Chapter Text
Sunday felt terrible, as they were getting closer to the secret way out, like he was a Judas himself. He couldn’t comprehend his own motives. If he was betraying God, what was so precious about this man, that Sunday was ready to put his way of living at such high risk? He didn’t love him, so it was not the same as his betrayal for Robin. He didn’t even like him. Nearly every Gallagher’s words were filling him with fear, rage and some new kind of confusion that he never felt before. Yet, he couldn’t stop seeking his company, as adrenaline was washing through his veins, when Gallagher was speaking blasphemy like a mother tongue. He always had ways to surprise Sunday. And that was addicting. Curiosity is a dangerous thing, especially when you know nothing about a normal world. And Gallagher was so normal, Sunday almost thought he wanted to be like him one day. He hoped Robin had someone so normal too.
— Here. — He stopped. Water rumbling in the distance.
— What? Like in Batman?
— No idea, try it yourself and shout to me through the fence.
— Did you just make a joke? You watched Batman?
— Gallagher, please, shut your mouth and jump in the canalization.
Gallagher wrinkled his nose a little and turned to Sunday more serious now.
— You sure you don’t want to go with me?
— Is it so hard to believe that I don’t want to swim in shit?
— You know how to?
— What?
— Swim? Do they teach children how to swim in …cults?
Sunday looked at him, tired. Why can’t Gallagher just leave already? Why does he always need to test Sunday’s self-control? He has had no such thing these last few days.
— They don’t, I taught myself… — He cleared his throat. — Gallagher, ple-
— Why?
— Will you ever stop with those meaningless questions?
— It’s the last one, I promise.
Sunday signed, oh yeah, sure , he thought.
— Why do people learn how to swim? So they wouldn’t drown.
— No, you just wanted to try it, because it’s fun. Because you just wanted to put your ass in the beautiful puddle that was shining bright under the sun. Because it looked like you would enjoy swimming there.
Sunday was remembering it now. Hot sunny day, the river they used for the laundry was blinding with those shimmers. Robin was drying her hair next to him and talking about how refreshing the water was. He did enjoy that actually.
— So what?
— So God let you have that, but he won’t let you be outside, enjoying life?
Oh he’s still bringing that back. Sunday would never be able to explain what death meant to him, because for Gallagher it obviously meant nothing, (considering how patient he was with his own escape). Death was inevitable for Gallagher, something he learned to accept to be the end of his life. Of him. Sunday couldn’t do that, his life was so precious to him, that he would rather spend it suffering, than cease to exist due to atheism or continue to suffer even in the afterlife. He lost so much already he can’t risk his salvation for the scraps of mundane happiness.
— Gallagher, go right now or I will call for the preachers and you will ascend to the heavens with me in a few hours.
Gallagher looked like someone punched him, Sunday couldn’t understand why.
— You know what? I would.
Sunday blinked.
— Stop saying nonsense.
— You shut up, Sunday. I would go with you, even die with you, if I knew for a fact that I will meet you there again.
Sunday found it hard to swallow, like his throat is being constricted with thorns. Why can't this idiot just leave him to die, he knows he can’t change anything, why is he making it even harder to do the right thing?
— If I knew something is really up there, something better for all of us, I would go with you to see you sitting in the greenest grass ever with a halo over your head and smiling.
— You have to believe…
— I want to know that you are happy.
— Gallagher…
— The only way I will know for sure is if I take you with me and make you happy myself.
— You can’t, you were very persistent at trying.
— You haven’t seen me trying yet, angel.
Sunday snorted, feeling his eyes burn.
— Don’t you want to see Robin again?
Oh no, no, he did not just…
— I will see her when it’s her time to meet me there.
— And what if you wouldn’t.
What?
— What if she’s a sinner?
— Watch your tongue.
— What if she’s in danger now and will go to hell, because sinners took her sanity away? Just like I did to you. You will never see her again, neither happy nor miserable, because she will burn forever. And you will never find your peace, even if God forgives you it wouldn’t matter, because the burden you will put on yourself will never fade away.
