up to his upper arm. He leaned forward a bit, giving his arm a very gentle, reassuring squeeze, a demonstration that he wasn’t thinking what the other thought he was.

  “No one deserves to have someone who makes them happy actually stab them.” His stomach churned saying it, but he did, “Go on, if you want to. What was your friend like? Did she originally support your… endeavor?”

  The cool fall air, the warmth of the church and the stabbing fear in his chest when he’d confronted the then-pastor. Rage and adrenaline raced through his veins, then, snuffing out all rational thought. He was going to get himself killed - he was going to get someone else killed, that poor kid - but Daniel didn’t know what else he could do.

  How old had he been then, 20? It’d been a few short years ago, but it felt like multiple lifetimes, how horribly far away from Crossroads Church he’d come. He wouldn’t go back, not now, not after everything he’d built here, but he did miss it occasionally, in the same way one might miss an old school.

  “She didn’t know.” He said, his voice flat, like it was the most inconsequential thing in the world. It was the truth, at least. He’d never told Evelyn what he was doing, and he often wondered if that was where everything had gone wrong. If he’d told her, if she’d known why, if he hadn’t been so secretive, cryptic out of sheer terror. A lot of ifs, nothing to be done about now.

  He looked at Cain. This was getting exhausting. The other already knew that Daniel’s prophet act was pure bullshit, so why did he feel the need to keep it up? To make it all the more believable? As a safety net? Admit your sins to no one, not even Cain. Don’t give the serpent more of yourself than you already have, Daniel. Letting the facade drop for the sake of simplicity here was tempting, but dangerous. He wasn’t willing to take that risk.

  “No one was supposed to know, at first. What God tasked me with, when He chose me, was completely - completely different. It wasn’t until later that I started spreading His Word. But she found out what I’d been chosen to do, and… she didn’t like it.”

  He’d come out of the church that night, surprised to find her in the parking lot, pacing between his car and Father Flannery’s car. She was cold and upset and despite the gnawing in his stomach he asked if she wanted to step inside and tell him what had happen - she didn’t need to go into the chapel, just inside to warm up, he told himself.

  She wouldn’t let him touch her. And there was something frenzied in her eyes when she looked at him, and asked him where Father Flannery was.

  And he couldn’t tell her.

  He felt the gentle pressure of Cain’s grip on is arm. It was grounding, solid there in the real world, and Daniel snapped back to the present, something almost like shock in his eyes to find that the frozen night had dissolved around him. It was hard to stay in the present with that creeping chill of winter trying to shroud him. But the other man was close and quiet and even if they were tired, his deep brown eyes were watchful, and Daniel felt a strange assurance in this.

  “But, like I said. We can find meaning, even in the things we regret. I found Lamb’s Pointe, because of her.”

  Cain could not tell what lurked beneath. Could not know what the other was truly thinking, what he was seeing in his mind, playing out like a film in a theater. He could only sit, patient, words on his tongue but swirling and then swallowed, because they would do no good.

  He considered how the other spoke carefully about this, jumping ropes, sliding his hands carefully into the memories and pulling them out in slow succession, giving only the bare-bones details. They were bleached skeletons left out in the sun, to be easily handled by Cain. He wondered what was lingering out of sight, fragments of a person Daniel had long left behind - both himself and this Evelyn - fragments splintered off into new persons, new people, new places. He could see the shock the moment Daniel was brought to reality, and he rubbed small circles with his thumb into the other’s arm.

  To keep the lion calm was to preserve his own life.

  He wondered only absently why the other dared keep up the whole prophet charade. He could see through it, through his eyes. Perhaps it was an act of self-preservation. Maybe to be sure that Cain would not tell a soul. Cain considered that it may be just for himself. Maybe no one else believed he was a prophet, either, merely entertained him to bring themselves comfort. So he would play that part, entertaining him. A jester before the king.

  “Then maybe God was leading you here, and had to have you guys separate so you could fulfill… I don’t know, a mission.” Play the part. Play the part. Cain twisted the script and flipped words into his own mouth, letting them plant themselves there. “Maybe she would have gotten in the way.”

  It was the worst feeling to him, like the entire weight of the world on his stomach, to press in and scratch and batter and burn. Because he was doing the one thing he told himself he would not; he was allowing himself to be part of this. Letting Daniel change him. Letting himself be moved, the spirit of their past snaking around his throat and strangling him.

  He needed time to think, clear his head, and he didn’t want Daniel with him. Yet, in all the same breath, he did. He wanted him to stay. He slipped his fingertips down from his arm, to his hand, and held it. He held it firmly, his thumb slipping between his cheek and the other’s hand, sliding across his palm in small circles.

  “Your parishioners probably are wondering where you are right now,” Cain chuckled breathily, closing his eyes momentarily to erase the room, erase this hour, this minute, this second as though it had never happened. “I don’t know what time it is, it feels like you’ve been here a while, though.”

  Oh, thank god.

  Daniel let out a little breath, closing his eyes for a moment and recollecting himself. There was a little smile on his lips. “Of course.” He said. “All good things must come to an end, after all. Besides, I didn’t mean to keep you from your breakfast. You should probably eat what you can. The oatmeal might be a, uh - a lost cause, at this point.” He chuckled. Chances are it was cold already. Daniel would have to be mindful not to consume so much of Cain’s time at dinner.

  He gave the man’s hands a solid squeeze and beamed a smile over at him. “It was nice, to be able to just talk with you. I really do appreciate you letting me stay here - more than is necessary, I mean.”

  When he released the other, his hands felt strangely empty. Standing felt stiff and unnatural, now. He’d settled so comfortably into their position that he hadn’t realized how much time had passed around them. How long had be been sitting there? He glanced absently at his watch - 8:24. Gosh. It had felt eons they’d sat and talked together. It had been nice.

  But he didn’t have to think about Evelyn. He didn’t have to think about Father Flannery or about Crossroads at all. When he left the rose room, all of that would be left behind him with Cain, for the man to pick apart and consume as he wished. Daniel would allow it. For once, Daniel would allow this tiny bit of him to slip. It was only fair, after Cain had opened up to him. Maybe not entirely, but still. Only fair.

  “And I like to think there’s some truth in that.” His hands returned to his pockets as he stood, moving away from Cain back towards the door. “Maybe not that she’d have gotten in the way. She was good. She was a good person. But that God separated us to lead me here. Maybe God led us both here, for a reason.” He gave Cain a long look. Someday soon, he’d be better. He’d be healthy again, and Cain would gradually be introduced into the congregation. Daniel looked forward to that; he looked forward to seeing Cain back in the real world, the age of his isolation come to an end.

  “I’ll see you later tonight, Cain.“

  With one last smile, warm and truly happy, Daniel took his leave. The door clicked shut behind him, and down the hallway, he lingered. He leaned up against the wall, arms folding over his chest as he thought. Cain was much more than he expected. There was no doubt, he was still on stage for Daniel, but the pastor couldn’t help but feel like there was something genuine behind all of it. Something about that meeting had been genuine. It had been far too personal to be anything otherwise.

  Where things would go from here would be… interesting, to say the least.

  Cain could almost feel the relief radiating off of him, the comfort of the end like waves lapping over them. He laughed when Daniel spoke, the words so easy, so light. He squeezed back, and then softened his grip.

  Letting go felt cold. Letting go felt wrong, empty. He didn’t want to. Algernon wanted to. Cain didn’t. He could feel himself battling over what the correct choice of action should have been - stay go stay go stay go stay go stay - they settled on go, in the end. And the decision was made. And the words had left his mouth. The smile he was giving Cain made the man’s throat burn like acid splattered on his skin, his collar bone. He nodded only in reply, and he watched Daniel glance to his watch.

  God leading them together was something that would permanently confound him. He did not pretend to understand God, never had, never would, but it would always leave something burning on his back. Welting. An injury he couldn’t reach to soothe. He smiled at Daniel, and for once the corners of his mouth didn’t hurt with it. Didn’t feel wrong, bad. False, yes, perhaps. But not quite like he was forcing himself.

  “See you later, Daniel.”

  And then he watched him leave.

  He pulled the tray back into his lap, and although it was all cold, he ate slowly and made sure to eat as much as he could stomach. It would be a while before full meals would no longer be daunting, but he would recover. It was frustrating in the deepest sense that his healer was also the one who inflicted all of this. He knew from his past work that of course, cult leaders saw their work as necessary, what they did as a sort of personal way to keep everything - everyone - in line. It did not make it any less difficult to swallow. He had to accept the facts as they were, and the facts were that he was now a part of Lamb’s Pointe, where he liked it or not. He was here for a while. So he would adjust.

