Profaned by Kiel Kennedy

“I want to, I mean, I feel like I need to,” he paused, his head down, unable to look at the man with a bandaged leg and arm in a cast that sat across from him, “like I need to confess…”

She twirled her black hair around her finger, gently pulling at it, eyes going back and forth, reading the blasphemous graffiti, wondering how she would tell Chris that it had happened again; her other hand held a cross that dangled from her necklace, a comforting feeling in her palm. Regardless of how she put it to him, he would be angry. And she would worry about him. No matter how much she said “I love you,” he still had to suffer. After all, all of that is towards him. There was simply no way to avoid it.

“burn in Hell“, ”Die Godless Fucker”, “God smite you”, “Burn witch!” and others, written in green spray-paint which clashed against the bricks of their home and the dark drapes pulled closed behind the windows. Clumsily made crosses here and there, mixed with the hateful insults. But something more was added this time, something just horrible. Barbie-like dolls, earlier clothed in a white robes and hoods that were possibly cut from a bed sheet, nailed to wooden stakes and burned, had been pounded into the earth in front of their flower garden. She wished she could just make all of it disappear, to clean it all off before he knew. But, that was only false hope, as she knew she had to tell him.

He was standing in the kitchen in his boxers when she came in, back turned against her. At first she  tried to speak, but she stood there with her mouth open, the words unable to come out. The tears beginning to roll down her cheeks. Emotion gripped her and she ran up to him, wrapping her arms around his abdomen, squeezing him, face buried into his back as she cried. He was taller than she was by a whole foot. He sometimes would make jokes about it, but not this time.

“C-Chris…” The word didn’t come like she had  hoped. Choked up and nose stuffed, she would have to try her best to force  the words out. “They…they did it again!” She quickly poured out of herself. The words almost seemed to hang in the air. He said nothing. But she could feel his body tighten, especially his arms as they became rigid, hands curling into fists. She could feel his chest heaving in and out as she heard him taking deep breaths. After a while, his body relaxed, although it would only be temporary once he saw the new addition of  the horrible effigies.

Chris took in a breath and sighed. “Nat, my love, please show me.” He asked, taking her hand.

She lead him out into the yard and grabbed Chris by the side, hugging him as he looked it over. All of it. They both knew all of it was against him, all of it. He was the witch. His hand was placed on her shoulder, and to her surprise, he pushed her off of him. He walked up to the burnt dolls, nailed to burnt crosses that had been hammered into the ground. They were still wet from the water she had dumped on them this morning, when she discovered them still alight. He scolded the dolls with obscenities, and kicked the one in front of him. The wood broke off and went flying into the flowerbed that lined the front of the house. His toes swelled, his feet bare, from the impact but he ignored the pain. He stomped over to the next one, kicking it too. The hooded head of the doll flew off as the cross bent backwards. And the next one he stomped on, pressing it into the ground with his foot. Nat came up to him and squeezed him around his chest, asking him to please calm down. He pressed a hand against the side of his forehead, cursing to himself, slowly breaking into deep breathing and closing his eyes.

“Should we call the police?” She had asked him.

He shook his head. “Nah, don’t bother, they weren’t helpful last time. I doubt they’ll be any help this time, too.” It has been almost two months since the last time they were vandalized. They were both hoping that maybe, it was over, though they also knew that was only a false hope. It had been about a year and a half since the first time they were vandalized. Graffiti seemed to always be involved, although neither Chris nor Nat knew who was doing it. At first, they had the police to help, but they couldn’t find who was doing it either. When the police department budget was cut, Chris and Nat could not get the police to help; the department was too strained.

“Maybe I should take the day off from work.” Chris had said, rubbing behind one of Nat’s shoulders,  his arm around her.

“It’s okay, hun. I’ll clean up what I can.”

Chris agreed with her, sulking as he went to get ready, leaving her behind in the front yard as she picked up the pieces of wood and burnt doll and cloth. Tears ran down her cheeks as she labored, her heart feeling sullen and hurt. She knew that she could not understand the pain he felt of being victimized by such prejudicial hate. All she could do is be there for him when it happens. She knew that it helps him, just as he helps her in her times of need. But why? Why do people hate him so much because of his belief? How could people be so cruel? So cold-hearted? It was as she was lost in those thoughts when she had realized the chill of the Autumn morning, her body shivering beneath her robe. There was darkness in the sky, not far off, thick black clouds, the sounds of thunder now starting to be in earshot. A storm was coming and it looked like a bad one.