Sunday couldn’t breath, his throat closing completely, he reached forward, finding Gallagher’s hand so he wouldn’t crash down.
After a while he could breath out weakly:
— Fine.
Gallagher’s eyes widened in shock, at first, then his expression settled into something close to relief and determination. Sunday was too agitated to think through what just happened, the thoughts of Robin floating his mind, leaving him desperately hopeful. He’s long forgotten what that felt like, constantly forcing himself to come in terms with certain aspects of his fate. But right now he just couldn’t leave Robin here all alone, not being sure what had happened to her. He would risk it all just to make her happy. Sunday has already done such a thing once. He will do it again.
Suddenly he heard the noise behind his back. The adrenaline immediately made blood squeeze his heart. Sunday froze, too scared to turn around, but then he heard the wary words of the parishioner.
— I was told to find the betrayer… He was given the mercy of purification… Brother, what is he doing with you?
— Rejoice… — Sunday whispered, trying not to show his state, as panic washed over him again. He turned around, finally. — I was just taking our brother’s last confession.
The face of the parishioner hardened, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.
— You are no longer allowed to do that, you are rotten.
Sunday tried not to show what that verbal acknowledgement did to him on a much deeper level, where this phrase was still nearly the most mortifying thing he could hear.
The parishioner stepped closer, scanning Gallagher, who was still standing over the escape route.
— He is running away. And you are the one helping him.
Sunday’s heart dropped.
He felt Gallagher’s body next to him leaning up front, ready to attack.
He knew he had to be faster and he was. The blow was placed at Gallagher’s abdomen, causing him to lose balance and fall into the streaming water that quickly took him away.
***
Gallagher woke up with a watery inhale, choking on stinky waters he was still floating in. He wanted to throw up, that was probably the most disgusting situation he found himself in. Which was speaking volumes. And terrifying as well, that’s for sure.
He escaped the fucking cult execution, yet, he was not nearly relieved.
Gallagher moved with a weak moan, rising from a disgusting puddle where the current had carried him.
He looked around. He was not familiar with these surroundings. He was obviously on the outskirts of the city, with a bunch of production buildings around. Even if he had a phone there is no way there was any signal. Gallagher let out a growl of frustration as he kicked the nearest dustbin.
He was so close to convincing him.
He was so fucking close to saving Sunday.
Why did he have to do that?
Gallagher would easily take that guy down and they could still run together. It all looked like this inconvenience was enough to break the spell, which Robin’s name seemed to cast everytime Sunday heard it. So he chose the easiest path for himself — painful agonising death, oh wasn’t that wonderful.
Was it even worth it to save someone who has such an antagonistic attitude to the very idea?
Gallagher was absolutely sure about the answer. No.
But there is no way Gallagher is ever gonna get a healthy sleep pattern if he backs down right now. Sunday’s face will haunt him forever.
That weird, transparent and fragile connection that he had with the guy was the first and probably the last time Gallagher has experienced something like this. A magnetic urge to be near someone, bother them until their attention is on you and you only, interfere in their thought process just to never miss a single idea that crosses their mind.
To understand that infected restless mind and maybe bring it to peace. Gallagher must be the most selfish sinner under His judgement, but he was sure he could do that. He could reopen Sunday’s cloudy eyes and watch them actually look at the world and not just through it. Maybe that was the Messiah’s complex talking. Well, in that case they were one hell of a pair.
Gallagher tried to watch the surroundings more closely. He could bet he heard car noises. So the gas station should also be somewhere near, so he could call the police. And not only that.
After all, he needs to find out what was so special about that Robin .
***
Sunday loved funerals.
Unlike the majority of kids his age he didn't see it as the end of all things. He was taught to endure life as a preparation for death, so the thoughts of the eventual passing used to bring him comfort, especially after a good exhausting day of serving God, when he was absolutely sure that he was doing everything right.