  His comfort and discomfort were at an equal level when he was with Daniel. It was like they were both slamming into him, begging him to either relax or tense up. He could not choose which one, only that he had to try to be calm on the outside. When he finished his breakfast, he rubbed idly at his palm, placing hand over his cheek, where Daniel had been holding him.

  It had been cold, the moment Daniel released him. He pressed his own palm to his cheekbone, feeling the sharpness, the indent of how his cheeks had hollowed at the starvation he’d been put through. He closed his eyes. He just sat for a while, feeling his skin, feeling his face. Then he rose, setting the tray aside, and stretched.

  He needed to work on building his strength. Just walking for a moment, just moving, would be enough for now.

Chapter Text

Act IV: Revival
Chapter X: The Angel  

--

"In the same way, I tell you, there is rejoicing in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner who repents.”

Luke 15:10

--

  In the first few days, Daniel knew nothing of Cain’s self-rehabilitation. He stretched and moved in secret, building his strength amid the regular meals and the company Daniel offered, but slowly, it became apparent that he was returning to health. Within the week, it was easy to see the color had returned to his cheeks, the soft rose blushing across his cheeks once more Daniel was glad to see it.

  He was glad to see that Cain was coming back from his trials - beginning to resemble himself again. His skin was no longer so icy, and his cheekbones no longer so prominent. He was soft, again, his cheeks, his hands, no longer so sickly and thin. The changes were slow, perhaps, but they were noticeable, and Daniel praised him often, telling him he was looking well, complimenting the little things he noticed during every meeting. The grip, the trembling, the life returned to his eyes, even if ever so slightly.

  The last time he’d looked like this, he’d been Algernon, but now Cain stood in his place, in his body. The very thought was enough to put a pep in Daniel’s step, knowing how well things were smoothing over. He kept a close eye on Cain during their personal meetings, their prayer and their little talks.

  Daniel rather enjoyed their time together. It was so nice to spend five, ten, twenty minutes with him in the soft cream room, even if they didn’t talk about anything in particular. He forged what he hoped was something akin to an amicable relationship with Cain - at least to the point where the man didn’t so readily expect pain when he knocked on the door. He didn’t know whether or not his endeavors were successful or not; not on the surface of things. But he would ask, in time.

 For now, though, Daniel decided that Cain was healthy enough for a bit of a change.

 It was noon, this time. Daniel had already visited with his breakfast, and the sun had not crawled across the sky nearly enough for it to be evening already. Call it a surprise visit.

  “Cain?” Came the voice from the other side. “Do you mind if we come in?”

  Cain was careful with how much he moved. How much he pushed himself. He measured every step because he knew one false motion could arouse a suspicion he would rather let lie, sleeping. He was getting used to his reflection again, but the mirror posed a different type of temptation.

  They say when you’re imprisoned in a situation like his, restrained and deprived and treated like an animal, you begin to long for death. Its claws. And the mirror could be shattered.

  It had been the morning that he and Daniel had spent talking, the first morning, that he had felt that first lingering urge. And he resisted, and he pushed it back, because he knew he could not hide a shattered mirror from the pastor. And, seven years of bad luck. He wasn’t going to risk it.

  He was in enough shit already.

  During the little talks over the course of the next few days, Cain was pleased to speak with the pastor. He was listening, he was receptive. He was open to whatever Daniel had to say. Sure, much of it would just be filed away for later usage, but it was also nice. A relief from the silence and subsequent loneliness of it all. He had gotten used to the pastor’s hands, and almost had the lines of his palms memorized. Like he could tell his fortune just from thinking about it.

  When the knock at the door came, he was a tad surprised. He glanced to the window, the direction the sun was shining down from, then to the door.

  We. We we we we we we we we-

  There would be another person here. Another energy. And somehow it felt like an intrusion. He didn’t understand how or why but the thought of anyone else in this space felt like it would crowd them, felt like it would be a prying eye. It was as though the space would no longer be hallowed and sacred. Soiled.

  But all the same, he was longing for another person, another human to speak to.

  “Come on in,” He said from the other side of the door, sitting on the edge of the bed. He looked healthier, he felt healthier. He felt like his blood was finally warm and not like it was frozen to his bones. His legs could support him now, much better than before. He had a gleam to his eyes, a shining sign of life. He was alive.

  He was here, alive, and he was about to see what new surprises Daniel had in store.

  Daniel was hardly oblivious to Cain’s regimen. It was impossible not to notice; he’d built up muscle, again, after so long in near-atrophy. Daniel had no problems with this; if it helped the man return to health quicker, then it was welcomed. Anything that helped his recovery was welcomed. He wasn’t sure how well Cain believe him, that Daniel just wanted to see him get better, but it was the truth, and Daniel had told him this over and over. He hoped, dearly, that he’d come to believe these things over time.

  He knew Cain had said it would take a long time to believe him; he couldn’t blame the man, quite honestly. Daniel didn’t expect any kind of real trust any time soon, but he could at least hope that his words offered some sort of reassurance.

  It felt, by now, that they were comfortable with one another, on some level. They spent nearly a week together; Cain had so little adverse reaction anymore. He expected Daniel, and Daniel always followed through. It was consistent, reliable, and they often spent their time together close, almost always with some sort of prolonged physical contact. It was nice, and he was fairly sure Cain thought so too. After all, Cain reached out just as often as Daniel did.

  And with any luck, their relationship would only develop further, maybe even come to resemble something like friendship. He wanted to be Cain’s friend. He knew that the other would probably never forgive him for those terrible forty days, but maybe they could still find something in-between.

  But for now, the door clicked open, and the pastor’s smile was the first thing that greeted him. There was the sound of shuffling behind him, but Cain couldn’t see who it was just yet. There was a palpable energy to the man, as he rocked on his heels for a moment, a hand still gripping the doorknob as he beamed at the other.

  “Good afternoon, friend!” He seemed in good spirits. It was a different kind of cheer from what he’d shown in the cell, that sadistic charm as though the man hadn’t visited him solely to make him suffer. But now, the excitement was genuine, good-natured. He was bringing along a surprise for his friend, why shouldn’t he be happy about it?

  “I know it’s just been us for a while, and I hope you understand it was just so that you could get better, and you’ve really been on the up-and-up lately, so I thought it might be a good time to bring you some company that’s, y’know… not me.” His bright smile turned into a bit more of an awkward grin as he shrugged his shoulders. “I thought you might appreciate a familiar face!”

  He moved aside, and Cain was greeted with a figure in white; another bright smile; dark hair and warm, dark eyes that lit Amy Blackwell up the moment she saw the man.

  “Cain!”

  With all Cain had been through - all Algernon had been through - it was hard to believe a single word the pastor spoke. But he was treating him well. He was kind, kinder than many had been. He had gotten used to his touch. It was the sort of familiarity Cain had never wanted with him, but he found himself longing for when he was gone, the comfort.

  When Daniel opened the door, Cain looked at him, running his fingers through his curls. He had the faintest red to his cheeks, the color showing he was alive, that he was awake. He smiled at Daniel a tender smile, the one he had been using, something he had settled on. Even when Daniel’s cheer was the vague ghost of the kind he had shown to Algernon back then - it felt like years ago now - he suppressed a flinch. The situation was different now, he told himself. Everything would be okay.

  He nodded, listening to the pastor’s words. In some ways he was disappointed, that he would likely no longer get to spend so much time alone with him. Their words had been more honest, their exchanges so much more real, when they had no threat of someone else hearing. Cain feared that the moment he became part of their church, part of the compound officially, those moments would be stolen and replaced with the artificial kindness he exuded for everyone. It was an odd fear, considering.

  His shoulders slumped, his eyes lighting up at the sight of Amy. He stared at her, his mouth open for a moment, before a smile slammed itself across his face.

  “Amy! Gosh, it’s been a while.” He beamed at her, the corners of his eyes crinkling up, and it was like Cain and Algernon were harmonious in that moment. Seeing her was something they had not expected, something they had never known they would experience. Algernon had adored the woman in the few moments he’d known her, and now Cain could share the joy.

  Of course, they were the same person. They were one mind one heart one body one soul, but there was something different. While Cain was the mask Algernon wore, he was also an independent mind at times, his own perspective. He felt like he was playing a character and improvising, like he was that character at times. It was a bit frightening.

  He hoped that when all of this ended, he felt nothing but himself, wholly and fully himself, instead of this split-in-two sensation.

  The pastor always made time for those who needed it - those who requested such personal moments, whether it be for confession or comfort or counseling. He was a man for the congregation. The kindness was not always false. He was a pastor, after all, and there was no trick or lie in that. And the road to recovery for Cain - the road to integration - was still stretching before them. Daniel was not going to simply throw the man to the wolves, so to speak. His congregation was lovely, of course, but it was the basic concept. There would be many more quiet moments between them.