The first rain of the storm hit while Chris was at work. It was nothing more than a light shower, though the rumbling of thunder steadily increased in both frequency and volume, the wind blowing harder by the hour. By the time work was over,  the storm had hit full force. It tore any chance of peaceful weather asunder with the titanic crash of thunder that rolled over the tops of the buildings like an angry beast, roaring its rage to the world below. The sky alive with deadly lightning. Bolts of power reached down from the black sky, attempting to grab at the world, coming short. The rain came down in a torrent, drenching everything.  The bus continued to make its way to the stops amidst the ravages of the  furious storm. Chris watched the driver out of boredom. He noticed how dull and monotonous the diver was, robotic at his job. Whenever someone took a moment longer when using their bus card or paying the fair, the driver grew a look of annoyance across his face, every time.

The rain continued to pound when it came to his stop.  He had forgotten to bring an umbrella, and unfortunately for him, his home was a few houses down. He took a deep breath, and ran down the slick, wet sidewalk, the wind blowing hard against him, trying to make him fall into the muddy grass. More than once did he think that, that was the gust that did it, feeling his feet starting to trip, his body being pushed against its will, but he managed to stay on his feet. It took several minutes longer than it would have, and as he struggled with the key to his front door; he had been completely drenched.

The lock clicked and as he pushed the door open, he declared to his wife that he was home. She appeared before him in the doorway to the living room, standing there long enough to make him question what was wrong. Instead of an answer, she fell against him, reaching around behind him and hugging him tight, face buried into his chest. She was sobbing.

“Nat…what happened?”

Through the choking crying she said that they had called again, mocking her for being his wife. When the harassment first began a year and a half ago, harassing the two of them over the phone was frequent. While now most of what they did was vandalism, they still got phone calls, though less frequently. They harassed Nat because of her relationship with him; at first, he blamed himself for them targeting her, because she was only being teased due to her association with him. First she was harassed for being a woman back in her home country, and now, because she is his lover. 

When the phone rang earlier that evening, she was busy cooking dinner for herself. As soon as she had answered the phone, the voices of young men had screamed over the phone at her. They called her traitor, and scolded her for loving a devil worshipper, that she had insulted God, that she was going to burn in Hell with her husband. They called her a whore, and by the time she hung up on them, tears were streaming down her face. She wasn’t feeling hungry anymore, and her food had burned anyway. She sat, crying to herself, staring at the television, waiting until Chris got home, longing for his comfort and the warmth of his love.

A huge crash of thunder, the burst of lightning seeming to be right overhead as a sudden illumination lit the entire house for just a blink of an eye before fading into the dimness of the television and lamp from the living room, the light trying to push against the darkness of the front hall, Nat jumping at the thunder and lighting. She has always had a fear of storms, ever since a child growing up in Indonesia. The front of Nat’s pajamas being soaked from the wetness of Chris’ own clothing, exposing the curves of her body. Chris took her hand and lead her into the bedroom. He was cold and wet, in need of a change of clothes, and his wife could use a new pajama top as well. At least, that is what he had thought at first, but instead it had ended up with him deciding to take a hot shower. Nat snuck into the bathroom as he was in the shower, her clothes already off, and joined him in the steamy shower. They made love there, before moving into the bedroom to continue, both of them falling asleep together, the television playing quietly in the background as a comedian went on with his standup special of various adult topics. The storm finally passed during the middle of the night as they slept.

The night following the thunderstorm, Chris felt a depression in his heart. He felt like he needed to let it out, perhaps finding guidance within himself. The attic of their single story home had been rebuilt just before they rented the home; the floor was fixed up, new walling was placed over the rafters to hide dangerously exposed nails beneath. The lighting had been fixed as well, wires previously exposed now properly covered. The attic had been turned into a private space for Chris, an altar of fine oak had been pushed to the back of the attic, in a way that Chris could face North as he prayed, the direction of Earth Element. Lush purple velvet draped over the  table, with adornments that had been placed carefully upon it; four candles, each of a different color, in each compass direction, standing atop on a rounded slice of wood cut from a tree or one of its limbs and the flat sides sanded to a smoothness. Objects, one to both the left and right of each candle, and two statues along with a book were in the center, a male to the left and female on the right. Simple, short candelabras stood up from the floor to the sides of the altar, not for ceremony but just for the light of their candles as Chris preferred the lights turned off when prayer, even informal, the light-holding arms stretching up into the darkness, protecting him and the altar from the veil of blindness, the candles on the altar also alight, a reassurance to fend off the invading black depths. Chris sat cross-legged on the floor, a cushion being used as a seat.