So he was mostly satisfied to see a cold body, something that was left in this world to be hidden, while the pure soul would enter a better place. He remembers the feeling of calmness and warm melancholy which no longer seeing a certain member of their commune was bringing. And genuinely he just liked the procedure. Everyone’s thoughts were with the passed one. That security of a good will of the entire family following the soul on its path. Sunday used to dream of that warmth and consideration one day being dedicated to him. The commune, one by one, kissing his cold forehead and remembering him. He dreamt of being loved by them, of being the subject of their prayer.
He never thought it would end like this.
He wasn’t sure what was about to happen, but he hoped to be conscious enough to experience that collective love at last.
The first thing he noticed, as he was entering the church one last time, was a giant cross in front of him. His hands trembled and he involuntarily scratched on the back of his palm, feeling the wave of nausea and cold sweat wash all over him.
However he hasn’t seen any rods. That made him only more afraid of the upcoming procedure. It is better to know what is coming and be humble than feverishly doubt the future.
The doors behind him closed and he was gently led to his usual spot, where he used to sing hymns. There was a book already prepared for him.
The masked preacher stood in front of him facing the parish. He spoke.
— We are in the presence of God in our need and in our sorrow. We are in the presence of God in thankfulness for the life we knew and shared. We are in the presence of God
seeking hope and courage for the future. We are in the presence of God
who has promised to be with us always, till the end of time.
— Amen. — Echoed all the members of the commune.
The masked preacher turned to Sunday, waiting, expecting wordlessly.
Sunday looked at the hymns in front of him. They were for the memorial service. Sunday struggled to swallow under the piercing eyes of the entire church. They were waiting for him to start burying his own soul .
It wasn't right. It wasn’t how it’s done. Sunday knew how to do it properly. Sunday has been preparing for this day his entire childhood.
He opened his mouth and closed it again, looking at the people in front of him, who were now staring at him as if he was Satan himself. As if it wasn’t for them that the evil had taken root in him now. As if they weren’t the ones to cover him in their own poison.
Rotten.
They used him as a lift to a cleaner world, stepping on him, marking him, spitting on him, and now staring at him from above as if he hadn't offered his shoulders to lift them from the dirt.
Who is rotten here?
He wished he never let go of Gallagher’s hand. He wished he could see him in the crowd right now. Those eyes always following him would never look at him with such malice, would never see him as rotten. Gallagher would feel his anger and would share it with him.
And when Sunday is gone, Gallagher would think of him, maybe would even cry for him. And for Sunday’s tainted soul that scrap of warmth would be enough.
But now Sunday was alone. He was still alive and yet he felt colder than any corpse’s forehead he had ever kissed.
Sunday inhaled sharply and started to sing. His voice was surprisingly clear. He was trained to be perfect, after all. But there was no fullness to his words, the prayer was shallow, a mechanical repetition of sounds:
Deep peace of the running wave to you;
Deep peace of the flowing air to you;
Deep peace of the quiet earth to you;
Deep peace of the shining stars to you;
Deep peace of the gentle night to you
Moon and stars pour their healing light on you;
Deep peace of Christ, the light of the world, to you.
He sang, hearing the echoes of the words in his mind, feeling the pain from each syllable.
Sunday stopped for a second, expecting the synchronous “ Amen ”. There was none.
They all left him alone. Sunday felt like he was dying. No. Like he’s already dead. He saw it clear, like a hallucination that constantly occurred to him when he was drugged.
He saw himself, crumbling from the rot, standing in front of him, looking through him with limpid eyes full of tears of compassion. The corpse stepped closer and kissed Sunday’s forehead with its bloodless putrid lips.
Sunday sobbed like a kid.
He could never imagine himself breaking down like that in front of everyone. But he didn’t feel like there was anyone in the church besides him. He felt utterly alone. The only moment he expected to feel cherished and honored, to be loved and prayed for, he was left alone.
May the road rise up to meet you.
May the wind be always at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face;
the rain fall soft upon your fields and until we meet
again, may God hold you in the palm of His hand.
He cried, his tears blurring his vision, making it impossible to make out the written words. Sunday didn’t need them anyways he knew everything by heart.