  He wouldn’t lie, he enjoyed them as well. Kind, honest moments, felt so incredibly profound between them. Daniel didn’t want to give them up, either, and he certainly had no intention of stopping their meetings all together, but integrating him back into the social world of the congregation was still so important.

  He watched Cain’s reaction; he could see perhaps a bit of disappointment at the mention of company. He hoped the actual company would change his mind - he’d seemed to get on very well with Amy at the chapel last time he’d been in the compound.

  But then he lit up, and seeing him smile that brightly was fantastic. Cain was alive, doing well and Daniel couldn’t keep his own smile off his face. It was nice to see him so bright, so lively at the sight of Amy. In his experience, she had that effect on people.

  “Daniel told me you were feeling better!” She bubbled, moving to him with open arms. “I was wondering when I was gonna get to come see you!” There was a slender hand at his cheek as she approached, and a little peck to the side of his head. “I missed you!”

  Amy was still a vision, an absolute Angel in white, a reminder that this truly was their Eden. Never once did he see her anything other than content with the world around her. She loved Lamb’s Pointe, and Cain could tell that she was delighted to see him here. The idea of him being here, of someone so wonderful, being here with them, made her heart absolutely soar.

  “I’m sorry about the room,” she said, a little sheepishly. “I know it’s not much, but someone,” she shot a glance at Daniel, “didn’t give us much warning to get everything together for you.”

  “Well,” Daniel said, sitting himself in the chair nearby, “now that Cain’s doing better, we can start arranging better quarters for him.”

  “Oh, absolutely! The resident wings are so much nicer. The old psyche ward is so bare, I can’t stand it.” She wrinkled her nose through a smile.

  “It’s not the most pleasant part of the complex, but it’s quiet, and a nice place to get back on your feet. Speaking of which, Cain, how have you been doing, with that? Moving around, keeping on your feet. Is it getting easier?”

  Her affection did nothing short of make Cain release a light chuckle, his voice having long since stopped feeling foreign in his throat. He placed his hand over hers and looked at her with those brown eyes that were looking livelier and livelier every day, something shining in them, radiating. It was a caterpillar becoming a butterfly, molting the old self and becoming new. He was more than pleased to hear her voice and see her, and she was like a silver bell warding off all the negative energies.

  He regarded the two of them with what could only be termed as mild, warm curiosity. He wanted to know more about them, about this whole world, but he just shrugged. He stood and shoved his hands into the pockets of his grey pants, looking at the two.

  “I suppose I’m getting better. I don’t get dizzy when I stand anymore,” He replied with a calmness to him that he was unused to. He didn’t want to be familiar with this compound and it’s residents. His whole goal had been getting out. Getting to freedom. Getting the word out. But at the moment he knew he had to blend in.

  “I think for the most part I’m just starting to regain strength.” He added. The term ‘psyche ward’ rumbled low through his head. It brought back only the vague memories of a hospital in rural Mississippi where he’d recovered once before, when he was hanging over a metaphorical ledge. He didn’t like to think too long about it, so he focused on the calm energy of Amy and the broad, beaming smile of Daniel.

  He almost wanted to return the smile. There was a vague, tired one on his lips, but he saw Daniel and wanted only to be able to feel something akin to joy at the sight of him. It would make everything easier. Although lately he had stopped feeling as anxious, he still felt a bit on-edge, like he was teetering delicately in a very tedious balancing act. It was one he was willing to partake in now, though, because it preserved something that they had been building like a glass sculpture between them, held so lightly that one false move could shatter it.

  “How’s life outside of here? Everyone still having a good life?” He asked, not exactly certain how to ask about the rest of the compound, or if he even should. He didn’t know what day or week or month it was, all he knew was that it had been somewhere in the midst of warmth when he’d left his apartment. Gosh, he wondered what happened to it. Did all of his stuff get thrown out? Or was someone paying his rent, hoping he’d come home one day? He didn’t know. And for right now he had to try not to care, because a hard ache was forming in his chest, tightening a fist. He kept up the smile.

  The pastor was glad to see him interacting with Amy. He seemed so calm around her. He remembered the interview, the first time he’d come to the compound, before they’d set off for the park together. He’d been so uneasy among most of the parishioners. Knowing now that Algernon had arrived to investigate a cult, he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d expected nothing short of a hive mind out to drag him into the depths of their ranks.

  In truth, his congregation were mostly very kind, well-adjusted people. They had no qualms about who came, or who went. They were just happy to meet you in the first place. And Daniel was glad they’d met Amy on the way back; he’d had a feeling she’d get on well with Algernon, and now it seemed Cain was happy to see her after so long as well.

  Some things, he’d expected; other things he still wondered about, watching them. He wouldn’t mention it, wouldn’t point out the elephant in the room now that Amy and Cain were catching up, it wouldn’t be right. Besides, this as supposed to be a happy meeting - a kind surprise meant to be his first big steps back into Lamb’s Pointe. Now wasn’t the time for Daniel’s curiosity.

  And then there was his smile. He didn’t just smile when he saw Amy, he beamed. He lit up like a thousand glimmering lights and at that moment Daniel knew this was going to be good for him. Daniel couldn’t keep the smile off his own face, truthfully, seeing them getting on so well. He tried not to play favorites in the church, but even he had to admit to himself that Amy was one of his favorite people at Lamb’s Pointe. She and her daughter had been here since before the beginning, after all, and they were great friends of his. If he trusted anyone with Cain, now, it was her, and it was so nice to see them both getting along - because, quite frankly, he was also rather fond of Cain, when all was said and done.

  “We’re all well! I’ve just been antsy to finally get to see you, though! Daniel’s been so hush-hush about his visits, he wouldn’t tell us anything.”

  “I told her,” he started, “that they were personal meetings, and that she’d get her chance to see you soon enough. And did I lie?”

  “I suppose not, but still. An update every now and then wouldn’t’ve hurt,” she teased, still clearly in good spirits. She turned her attention back towards Cain. “But as soon as you’re back on your feet - properly, I mean,” she grinned, “and we get you into Lamb’s Pointe, Daniel says that I get to be your official welcoming committee - uh,” she cleared her throat, and gave him a bit of an embarrassed smile, realizing she’d gotten a little caught up, “if that’s okay, with you.”

  Cain could sense there was a comfortable energy between the two, a sort of comfort that came from years of a friendship, and he slowly relaxed. He didn’t want to let his guard down. He felt like he was slowly breaking a hole in a wall he’d built up over years, over days, over the weeks he’d been here. He wanted to fill it. Correction: Algernon wanted to fill it. The real him, the him that burned still beneath. Waiting for a moment where he could be, could live, thrive.

  For now he just laughed, shifting his weight on his feet, a shy posture. He wasn’t entirely certain how to act around others, all he knew as familiar was Daniel and their quiet. He was excited that others were anxious to meet him, to be re-introduced to the man they had known as Algernon for a wink in time, the idea that he was something new and bright and reborn. It was like being reborn. Welcomed into a new home with a whole new family and world and a new way of being.

  There was something thrashing about in him, something saying to not trust them. To push them aside and make a run for the door. Now was his chance. Now he could escape. He pushed it down deeper and just beamed at them, eyes alight, fire-bright.

  “Amy, that’d be an honor,” He felt like he was being welcomed by an angel. It was odd. He felt odd. And in some ways he was grateful that Daniel was here, because he knew some part of him would spill his guts and scream and shout about the horrible way he had been treated. The forty days were a permanent mark in his memory, and as much as all of the days bled together like open wounds, they were there as fresh as summer.

  “I’m sorry my joining was kind of sprung on you guys, I guess a bit of warning from me to Daniel would’ve done some good.” He glanced at the pastor, and there was nothing nervous in Cain’s expression. He did mean it, in some ways.

  It was a half-hollow apology, half-burned, singed at the edges. In reality he did hate how he was a trouble for the others in the congregation. And some small part of him hated being a trouble for Daniel. He had grown fond of how the other treated him, how he was warm and he listened to him and how Cain could listen back, a reciprocity unprecedented on his first day. But some small part still did not regret being a pain, fighting at every corner, battling the other for some sort of control, even a small speck of it.

Chapter Text

Act IV: Revival
Chapter XI: Content and Happiness

Daniel simply watched them, delighted to see him so open with Amy. Part of him had been afraid that the moment there was someone else here, that the tranquility of the room would be disturbed, that he would suddenly feel trapped again, like a prisoner only allowed visiting hours. It wasn’t like that at all, and Daniel certainly didn’t mean for it to seem that way. He had only wanted to keep Cain out of the hustle and bustle of the main wings while he recovered.

  Daniel didn’t say anything when Cain looked back at him. He could see that burning light in Cain’s eyes - something he hadn’t seen for a long time - and for the briefest moment it put his heart in his throat.