The palm of his right hand was pressed against the side of his forehead, gripping his hair as his head hung down, his other pressing down on his left knee as he sat.

“My Goddess, I don’t know what I should do.” He paused for a moment, thinking to himself. “I cannot bear the thought of my wife being harassed and yet she is. Although she has told me before that I hold no blame in it, I still feel it deep inside. This wouldn’t have happened to her if she wasn’t with me. I brought this hate to her.”

His voice carried down through the floor of the attic, into the bedroom below where it hung there in the nighttime silence. Nat had not yet fallen asleep, and now she listened to what he was saying, though he was unaware. She loved him dearly, and had no intention to leave him. She had always thought that he was the one really suffering, that if he must endure the hate, she can endure what happens to her, because it was as of nothing to what he must’ve felt. Although he knew her feelings, he had always been too hard on himself, always wanting to shoulder a blame that wasn’t there. Ever since they first met, he had always thought to put another's happiness above his own, sometimes too much. His care of others is one of the reasons she fell in love with him, as he tried to make her feel better whenever she was saddened. He made her feel better.

“My Goddess Freja, I ask that may I find guidance.”

Nat slowly rolled off the bed, onto her knees. Pressing her hands together, fingers laced, she closed her eyes and start to pray quietly to God. She gave her thanks to Him, for everything that He has given her and Chris. Asked Him to protect them from those who have done them ill in recent times. She paused for a moment, clearing her thoughts. She went on to ask God to continue watching over Chris and herself, and to give them both strength to surpass the obstacles that they may encounter in the future. A sigh escaped from her before she gave thanks to Him. With a soft whisper into the lonely night of the bedroom, she closed her prayer with an “Amen” before crawling back into the bed. By the time her husband had joined her, she had already fallen asleep. He kissed her forehead before falling asleep himself.

“Hurry up John, you fucking pussy!”

He didn’t want to do these things anymore. They all have gone too far, and yet, they won’t let him stop, won’t let him walk away. He reluctantly hammered in the cross. It was wet and smelled funny; before coming here to do this again, they doused all of these wretched things in kerosene.

A sudden chill went down his back as the wind blew, ruffling his jacket and hair. It was stronger tonight than it had been recently. He repeated again that they should stop this. And like last time, angry looks, insults, and having the middle finger raised at him. Marcus pulls out his lighter, holding the  flame at the bottom of the effigy’s clothing. It didn’t take long for it to become engulfed, the wind teasing the flames, pushing them out in the direction of the house. He went around lighting the rest, Adam still finishing up on the last.

“Screw it dude, let’s light it up already.” Marcus crouched down in front of it, holding his lighter ready.

Adam mentioned that he wasn’t done pounding it in.

Marcus said it didn’t matter as he held the lighter to the bottom of the doll, spinning the lighter’s wheel. It blazed up after a few tries, the flame grabbing onto the cloth, quickly crawling up  the damned thing.

John thought it was too close to the flower bed. It bothered him. He couldn’t shake the feeling something was going to happen. He turned to see Louis snap a picture of their little project, a big grin on his face; that bastard, enjoying it.

“Come on, let’s get the fuck outta here!” Marcus ran over to the car, sliding across the hood and practically jumping into the driver’s seat. Louis called shotgun as Adam and Erick came running up, leaving John to stand there, staring at what they had done. He felt a tightness in his stomach again, slowly taking a few steps back before turning around and running to the car. While all the others were going on joyously, he sat there in silence, staring out the window of the car.

Chris and Nat laid asleep when a chubby, soft, fine-furred fuzzball of a tabby cat jumped onto the bed, meowing, crawling over Chris, making a fuss about something, dragging him out into the realm of half-sleep with a yawn.

“Hina…go lay down…” He pushed her off the bed, turning over on his other side,  yawning again.

The cat refused to obey, getting back up and fussing even more, taking to crawling over Nat as well, nudging her head into the both of them. Hina never acted like this before. Chris pulled the covers off as he sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, rubbing the back of his head as he yawned a third time.