He finished the hymn, feeling his knees buckle.The preacher caught him just in time. He started to remove Sunday’s robe, while others stepped closer to the cross, starting the preparation. There was no other sound disturbing the peace on the painted faces of the Saints looking down on Sanday from the high ceilings. Only rustle of the robes and Sunday’s own inhales.
***
Gallagher was fast. He managed to reach the police station before dusk, little did he know that it would take a few more hours to actually make the cops do their job. So he practically felt the doors of the church close behind Sunday’s frame when he glanced at the clock at a certain time. But the tac team was already on their way, they did not let Gallagher go with them, no matter how much he begged, which was a logical decision, however Gallagher was still pissed. They dropped him at the hospital for a check up, even though he obviously didn’t need one. He just needed a shower. And probably something as strong as vodka. That thought immediately made him remember the cahors that Sunday drank in front of him.
Gallagher cursed under his breath. Everything will forever remind him of Sunday, if the damn cops don’t hurry up. One of the officers stayed with him at the hospital just in case.
Gallagher remembered something that Sunday managed to tell him before he escaped. The address.
— Hey, sir? Officer?
The guy turned to him.
— I need to look into something. A place. And hopefully find someone.
The cop frowned, but still nodded, reaching for the transmitter.
Nearly an hour later Gallagher finally got the phone number, which he called as fast as he could.
— Hello? If that’s about the concert I already told you to email my manager. — The girl’s voice was patient, but still annoyed.
Gallagher was taken aback, so he just blurted out:
— No, you are Robin, right? I’m Gallagher..
— That’s really interesting, but I’m not taking any brand deals at the moment as well, so plea-
— I know Sunday.
There was silence on the other end. The girl didn’t even seem to breath.
— I’m not coming back there… — Now she sounded petrified and very quiet. — And my brother is… He’s passed away, you can’t use him to threaten me anymore. — Robin was trying to control her voice, but it was still shaking.
— No! I’m not a cult member, lady, not anymore, at least, and your brother… — Gallagher stopped finally realizing why Sunday was so driven by Robin's name. — He’s alive, at least he was, when I saw him.
— What are you saying…? — Robin sounded confused and doubtful.
— I’m saying that the police are probably gonna call you tomorrow. To say that they either saved him or… that you were right and he is really dead.
There was no answer for a while. Finally Gallagher heard a weak sob.
— Robin, if you can, please come, I’ll tell you everything. — He told her.
— Give me an address.
***
It would take a while for Robin to get to the hospital, she was on tour in another state, as it turned out.
Gallagher was left with nothing to do, simply waiting for the officer’s transmitter to rustle out any update.
He could not stay any longer in one place, so he sneaked out to wander around for a while. The hospital smelled just like Sunday’s commune did. The smell of death and hope. The only difference was that here the doctors were treating your body with distilled, spirituous iron and the cult was operating on your soul with those sterile words.
Finally Gallagher came across something that was really a connection between those two worlds. The hospital church.
For the first time ever Gallagher felt the urge to enter that building for a spiritual reason. So he did.
It was a simple chapel. Nothing fancy was needed. It was not a performative thing, wasn’t meant for rapture or homage. It was a kind place for a lost hurting soul, just like it was once intended — Gallagher believed.
So he did the only thing he could think of. He prayed.
He did not know how to, every time someone tried to teach him Gallagher felt out of place. He did not believe in God after all, what was the reason to lie and pretend. But he was not praying for himself this time, so it did not matter, because Sunday did believe and he was scared of God so much he couldn’t ask Him anything for himself. So Gallagher will ask for him.
He kneeled, stepping closer to the altar, so he could see a particularly beautiful icon, which caught his attention. It was a Lady of Sorrows, a rather simple one. But all the interpretations of her made Gallagher a little softer towards religion. There was something silent and purely tragic about her grief that actually made Gallagher sympathize with her, as if she was real, as if she was still mourning.