  Despite the calm in his features, his words alone were enough. The pastor knew as well as Cain did that he hadn’t been given much of a choice. And for him to say that to Amy, was a careful tip-toe around the fact. At any moment, Cain could grab her, shake her, tell her what had happened.

  But he didn’t.

  And Daniel wasn’t sure whether to be grateful or suspicious. It was either a threat or a peace offering, he couldn’t be sure. But something about the calmness about him, the natural hush that fell over him, allowed Daniel to settle, if only for the time being. He needed to keep an eye on Cain, that much was for certain.

  It was undeniable; he was sure even Cain knew, that he was slowly coming around to Lamb’s Pointe. Slowly, his reservations were being released, one by one, as he grew accustomed to this place. Just the care and attention Daniel alone had given him had been enough to settle them into a comfortable routine together in the space of a week. Once he was reintroduced to the congregation, once he became a part of their community, found a place and a purpose here - and Daniel already had the perfect place in mind - things would be different for him. The fire in his eyes would turn from rebellion to passion, and the foundation for a new life was being set as they spoke.

  “Oh, hush! I’m just glad I get to see you again! Daniel told me all about your emails, your interview, your chats. Not– not to be nosy, of course, but I just really think you’re going to love it here. I think Lamb’s Pointe is going to be exactly what you were looking for.”

  A smile tugged at Daniel’s lips. “I think it will be good for you, Cain. I really do. And I hope you do too.”

  "Oh, don’t worry about bein’ nosy.“ Cain rolled his eyes and a grin pulled itself up on his mouth, his right hand absently gesturing, his head leaned to the side. He looked at the both of them. “I’m glad I found this place. I already feel like there’s something,” He breathed in, a slow moment, “I don’t know, something good here.”

  He could no longer tell if he was an actor twirling on a stage or someone truly part of the dance. He did feel something good, something pleasant in the way that anyone he met here was so peaceful and kind, but he did feel like there was something beneath. Lingering. A long fear that stretched out over them. A moment out of line meant more than a year of peace. But in some ways he could see that the worst was behind him, he was no longer made to fear. He did not have to watch for shadows in the corners or the careful way that Daniel carved his words to suit the moment.

  This thinking was dangerous. Cain knew it was. He wanted to calm down, to relax for one moment, but if he came unfurled now he would never gather himself back together, and there would always be something over his head, hanging to remind him what he had let slip, if anything. The timid moment of his speech, the way he knew he had power in this situation, he had to let it go for now. He could not let his longing for truth, for speaking it wholly and fully and without inhibition, get to him. Algernon could not let this happen. He knew he could slip in a hint here or there, but Daniel was all too clever, and surely, he thought, the other would catch on.

  He did wonder what Daniel had told her. How much of the truth had been permitted past his lips? Likely not much, not the whole truth, not Algernon’s truth. And it ate at him. He wanted Amy to know what hell he’d endured, he wished so much that she would be able to listen to him and know he had come here to help, but he also saw the double-edged sword of his help. He remembered what he had been told. Amy had come here as an abandoned pregnant teenager. She had been given a home, faith, family, and help. This compound, this world, Daniel, they all meant more to her than he’d know. They were all she had. And his help to her would be a curse, not a blessing. And he had to still the pounding anxiety in his head.

  "Amy,” He was choosing everything carefully here, plucking the words with caution, “Daniel told me quite a bit about you, too, and that you’ve been here a while. What’s your favorite part about Lamb’s Pointe?”

  Engage in regular conversation and he wouldn’t slip. He could not afford to.

  In so many ways, he did not want to. He was finding peace in his conversations with Daniel. He found them to be the only time he did not feel like he was close to the cliff’s edge, and teetering. He was grounded, he was present, and he did not want to ruin that.

  He just hoped he would not arouse any suspicion.

  There was no sign of a threat in Daniel’s smile. It was pleasant, and he was genuinely glad to see that Cain and Amy were getting on well. Amy had been there from the start. When Daniel had started his new life, Amy was one of his oldest friends. He wasn’t supposed to play favorites - and he didn’t! Not really. - but he couldn’t help but feel just a little closer to Amy and Red than others.

  “Gosh, isn’t that a question!” Amy laughed. She sat at the edge of the bed, pulling Cain with her. She was always so warm and open, and it was easy to relax around her. Daniel knew this. How could he not? And it was part of the reason why he’d brought her in the first place. It was what Cain needed, after so much hardship. A familiar face, a friendly voice. Give him an ally here, someone he could trust, because Daniel knew fully well that he wasn’t trusted in the least.

  After a long moment of thought, Amy nodded slowly, seeming to come to a conclusion. “If I had to say, my favorite part of living here is… the people.” She looked up at him with a little smile. “I remember back before I went with Daniel, the rest of the world is so… cold. You know? It’s so hard to keep your faith in people sometimes, to really believe that people are good. But the people here… they put that hope back in me. They’re all so kind. Good people. And I’m so lucky to be with them, really, I am.”

  Daniel chimed in from his seat nearby. “I take pride in my congregation, you know. Amy’s right.”

  She nodded, seeing the pastor’s agreement as further proof.

  Daniel looked at Amy with admiration. Hearing those words from her was delightful, to know that even one of his parishioners took such comfort in his church. He held power over them, there was no denying that, but he was still doing what he set out to do years ago. He was doing it better than the others. He was doing it right and he was offering peace and salvation to these people who’d been cast aside from the masses of society.

  Cain hadn’t been so wrong. They were alike. They were wildly, wildly different people, but in the end they stemmed from the same tree. Cain, in his last life, had wanted nothing more than to help others, to provide hope and safety and salvation to those he saw lost in the earthly world. Daniel, in his last life, had wanted to offer protection and help that would piece together the immortal souls that were so often battered and bruised in this life. To provide hope and safety and salvation. They had similar goals. And Daniel hoped that Cain, eventually, would come to see this.

  It was still a lingering doubt, that his words back in the cell - that even some of his words now - were carefully constructed lies to walk himself across a field of eggshells and broken glass to freedom - to the outside world that had rejected him time and again. But it was a lingering doubt that Daniel could deal with. For now, there was a near-perfect balance between them. Cain felt comfortable around Daniel, and Daniel felt the blanket of influence settle over them both. Lead Cain to a better life, give him room to embrace Lamb’s Pointe and all its people, and Daniel would have him, completely. Offer a better life to those who suffered, and surely they would follow.

  “This place really is something good,” Amy said, with a happy little sigh as she regarded her home. “I don’t know what I’d do without it - without Daniel. Where I’d be right now.”

  The only thing that Algernon could use to describe Amy, to compare her to, was a pearl. She was iridescent and bright and she radiated a kindness he had not found in people for a very long time. And for a moment, for a glance in time he did think to himself how he could be happy. He could live here and have a good life. Perhaps, if permitted and if this church were not against it, he could find someone he would love.

  The way she laughed was the feeling of being five years old again, just old enough to remember, at his birthday party surrounded by his friends and his family and all the jokes they passed like candy. The cake and candles and the music. The presents unwrapped in his tiny lap by his little five-year-old hands, all thin and small and loud. The colors of the paper, the room, streamers, balloons. Yellow, red, green, blue but especially blue.

  He was patient, waiting in a sort of content silence, with his hands rested at his sides. He could feel Daniel looking at them and his gaze did not feel cold anymore. Cain no longer felt like ice was piercing him. He only felt a radiating warmth in the room, a sort of warmth like the sun was in the room to embrace them all. Just for that moment there was peace in his mind. Just for that moment he did not feel like he was in a cult. He was just staying at a hospital to recover after a series of unfortunate nightmares, and he almost wished it true. But it was not true. And then the ice returned to melt over his chest.

  The people, the people. Her conclusion to the question, her solution, her answer. And he nodded slow. When he heard Daniel’s voice, he did not flinch, but merely smiled at them both. She was right in her truth. The outside world was a cruel place. It was cold and unforgiving and it made him question even his deepest of truths. He had spent so much time hiding from it, hiding from what he couldn’t avoid any longer. He spent years holed away in his room, as a teenager with hardly anyone to hold onto, trying to figure out the meaning to life and secrets of his own personal universe. He would watch the stars and wonder if their movement across the celestial indigo above was something akin to spirits of the departed gazing down. If for some moment he could glimpse him among those stars, and they would share a moment, and they would fade. Both into the deep.

  With her final comment he kept himself quiet. He knew where he would be right now. At home. Either in that apartment or his RV or his car, checking out a new sighting of any sort. Investigating. Living the life he had chosen for himself. Working on websites for people if they needed his work. Making articles if he was commissioned for one. He knew where he would be without Daniel, and Algernon would be content. Not quite happy, no, always wondering when his life would turn to the right direction, but content with the path he had been on for the past several years.

  But Cain piped up in the back of his mind, being content and being happy were two different things. Being happy was worth the pain. Being content was just remaining stagnant, and not doing anything to budge, to shift the tides of fate. To make the universe work in his favor.

  “I can’t really say much about this place from the tiny bit of time I spent touring,” Cain chuckled, “But I can say that the chapel was nice. I liked it in there. Had a good feel to it.”

  The image of Daniel soaked in communion wine and the wafer beneath his shoe had conjured themselves, and then the beautiful bright colors of stained glass and the floors and pews and the rows upon rows of the doe-eyed believers. He calmed himself.

  There would be time to know more about these people, to join them. For now he had to adjust, to adapt.

  “The chapel is sacred ground,” Amy said, in a little breath. “Every prayer, every blessing and every word of worship was born in that chapel. It’s one of my favorite places in Lamb’s Pointe.” She smiled, beaming in agreement. “It’s… peaceful. Safe.”

  The least several years of her life had been spent here, and Amy knew every inch of Lamb’s Pointe the way anyone would know their own home. She could walk the halls with her eyes closed. She loved this place and her neighbors unconditionally, and it was easy to see it. Daniel watched her with adoration as she sang. She was happy, she was safe here, she was the pearl of Lamb’s Pointe, there wasn’t a doubt in Daniel’s mind.

  He took a breath, shifting his focus for a moment as he looked back to Cain. “I know you didn’t get to spend too much time here, before, but once you’re back on your feet, Amy and I will make sure you get settled here. It’s going to be… a strange transition, but we want to help make it go smoothly.”

  Amy patted his hand. “We’re not gonna leave you flapping in the wind, that’s for sure. A lot of people who come here feel… out of place, at first. A lot of them felt out of place before coming here, and it’s just hard, sometimes, to find where you fit. Coming into a big community, you know?”

  Daniel shifted, considering for a moment. The words on his lips were… volatile. They could either be dangerous or they could be the start of something good. He gave Cain a long look, a little crease between his eyes as he thought. He pushed himself up from the chair, shoving his hands in his pockets as he rounded the bed again, taking a long, deep breath and looking down at Cain.

  “You won’t be just a… cog in a machine, here. I know the congregation’s pretty big, but I can promise you that much. Once you’re settled here, with us, you’ll have a place.” Daniel looked down at Cain with something soft in his eyes. He was hoping, desperately, that this was not the wrong step. He knew that the other would be skeptical of his place here, but Daniel had plans for him - good things in store for Cain.

  “We’ll talk more bout it when you’re settled. By the end of the week, you should be out of here. I just hope you’re willing to… suspend judgement until we talk about it.”

  He gave Cain a crooked smile. He knew it wasn’t likely, but a man could dream, right?

Chapter Text

 Act IV: Revival
Chapter XI: Walk

--

  Sacred ground. Hallowed earth. Cain was familiar with such. He had been to many chapels and he had seen them and felt the energy racing through them; the hymnals of a hundred years still bursting in air like fireworks, puffs of smoke, curls of flame of religious ecstasy. He had felt something odd in that chapel - no, Algernon had felt it - and it was perhaps a lingering longing for something else. Perhaps he himself had longed for something else.

  Freedom, maybe.

  Her love for this world shone through like a beacon of light of a lighthouse. The refracted shining of dust shed from geodes in sunlight. There was rose quartz in her heart and he was sure of it; the way that love seemed to run out from her words and entangle themselves in her ways. And Cain now understood why Daniel brought her here, not just her familiarity but her love was enough to overwhelm, enough to swim through to his heart and nestle itself. The kind of love he wished he had from someone else, someone far away, flown into the heavens long ago.

  Best not to think about that now, he told himself as he listened to Daniel.

  He shifted as he sat there, and he smothered a flinch when Amy pat his hand. He was safe, he had to keep reminding himself. Even between the jaws of the lion he was safe. He, too, wished for a smooth transition into his new life. He wanted it all to go by as quickly as it could, but at the same time he felt a pang of something. The rose room would be gone and he would be one of the congregation. Nothing else. Just part of their world and nothing else. He didn’t want to be anything to them that was normal, but the same, he wanted to be part of it now. Just to slip into the flock and blend in.

  He could not quite believe he would not be a cog in a machine. He had been part of things before, little towns and big schools and swimming through them like a red herring chased. He was the false conclusion, in his own ways, becoming and unbecoming. He led their eyes elsewhere so they would never see what was happening. And then he burned that way of being and began directing their attention, their keen gazes to the issues at hand. He would not let what happened to someone dear become the word of mouth, the lie and gossip.

  Because lie and gossip was converted into the energy of falsehood and into deceit. And into hate. And he could not tolerate the memory of someone as bright as the sun ground under someone’s boot like a cigarette on cement.

  He envisioned his future here; all routine and neatly settled. Tied together. He did tend to run on routine, keeping his life together with simple schedules easy to follow. If the routine were disrupted he became almost claustrophobic, curling in on himself internally. Everything had to be done routine or, unless it was he switching up the routine, he would feel the cold grip of anxiety around his throat with skeletal fingers dripping ice.

  He nodded his head. A week left in the rose room. A week left to be alone with his mind before he was shuffled off into their routine. A week left to be quiet, to be in a warmer solitude. A week. He looked to Amy and then to Daniel, and the sun flooding through the window was a ray of warm splayed against his spine. He had a tiredness to his eyes, a mental exhaustion. He was unsure of where this would take him, but he had to be prepared.

  Being unprepared had almost killed Algernon, he recalled.

  Amy’s presence wasn’t necessarily malicious, and Daniel hoped Cain wouldn’t see it that way. She was warm and personable - perhaps even more than Daniel was - and she was, in his humble opinion, the best person to bring to the rose room for a number of reasons. She was the only person Algernon had really gotten to meet back before the cell. Daniel hadn’t thought it would be too comfortable for him to bring a complete stranger here, but he wanted to bring socialization back into Cain’s life somehow.

  All that aside, Amy was happy to be there. She was as eager as Daniel to see Cain return to health and join them in the church for the first time. And Cain wasn’t wrong, she was full of love, and had plenty to spare for everyone she met - but truthfully, that was only a lucky benefit in the situation.

  Daniel had grand plans for Cain. And maybe, if Cain could see past their circumstance, he could learn to love what was in store for him. It was his purpose in life. It was what he wanted more than anything. Maybe, if Daniel could lead him to see the light, even more than the freedom he so desperately fought for; ‘freedom,’ as though Daniel kept his parishioners chained to the walls.

  Freedom was such a nebulous thing, after all. Daniel led them, kept them safe and kept them in line, but they were free to do as they pleased. They were their own, they came to Lamb’s Pointe of their own volition, devoted themselves willingly to God, and allowed Daniel to guide them down a path of mortal righteousness.

  Cain was jaded - and why shouldn’t he be? He’d been put through so much. He’d been locked away, every freedom stripped of him for two months. Daniel had to understand where he was coming from, why he might see his role here as just another level of imprisonment. But if he just gave it a chance, Daniel was sure that Cain would find purpose here. Maybe even more than anything he found out in the world beyond their walls.

  He couldn’t help but notice the stifled little flinch. It brought a little frown to his lips, as he watched. Daniel did not like the idea that his control stemmed from fear of physical pain. It was barbaric. But it was only temporary. Cain would come to realize that he was, truly and genuinely, safe. No one was going to hurt him. But that would be a long time out, the pastor was sure of it.

  Still, it was a step.

  The sun was still high, casting light into the room. It was warm and comfortable in the rose room, but between Daniel and Amy, that warmth would follow him anywhere he went. Daniel moved from the chair to Cain’s side. Very carefully, he laid a hand at his shoulder. “Are you up for a walk? It’s okay if you’d rather not.”

  Cain was, to some level, grateful Daniel allowed him to interact with someone else. While all was done under a watchful eye, he still knew it was pointless to protest. He could see in her eyes and how comfortable she was with Daniel that there was nothing he would be able to do. Algernon could not grab her from his words and bring her to the reality of it all. And that was, in Cain’s opinion, fine.

  Cain did not care now. He needed to survive and that was all. He had been humbled and he recalled while in the cell thinking, that if he had become so proud, this was his trial. This was the true testament to how he should live, the true way in which the world was testing him and bringing him back down to an acceptable state of mind. He felt his consciousness wear thin in those days, like he was always slipping in and out of a nightmare but never quite waking. The scream in dreaming, faint like a whisper.