— I’ve never asked for anything, You know. — Gallagher started, voice hoarse and barely above whisper. — It doesn’t mean that You owe me anything, but still, I’m just saying that this one is an emergency. — Oh talking to God was awkward. — I’m asking for help. Please, help Sunday, You should’ ve seen how much You mean to him, please do not leave his side, help him get…— Gallagher stopped, thinking. Get what? What Sunday actually needs? — His salvation. — He said, finally. — The one that he deserves, the one that would not be cruel. Please, be fair to him, God.
He arose from his knees, not sure what else to say. It was only when he reached the doors, he remembered to add, rapidly:
— Amen.
***
It made no sense that the bodily imperfections could cause so much pain. That the parts of him that were designed to help him survive the harshness of this world were also the ones that were making him experience such a pain. Sunday’s entire body was on fire, even though it was only his palms that were pierced and nailed to the wood of the cross. He was shaking violently, close to the pain shock. And maybe he finally reached it. Because when he felt strong arms gripping his ankles he did not feel anything anymore.
He remembered that even Christ was doubtful, thinking that Sainity had left him to suffer alone. Sunday knew how that felt like now. It was not a sacrificial act, not a holy procedure. He felt butchered, minimized to the incompetence of his own body, torn apart until there is nothing left of his mind and therefore his soul. He felt like an insect, such an insignificant part of the world that no one questioned pinning him down.
This whole thing was supposed to make him feel worthy of salvation again, it was supposed to clean his mind of hatred, doubts and fear, instead it left him cut open, losing any last bits of his consciousness in unbearable pain. He was begging for hallucinations, for a distraction and also for a sign that he no longer belongs to himself.
And he was heard.
Suddenly everything was quiet, but not a maddening ringing silence that made him break down in the first place, but an enveloping peace. Right in front of him stood Gallagher, his brows crossed, expression collected and sympathetic. He was murmuring the words of the prayer. Repeating everything that Sunday was forced to read out for himself through tears. But Gallagher was doing it willingly, for him . He wished him peace.
Sunday closed his eyes, not being able to keep himself awake, or alive. He did not know where he was going, but he finally felt saved.
***
Gallagher has been sitting in the hospital chair for a few hours now.
They were right on time. They saved him, even though they had to take him off the fucking cross. The idea is still alien to Gallaghers mind. It felt blasphemous in the first place, but maybe Inviolability of the original religious tale was such only for non-believers. It’s not like the Bible has the patent, they can't exactly sue, right? In that case half of pop culture would have a problem.
Gallagher sighed, his eyes kept returning to Sunday’s hands covered in bandages. He felt nauseous, he was kind of happy that he wasn’t there when it all happened. He was more than willing to save Sunday, but that would be hard to do while laying flat on the face in an unconscious state. There is no way he could bear to watch that happen in front of him.
Gallagher stood up and took a few steps closer to Sunday’s bed. He was so peaceful when he wasn’t talking, or glaring at someone, or covering up his real emotions. All in all he was the most pleasant to watch when he was sleeping. But Gallagher was growing restless, he really needed to talk to him. Even though Sunday would probably hate him now. After all, Gallagher did the only thing he did not want him to do. He saved him, at least in the way Gallagher interpreted it, which meant taking him off that fucking cross a bringing him to the hospital. He just hoped that Robin would be here soon and that would magically lull Sunday into understanding.
He looked at Sunday’s face again and nearly gasped. Those cold shimmery eyes were watching him intently. Their pallid colour was making Gallagher feel like a prey that was caught into a snake's trap. Sunday was mostly harmless right now, but who knows…
— You saved me. — Sunday said, matter of factly.
Gallagher was not sure if Sunday was happy about it.
— You did that first. — He remarked, remembering the last time they saw each other. — But yeah, the police had a raid in the commune, it’s all over. They shoot down the preachers that were in the church with you, others are being interrogated as we speak . — He wasn’t sure that it was the right thing to say to a person in such a state, but he wanted to be as clear as possible that Sunday could never go back to that place.
— I don’t care. It’s not the police that saved me, it was you. — Sunday still sounded distant and too firm for someone who probably still didn’t know where they were.
Gallagher frowned and sat down next to Sunday’s knees under the blanket.