  He no longer knew what to expect. He could not expect much from his situation other than to be treated as any other follower of Daniel’s. Which brought out something from his mind, dredging it up. He vaguely recalled, in his moments of quiet following a baptism, which it is the congregation truly followed. Did they really follow God? Did they trust in Him so fully they’d let this man deprive them of their homes and families in some cases? Or perhaps more accurately, did they worship Daniel? He was the embodiment of all they wanted to be, all that he told them they could be, and Cain could only recognize this as a vague and knife-dull twisted possibility.

  Algernon clawed at the back of Cain’s mind as he was filling his head with thoughts of turning it all to something good, making the already knotted situation something good, untangling it. Algernon could remember it all. Could remember every scratching detail and every hour spent in solitude, pacing, pacing. He could recall the faint sound of the man’s footsteps in the hall and he vividly remembered intentionally inhaling water, hoping-praying-wishing-crying that this time, this time he would drown. And then blaming himself for such a foolish act.

  All the same, Cain remembered it burning down his throat and bubbling up through his nose and being violently wrenched out from the water, sputtering, crying, coughing. He swallowed.

  The moment returned in a wave to him when he was spoken to again and he did not believe only seconds had passed.

  He waited, staring at Daniel with those eyes so dull and dark, it was like the ash of embers had been kicked aside. He inhaled, drew in the air to his lungs to remind him he was above water. He was no longer there. He was here and he was breathing. The other’s hand, fingers across a bony shoulder, they were the only things to ground him now. And he found it odd that he let the one who gave him the storm and flood be the one to lift him from it.

  “I think I’d like to,” He replied, turning his eyes to Daniel’s, locking gazes, his face a blank slate. He felt colder somehow. He felt distant. And he wondered, momentarily, if he were Cain or Algernon again.

  Daniel matched his gaze with Cain’s. Where one was dull and cold, the other was smooth, solid like marble. He was ever unwavering, and if his guest said he wanted to go for a walk, then they would go for a walk.

  Daniel was keenly aware of the fact that this was a gamble. And, all things considered, he didn’t really fancy himself a gambling man. Every risk he took was calculated, and this was no different. He wanted Cain out there, among other people. He was fairly sure that nothing would happen - this time, at least. Cain was still weak, still a stranger to the halls, and any attempt to make a run for it would be nothing but a loss.

  Daniel wanted to trust Cain. They’d built something in the last week and a half or so, and the pastor liked to think that somewhere, Cain really was coming around. And it was because of this that he wanted to give Cain some footing, some leeway. His trust, as much of a facade as it may be.

  Amy linked her arm with Cain’s, rising carefully with him and making sure he was okay on his feet. She hadn’t seen him when he’d arrived, after the cell, but she could still see how frail he looked. So much healthier, yes, but still weak.

  “We won’t go too far,” Daniel said, falling into line on his other side. Lion, lamb, dove, all in a row; what a peculiar procession. But Daniel unlocked and held the door for them, the rose light of the hospital room spilling out into the bare hallways. Everything was clean and white and cold, but the wing was empty, lifeless here, and even Amy seemed uncomfortable as they were walking back to the real world outside of the psychiatric ward. “I don’t want you to wear yourself out.” There was no mocking tone like one might expect. These were Cain’s first steps outside of the room since his arrival. They were experimental at best, and having Cain collapse in the middle of a hall was not something Daniel wanted for their first excursion.

  He took a deep breath, one hand on the push-bar of the next major set of double doors. He hoped the common rooms wouldn’t be too busy. There was a difference between easing Cain into the community and throwing him head-first into the deep end. If Cain truly wanted to move forward; if he truly wanted to start a life here, if he was ready to give this place a chance and allow himself to find his purpose here, then it was important that he find a place here, among friends.

  He needed to know that there were people here - real people, kind people who were going to support him throughout the undoubtedly awkward process of integration. He feared there was a lingering suspicion, even with Amy, that the people at Lamb’s Pointe were somehow ‘artificial.’ Nothing but set pieces carefully displayed to lure what was once Algernon into the depths of the compound once upon a time.

  But this was different, now. The people here were real, and Cain would see that they always had been. They were real, their lives were real, and they were their own. The nervousness in his chest smoothed over momentarily, with the anticipation of what came next . The members in this church were wonderful people, and now Cain would get the chance to truly meet them. Daniel pushed ahead, opening the door for his friends, and led them out of the psyche ward and into the heart of Lamb’s Pointe.

  If there was one thing Cain expected, it was to be calm and to be able to handle this effectively. He was breathing, his pulse was steady, and he was moving. He fell into step with Daniel on one side, Amy on the other, and he felt part of something. Like they were a living organism, all just microscopic cells, all just moving parts.

  In a way, if he looked at this world long enough during those long, coffee-filled hours awake, everybody was merely a cell in the eyes of the Divine. And then he thought about how that was probably the most fake-deep thing he’d ever thought. Even that one time he allowed himself to get high, he had thought with more clarity and precision than he was right now.

  No- no, block that memory out, gosh get it away, he pushed it further into the depths. It was like he was submerging a wolf in a bog, making certain it could never bite him, never hurt him again. He could not let it hurt him again. So he instead focused on the white walls and floor and light around him and a vice grip tightened over his heart. No. White walls. White floors. Bright light. Daniel. No. He took a breath and no matter how hard he tried he could not suppress how his pulse was raging against his wrist and neck, against his chest was the thundering of a mighty muscle organ, pumping adrenaline.

  He closed his eyes for a second. “Sorry, I’m a little dizzy,” He mumbled with a breathy chuckle. An excuse. Close your eyes and count to ten.

  One, two.

  Would he be proud of you?

  Three, four.

  Would he care, anymore?

  Five, six.

  Would he have moved on from you?

  Seven, eight.

  Are you something he’d hate, now?

  Nine, ten.

  Breathe.

  He inhaled and moved forward with a smile on his lips. When Daniel opened the door to the commons, he did not seem nervous. He had a strong look to the way he carried his shoulders, Atlas relieved of his burden.

  The heart of Lamb’s Pointe was beating, definitely. As Cain walked further with Daniel and Amy, he swallowed, his posture now slightly meeker. Like he wanted to blend in with the two of them, become a faint, ghostly blur between their outlines. The in between, the last murmur of winter seeping behind their spring.

  But he walked, and he kept up the pace. And he smiled for everyone. He had to, he had to, and he knew it.

  It hadn’t been too terribly far a walk from the psyche ward, but Daniel was still concerned for Cain. He’d been resting, he’d been building his strength back up, he was able to stay on his feet, now, but that didn’t stop Daniel from worrying about him. This was slow, experimental. If Cain ever seemed to be feeling unwell during their walk, he would be sure to let them stop, to give him time to rest.

  When Cain closed his eyes, taking a minute, saying that he was dizzy, it carved a pit of worry in Daniel’s chest. Amy laid a hand at the other’s back, between his shoulders, gently steadying him as they all stopped in the hall for a moment. They waited for him. Daniel and Amy were patient; neither were in a rush and right now, Cain was the only thing that mattered to either of them. Keep him safe, make sure he was okay, guide him out into the world of Lamb’s Pointe, even if just for a little while.

  He wanted to get Cain accustomed to the community. He knew it would be a process. Even with people who came willingly, it always was. It was a bit of a culture shock, entering a communal living church like theirs. It was something Daniel tried his best to help them transition with. It made living at Lamb’s Pointe all the easier experience for his followers.

  They didn’t move on until he was ready to keep going, but Daniel could see a marked change in him, now. He was quieter, smaller, more hesitant despite the front he was trying to put up. He frowned slightly, a look of concern for the other as he watched the way he carried himself. Quietly, Daniel reached across his back, a hand at his far shoulder. He hoped it was a reassuring gesture. He was still a little uncertain on initiating physical contact. Cain hadn’t seemed to mind in the rose room. They’d spent several long chats in the evenings, hand in hand, and he’d since stopped flinching at his touch when everything was gentle and kind.

  He watched for his reaction as they walked together, into the heart of Lamb’s Pointe. They passed plenty of other parishioners; most gave a polite smile in greeting, others waved. Some even recognized him, lighting up to see him again, as though he were the same person who had toured Lamb’s Pointe over two months ago.

  It quickly became clear that they weren’t just wandering the compound aimlessly. Daniel was leading them, through the halls of the labyrinth, to a set of double doors. They were heavy steel, windowless, with heavy looking deadlocks that Daniel had always found a little odd for the fixture.

  Through the doors was a courtyard. Fresh air, open sky, and greenery surrounding them in all varieties. It was ethereal, pristine and finely trimmed, flowers blooming wherever the eye wandered and cement benches and pedestals scattered throughout the square. Hues of blue and purple and light pink, yellows and every shade of green you could imagine. And in the middle of it all, a great bur oak. The leaves were the deepest, richest green in the entire garden.