— I wasn’t there.
— You were.
— That's stupid, they insisted I stay here, I wasn’t there .
Sunday was blinking slowly, a small smile on his lips.
— You were praying for me.
Gallagher stared at him in disbelief, there is no way…
— I… I really did. — He whispered astonished. — Maybe that thing really works. — He smirked, looking up to the ceiling.
— It usually does not. — Sunday said and the smile started to slip off his face. He blinked a few times and winced. The monitor showed that his heart rate was speeding up. — Why am I on drugs? — He asked, voice suddenly weak and panicked.
— I guess they gave you the Morphine. You are in pain.
— I’d rather be in pain than out of my mind. — Sunday hissed, breathing raggedly.
— You have literal holes in your body. — Gallagher protested.
— Get that shit out of me… — Sunday exhaled shakely, eyes burning with anger of a caught and injured animal.
Gallagher already figured that there was no point in arguing with him, so he just lessened the intake of the drug.
— Not a single drop of it, I said none . — Sunday wasn’t fully convinced.
— It is zero, you will feel it pretty soon. Jesus … — Gallagher muttered, worried.
And he was right. In a few minutes Sunday’s face was covered in cold sweat and he was breathing heavily through pain, still trying to look nonchalant in front of Gallagher, who was looking accusingly at Sunday’s quivering fingers.
— That’s not as impressive as you think that is. — Gallagher commented, finally.
Sunday swallowed and gritted his teeth struggling to keep his eyes focused.
— I’m not trying to impress anyone. — He took a deeper breath. — Especially you. But I have to stay present, you have no idea what it’s like to wake up somewhere you don’t remember going with no memories of a few hours. I… — His voice broke once again. — I need to stay present. — He repeated.
Gallagher sighed. He understood, but that just won’t do.
— Sunday, I’ve been here for… — He glanced at the clock. — Six hours. With you, staying right here. I understand that you don’t feel safe, neither do I, but don’t you think that it’s sort of dumb to refuse analgesic just to pass out from exhaustion in a few more minutes with none?
Sunday looked at him annoyed, but considering.
— When you’ll wake up you’ll still be here with me. I’ll stay here, you hear me?
— Yes, I’ve heard that the first two times you said it. — Sunday said, obviously giving in. — Fine, but just… Not too much. I don’t want to pass out completely.
Gallagher nodded, relieved.
— Yeah, but you know, I still might leave to pee. Wait for a few minutes before pronouncing me a traitor, okay? — He joked, lightheartedly.
And Sunday smiled at him. Gallagher really liked the way he looked when his face wasn’t a posthumous mask.
— Your eyes look so empty normally, but when you smile they shimmer golden. — He said without thinking.
Sunday looked at him surprised, but then his gaze softened.
— Don’t provoke me while I’m high on that medicine, I might have an opinion on your eyes as well. — He said quietly and turned away from Gallagher, who was now looking at the back of his head in awe.
***
Sunday woke up with no Gallagher in the room. At least the room was really the same and as for Gallagher, well, he promised to wait for a few minutes.
There were voices behind the door, a man’s voice belonged to Gallagher, but the other one… It was a girl, and Sunday struggled to remember the sound. It was like walking through a forest that you once knew very well, but now everything has changed too much, and you seem to have lost yourself in some very familiar place.
— …that is very nice of you, but I’d like to take him home with me at least for now… — The girl’s voice answered to Gallagher. — And thank you… I thought I’d never… — Sunday could not figure out words, but his heart was already beating too fast, he didn’t dare to believe his own intuition.
The door opened, the first one to enter was Gallagher, but behind him stood the girl. Sunday knew her oh so very well.
— Robin… — He breathed out.
Robin’s lashes fluttered and she froze with tears in her eyes.
— Hi… — She whispered, now smiling.
Sunday just nodded, not being able to tear his eyes away.
Robin climbed into his bed, quickly wrapping her hands around his neck. He hurried to hug her back, but his palms throbbed with pain immediately. He hissed and Robin let go of him, just sitting in his bed now.