  “Thought you might appreciate some fresh air.” Daniel looked over at Cain and gave him a little smile.

Chapter Text

Act IV: Revival
Chapter XII: The Garden of New Eden

--

"Now the LORD God had planted a garden in the east, in Eden; and there he put the man he had formed."

 Genesis 2:8

--

Their hands to him were nothing but more weight on his body. As he walked, Cain found the eyes of the parishioners to be friendly, but to be friendly in a way that made him want to close up on himself. Friendly eyes like those turned rotten after too long. Like an apple left in the sun. The last time Cain had been led anywhere, he had been guided around the compound and then to his prison. And so his eyes had a hint of a deer in headlights look, Bambi in the sights of the hunter.

  He did return the friendly smiles however. How could he not? He felt it rude to be so cold to the people who clearly were welcoming him. But were they? Or were they just hoping he’d leave? He made the attempt to shirk those thoughts off. He walked with steady strides with Amy and Daniel, and he was hoping fiercely that they could not sense the waves of anxiety radiating from him.

  When Daniel opened the door to the courtyard, Cain had to stop himself. He stopped breathing, the smells, the colors, the light, the sounds. It all was overwhelming. But he exhaled. And inhaled. And he moved apprehensively to the courtyard. He was wide-eyed and heavy-shouldered, everything taken in like it was the last time he’d ever see it. He looked at Daniel, turning his smile up more, making sure it was bright. A delicate balance. He didn’t want to ruin the other’s cheer.

  "Y- yeah, I haven’t been outside in a while.“ He chuckled a breathy little noise, like the sputtering of an engine. He looked out at the garden, breathing, trying not to become overwhelmed. Because if he got overwhelmed he would have a sensory overload and a sensory overload would lead to a meltdown and no no no no-

  He moved further into the garden with his hands at his sides, swaying very lightly, delicate like moved by a breeze. He was approaching the oak with a curiosity to his eyes, with each moment spent trying to adjust to the bright colors and the sounds and the air. It was all so different, all so alive. He would easily forget the white halls and walls and floor and bright light if he could just sit here. Just rest. Sleep a night in the shade of the oak. Find safety in it’s branches.

  He just wanted to feel safe, but he didn’t know if that’s what he was feeling right now.

  He couldn’t fault Amy. She didn’t know Cain like he did. She hadn’t spent hours upon hours with him in the rose room. They’d talked about everything under the sun. Faith and who they wanted to be. Who they used to be. Daniel knew that Cain had kept his secrets. Perhaps he still felt like he had to keep his secrets from the pastor. Perhaps there were things he was ashamed of - everyone had regrets, even Daniel. But the fact of the matter was, in their most honest moments together, Daniel had gotten to know him.

  So while Amy took a deep breath, welcoming Cain into the garden happily, Daniel could see that something was wrong. The way he held himself was too similar to his first day or so in the rose room, reserved, putting up a front of false cheeriness, of peace. He could see something icy in the way Cain moved through the garden, and that worried him.

  Amy moved to join him as he approached the tree. Her fingers trailed the rough surface of the gnarled bark as she looked at him, that same gentle smile on her lips. This was her sanctuary, among the plant life and soft sunlight. Her gaze traveled up to the branches. “It was dying when we got here,” she said lightly. In five years, they’d brought it back to health, the magnificent centerpiece of Lamb’s Pointe.

  Daniel looked after the pair with a knot in his chest. In a strange way, he hoped Cain would flourish like the tree. Nursed back to health, brought back to life and reborn into something magnificent. He hoped it wouldn’t take five years, but time wasn’t important. If it took five years, ten years, Daniel wanted to help him adjust. He would stay by Cain until the day he was truly content, here.

  He cleared his throat after a moment. “How are you feeling?” He asked, keeping his voice soft, as velvet as the flower petals that surrounded them. “Do you want to sit down for a bit? There’s a few benches just over there,” he nodded his head in the general direction. “We can just… sit and talk, for a while, unless you want to go back inside.”

He would let Cain decide. This was for him. This was his walk, his time to greet the world again. Daniel did not need to guide him for this. It was his experience, and Daniel wouldn’t interfere with any of it.

  “I’m sure this is a lot.” There was quiet understanding in his voice. “It’s up to you.”

  Cain had let a great many things go during the moments he spent with Daniel: his great-grandmother being one of his best friends, his parents and their fighting, his many cousins and how they got along, the various little things that colored his life in shades of green. Green, the color of growth, and oh how they had grown. He came from a large family, and while being himself an only child, he had many cousins and uncles and aunts. And heaven only knows that the family would grow in time. He had, in turn, learned about Daniel. He had listened attentively, with a hand over his, with their eyes communicating as much as their voices.

  But those moments were not now. Those moments were gone as Cain made his way through the garden, with the dove of Lamb’s Pointe at his side, with her voice and her heart light. He did not notice if Daniel was studying him, looking him, and taking note of his minute motions. He just kept walking with Amy, and he moved to the oak, standing before it and tilting his chin, staring into the leaves. He would occasionally see the sun peak through the green and turning the leaves a lime-gold tone, and if he were alone he could easily imagine himself exiting his body, shedding it like a coat and tossing it behind, his soul climbing up through the branches and up up up up into the sun. Become the warmth he had so desperately sought as a young boy. Become the sun so that he, too, could give warmth to others.

  His gaze left the sun and his soul returned from its journey, mournfully into his mind again, and he watched Amy. The tree had been dying. The tree had been withered and old and tired like he had always seen himself. And now it was well. It was alive. And what was not alive in Eden? Everything was blooming and bursting in song and color and it was all alive. Alive.

  Cain knew only this: he wanted to be better. Whatever ‘better’ meant could be subjective. Perhaps he could recover mentally, and never have those nightmares again. Perhaps physically. And perhaps a bit of both. Or perhaps, and he thought this tentatively, perhaps his soul could live. Improve. Flourish. It would plant its roots into his mighty heart and down into his feet, and it would grow up and up and into the sky. His faith would brush the sun. He would touch it and not be burned. Faith so strong it could blot out the light.

  Daniel’s voice was an alarm bell ringing through to his mind, shocking him awake like wires. Out of his mind. He craned his neck to see him, gold hair more golden in the sun. His voice was softer than the birds around them, softer than the ground beneath them. Soft enough he could bury himself in it, covered in the warmth and fall into serenity for a moment.

  The offer of sitting on a bench was appealing. Cain, however, wanted to push himself through this. He needed to. He stood firm, swallowed like his throat was filled with molasses, and shook his head.

  “I’d like to just- just stand here.” He replied, in an equally soft voice, but it was colder somehow. Distant, like coming from a cracking radio. “I’ll sit down soon, but… I’d like to just be here.” He turned his gaze back to the leaves, the sunlight filtering through, all warm and soothing on his skin, the tender kiss of a mother on his cheek. He closed his eyes, dawn-hued lids fluttering shut, drawing in a breath to just breathe and get his lungs going normally again. He could smell the flowers blooming near them, the world tender and new like it had been reborn.

  There was an inert alertness to the world around him. He had become so accustomed to stillness that the motions, the sways of everything was alarming, but he would settle. Over the next few days, weeks, he would settle.

  'Till then, he stood in the shade of the oak and marveled at how his world could have changed so rapidly in forty days, give or take a few. And for a moment, he half-wondered if this is what reincarnation was like.

  He did not argue, he did not protest. He trusted Cain to know his limits. If he felt he could stand for a little longer, if he wanted to, then Daniel wouldn’t argue. He’d sit when he felt he needed to, and that was all he could ask of the man.

  He only hummed and nodded, listening quietly. “Take your time, as long as you’re comfortable.” Daniel buried his hands in his pockets, lingering beside them. His gaze lingered on Cain, but for once there was no calculation, no studying the other’s movements or mannerisms. Simply watching, quietly contemplating his presence.

  Cain had told him so much. Even if he kept his burdens to himself, Daniel felt… honored, really, that he’d shared so much about his life - his family, the years that trailed behind him, the steps he’d taken that made him who he is. He’d listened to Cain talk about conspiracies and his work, some of the stories that he had to tell about what kind of bizarre things he had encountered over the time he’d been so invested in the field. Daniel admired his goals, his need to help others, and Cain knew this. It was something they shared, though he wasn’t sure how well Cain truly believed this about Daniel. No doubt he only saw the pastor’s words as empty agreement, something he could offer to make it seem like they had more in common than they really did; but it was the truth.

  Daniel had become a pastor for a reason. Aside from being a devout man, he saw purpose in his position. He guided his congregation, even while keeping them firmly under his heel, and he saw it as a brilliant balancing act, each feeding into the other. He knew that Cain had truly meant it; that it was going to take a long time for him to believe anything that Daniel would tell him. Praise and kindness and bonding, he wondered how much of it Cain believed to be a farce. The thought sent a twang of something unpleasant through his chest. But they had time for that, and Daniel would strive to win his trust. He wasn’t sure how, yet, but he knew that he had an odd need for it.

  The afternoon was cool, the courtyard shrouded in the shade of the canopy above them. Leaves rustling in the wind provided a soundtrack to the delicate moments they found themselves in, and slowly, Daniel made his way towards Cain, his heart giving a little flip. Every little movement he made was a risk, knowing that Cain could suddenly see him in an old light, the bright artificial halogen light of the cell. He didn’t want Cain to fear him. God, that was the last thin he wanted now, after so many mornings and so many evenings spent together. They’d found something comfortable, and Daniel so desperately did not want to ruin that. Part of him feared it was inevitable; part of him hoped against hope that all they could do from here is move forward. He cared about Cain, no matter how disbelieving the other might be. He’d been through so much suffering, and now all Daniel wanted for him was peace.

  He’d picked something up on the way, and held his hand out to Cain as they stood together. A sprig of Queen Anne’s Lace. The cluster was made of dozens of little blooms, the petals delicate and white, like minute butterfly wings lighted upon the stem. “I’ve always been impressed with the courtyard. So many of our residents love and care for these plants. I think they’re lovely; don’t you?”

  He looked over at Cain. Everything was so much softer out here, even compared to the rose room. It was warm and kind and welcoming, and Daniel hoped that Cain felt as at peace here as he did.

  If Cain knew that the man trusted him to know his own limits, he would laugh. Cain in the past had always had the habit of over-exerting himself. Making himself weak thinking he could take another step. Thinking he could run out in the dark and then getting hopelessly lost. He was a fool, a wandering and blundering fool.

  The words were so contradictory to everything Cain had been through. He had been forcefully wrenched from his comfort zone and shoved into a world he did not know did not love and most certainly did not want to be in. Now Daniel was taking into account how he felt, how comfortable he was with a situation. If he were himself from two months ago, he would be extremely uncomfortable, like this were a test. Algernon would be questioning him and counter-examining him and turning Daniel inside out. Algernon Rosewell would not be standing here, right now. He would be somewhere else, probably half-way across the country.

  For this time, he was Cain, and he remembered this and he kept the memory at the forefront. He could feel Daniel beside him, his energy, his existence. And he did not feel like he was being looked at like a puzzle to be poured over, examined, and put back together. He was whole, and here.

  When he thought on it too long, Cain concluded that he told Daniel too much. He did not particularly like talking too much to this man, giving him leverage, but in the past few days he had felt something. A bond, maybe, growing. Vines slowly gathering and forming a bridge between them. He had not told him about his struggle with his mental health or the man he had loved or the ways he had found himself reckless and impulsive, but he did tell him about the times he found himself happy. When he was taken to the park when he was nine, with all of his cousins, and rolled down a hill and scratched up his knees. How when he was running up a hill when he was eleven he had fallen stomach-first and cried, laughing about it now. He’d infodumped about UFOs and conspiracies and cryptids and how he was, even for a conspiracy theorist, skeptical. He always wanted to know the actual, factual truth.

  Of course, to Daniel he had never explained it was a special interest. He merely stated he was invested. Personally, of course, because he did happen to make money from cases he took on. He, in turn, listened to Daniel. How he came to Lamb’s Pointe (though there were gaps, and he figured it had to do with Evelyn) and how he became the man he was. His childhood, little bits and pieces, broken off for Cain to devour. If he could tell a memory was particularly fond, he would ask more about it. Get all of the details. Let Daniel relive it in those moments. He would smile and laugh and be happy for him. In the end, it was all he could do.

  Cain, for all of his faults, always did want to believe. He did. He believed in God and in Heaven and in Hell, but he felt twisted in his gut when he thought too long about it. Because his family and friends and pastors and teachers had always called his very existence a sin.

  There were parts of him, desperate parts, that ached to believe Daniel merely to believe him. To be rid this curse of not knowing whether or not he was telling the truth and merely blindly placing his trust in him, and that be the end of that. He would let himself be blind, rob himself of his own inner sight, if he could. But he also would not. It had protected him, remembering things like he did, and it was sometimes all he had. As Daniel got closer, Cain felt that need to trust him grow, but he - or the inner part of him, the real Cain, Algernon - shoved it aside.

  When he noticed motion next to him, he looked down at the flower, the white buds like tiny stars in a green galaxy, like they may swirl and reveal to him another universe were he to look close enough, hard enough. They were snowy white and tender. They could be collapsed and rubbed and destroyed at a moment’s notice. Cain saw them as fragile snow, and he very lightly brushed his fingertips along the blossoms. He was careful with them like handling the most fragile glass. He nodded, staring at the sprig in Daniel’s hand.

  “I’ve always been partial to flowers like that. I’m a big fan of Baby’s Breath and Green Carnations,” A smile tugged the corners of his lips as he spoke. As he brushed the buds of the flower he let his fingers linger, just hovering barely half an inch from the cluster of white star-blooms and from Daniel’s hand.

  For all that had happened to him, being in the air did help sooth him. The brightness and the noise and the everything of this garden was still causing his mind to feel like it was in a vice, like he was being held tight in a headlock by his senses. But he tried to suppress this. He did it all so that neither Amy nor Daniel would see him upset at such beauty. He kept his eyes on the Queen Anne’s Lace, not taking it, just touching.

  Their talks, everything that Cain had told him, everything that he had shared, had been carefully handed to him like jewels. Delicate things that he could drop and shatter. And perhaps Cain had expected him to. Perhaps he still did. But Daniel had held tight to each and every one. Hearing these things about him, getting to know him, had been an interesting experience, but nice all the same. Hearing him talk about the things that made him happiest - all the fond memories and the laughter and every interest that made him who he was, all of it was wonderful.

  And he did feel it. Things had slowly changed between them. Like how Daniel had extended his hand and how, despite everything, Cain had laced their fingers together, the divide between them was slowly being woven together. It was messy, maybe, but they were being held together nonetheless. Thin strings that they could sew through the split fabric of their relationship, and once they were stitched together at long last, they could strengthen the seams. Stitch after stitch, they would get there.

  And Daniel would happily play the part of the tailor. He wanted to fix things, to bring himself and Cain together in the same stitch.

  He watched the man’s hand, the way his fingers ghosted delicately over the top. He was so careful, as though a simple touch would disintegrate them, cause them to crumble under his fingertips. He did not take the flower, and Daniel did not move to hand it to him if he didn’t want it, but he didn’t pull it away so long as Cain held his hand over the blooms.

  His gaze traveled upwards, trying to gauge his expression. He was sure this must have been overwhelming. He knew nothing about Cain’s sensory issues or meltdowns - it was a topic he’d avoided discussing with Daniel - but the pastor figured that being cooped up for two months in small, minimal rooms, and then coming out into a garden like this, all fresh air and colors and sunlight, would overwhelm anyone.

  The tree cast them in a comfortable shade, and he couldn’t help but gaze up into the branches. Sunlight streamed down in thin beams through the leaves, and everything in that one moment felt ethereal. He took a deep breath, and felt the words gathering in his chest like water against a dam. Did he dare speak, now? Would his voice ruin this moment, this quiet experience as Cain took his first steps outside in two months? Daniel didn’t want to cause any disturbance. It was a gamble, and his lips parted.

  “A lot of the people here are like this tree. So many of us came here… dying, in a sense. Lost and hopeless and just… hurt.” There was a terrible sadness in his voice. “That’s why this is so important, here. Rebirth. It takes work, and care, but it’s possible for all of us.”

  He searched for the proper words, letting out a great sigh. A little smile pulled up the corners of his lips, and he glanced aside, to the man he stood with. There was a peaceful lull between them, and with the warmth and the gentle sunlight and Cain’s hand over Daniel’s as he brushed the blooms, it was almost - almost - like they were in the quiet calm of the rose room together.

  “Faith is like a tree, Cain,” He barely whispered. “Tend to it well, and it will grow and bear fruit. Leave it and do nothing, and it will wither up and die. What do you want your faith to be: fruitful, or the skeletal remains?” Perhaps he didn’t mean for Cain to answer. He didn’t truthfully expect him to. But it was a question everyone had to ask themselves at one point or another. And here at Lamb’s Pointe, it was a question that Daniel asked time after time. It was a question that he’s seen so many people struggle with, trying to learn how to nurture their own tree like so many had nurtured the tree in the courtyard before them. It was not always easy, but those who found their answer could finally, finally bloom and grow towards the sunlight.

  And knowing what he knew about Cain, he wanted that for him.