— I still believe in God. — She blurted out, smiling a little dumbly.
Sunday looked at her, feeling his eyes burn, he did not care .
— Are you alright? Are you happy? — He asked, hopeful, scanning her face.
— Yeah… I’m a pop star, sort of… — She said, wiping away tears. — I’m so happy to see you. — The tears flooded her eyes once again, but she only started wiping them faster.
Sunday cupped her face in his arm gently, trying not to disturb the wounds.
— Me too. — He said simply.
— Sunday, what did they do to you? Why did you do that?
Sunday smiled at her.
— I could not survive all that happening to you. So I lied to them and they took me instead. — He explained. — I tried to stay pure, but… — He glanced in Gallaghers direction, but he already left them in the room alone. — I did not succeed.
— You are still trying to keep up with their expectations? — Now she sounded concerned.
— I’m a sinner now. — He shrugged, morphine still working, not letting Sunday actually grasp what that meant to him.
— So do I! — Said Robin, frowning. — It does not mean you are going to hell, brother.
Sunday looked at her confused.
Robin was looking at him with determination now.
— Come on. — She said, jumping off Sunday’s bed and pushing the wheelchair towards him. — I’ll help you get up, but yeah come with me, I’ll show you something.
They were walking through the halls of the hospital. Well, Robin was, while Sunday sat in the wheelchair, trying to ignore the pain in his feet.
They stopped near the hospital church. Sunday glanced at Robin, but she only smiled and pushed him inside.
They stopped for a while, Robin murmuring something under her breath with closed eyes. Sunday looked at the face of the Lady of Sorrows in front of him. A beautiful icon.
— So what do you see? — Robin asked.
— A church… A simple one, a few copies of traditional icons…
— You are wrong. — Robin interrupted. — I mean obviously you are right, but you are looking at it in the wrong perspective.
Sunday looked at her, as she lowered herself down next to him, sitting right on the floor.
— It’s a sad place, my heart aches here, but it’s a good ache. It does not matter how many copies of icons are here. It would be quite the same even without them. It needs to be peaceful. That’s what it’s all about. Peace. Patients come here, when there is no hope, their relatives cry here over their losses. Even doctors come here to confess something. To talk to God and be heard. They all leave with at least some peace in their hearts.
Sunday listened to her melodic voice, and felt his insides tremble with unbearable emotion.
— All of them are sinners, God created them to be this way, it’s His design. And then He gave them strength to always try to be better.
Robin rested her head on the handle of Sunday's chair.
— Sinners make the world better in the process of making themselves better. We can’t progress in the static of perfectionism. It’s okay to be wrong, if you are willing to change that in the future.
— But all I’ve ever done was trying to be better. — Whispered Sunday.
— You’ve done it for death, not for life. God does not hate you, Sunday. He does not want you to suffer, He gave you life, don’t waste it on dying.
Sunday felt ashamed. And stupid. And so hurt, he did not know what to say to that.
—You started to hate God in the process of worshiping Him. How can that be right?
Sunday looked at her surprised.
— Did Gallagher tell you that? That I hate… — He did not dare to finish the sentence in the house of the Lord.
Robin narrowed her eyes and smiled.
— Come on, brother, I know you longer than he does, I don’t need his counsel. I figured.
The doors cracked open and Gallagher’s head peeked inside.
Robin gave him a sign that he can join them.
— You know, I might get baptized one day, after the horror that I feel every time I look at churches subsides a little. — He said, approaching them.
Robin smiled, not judging him in the least.
— Why? — Asked Sunday, not looking at Gallagher.
— I don’t know, I never had positive associations with religion before…
— Well, now you definitely have plenty… — Sunday interrupted him sarcastically.
— Would you let people speak their truth? I’d never tell you my confession, if I had a choice… — There was no malice in his voice. — You are right, but you don’t either. We can fix it together…
Sunday looked at him surprised and confused.
— If you want to, of course.
Sunday just looked at him, then glanced at Robin, who was smiling in the corner.
— Yes. I think I’d like that.