“Hina, what’s up with you?” Chris asked.

She jumped off of Nat’s stomach, and squatted in front of the window, looking up at it for a moment before leaping onto the sill, pawing wildly at the window, the drapes pulled closed. It was only as he approached it did he notice the smell, and pulled the drapes open. The sky looked awkward; moving, alive. Smoke. Pounding his palms against the glass, face pressed against it, he could see the flames below the window kissing the bricks of their house.

“Natalie! Wake up!” He rushed over to her, pushed hard against her shoulder, yelling that there was a fire to her.

She jumped out of bed as Chris donned a robe over his naked body. She was already out the door when he made it outside, standing in the middle of the walkway, her mouth agape and body frozen in place. Chris grabbed her arm and practically dragged her over to the water spout, commanding her to turn on the water. With the hose in hand, he hurried over to the flowers, ignoring the burning crosses for later. Holding his thumb over the end of the hose, he sprayed indiscriminately, the fire eventually dying down to wet ash. 

The garden he worked so hard on, destroyed. Flowers, things of beauty, of growth, burned in the poisoned flames of hate. As his eyes wandered, almost tear-filled, across the damage of his hobby and passion, his wife having taken the hose from him to put out the effigies, the wind blowing against his back, he started to realize what had happened. One of the burning crosses had fallen onto the moist ground, likely pushed over by a strong gust, most of it ending up among the flowers. The rest was obvious. Chris went back inside the house, ending up sitting at the kitchen table the rest of the night. Nat tried to comfort him, but went back to bed when she was unsuccessful to cheer him up.

It had been a few days, and Chris still seemed down to his wife. He didn’t say very much, and seemed to have spent a lot of time recently in the attic; she didn’t believe he was trying to avoid her, rather, he wanted to be alone, and when he wasn’t in the attic, he just sat around after work. Not even Hina got much out of him and she almost always could make him feel better. She rubbed up against his leg, jumped onto the table, and spun around in front of him, tail whapping his face as his arm supported his head up, elbow resting on the table. Chris mumbled something unintelligible. Hina persisted for his attention before eventually giving up, unsuccessful.

She decided to jump off, wandering around the house. There was nothing to do, though. The scratching post has been scratched, the catnip mouse wasn’t interesting tonight, and there was nothing to chase. Perhaps something interesting outside might present itself for the opportunity to have fun with. She stalked around to the back door, pawing at it until Chris let her out. Pressed against the side of the house, she made her way around to the front, hunting among the grass of the front lawn in the darkness of night, predator against prey.

“Hey you fuckers, is that his fucking cat?” The voice was slurred, irregular. Another agreed, mentioning the name Marcus. A group of people, standing in front of the house, the smell of marijuana and alcohol strong. One of them was holding a device, square-like with a large, round protrusion in the front, a small red glow next to it. A rectangular extension jutted out from the side of the device, the young man focusing on whatever it was, wording on the back of it, perhaps a company name. Another one of them was holding a white plastic bag before he dropped it on the ground, a can of spray paint falling out. The cat sat down, staring up at them, tail swishing back and forth.

 One of the young men squatted down in front of her, slowly reaching out his hand. She purred as he put his hand on her head and rubbing his fingers between her ears. One of the others came up, staring down at her. She was met with a kick to her side, knocking her over. The first young man stood up in protest.

“What the hell are you doing Marcus! It’s just a cat!” He pushed the kicker in his shoulders, forcing him to take a step back.

“Don’t fuck with me John, you fucking cock-licker!”

A fist went flying into John’s face, blood spurting from his nose and jaw, sending him backwards onto his butt, unable to stop the next kick into the poor cat’s hind quarter as she tried to stand up. The man with the device had it pointed at her, laughing.

“It’s that godless fuck’s cat!” He stomped on her tail, sending pain through her already hurt body, blood dripping into her fur.

One of the others came up to join in, a quick step on her ribs, one cracking beneath his shoe. A third joined, his foot connecting to her chest, soon followed by a swift heel to her lower back. Pain wracked her body as they continued their relentless attack on her, the young man who petted her trying to pull them off, suffering from blows and jabs himself, face bloodied, chest and arms bruised beneath his clothing. She felt a longing for her master, his warm hands gently rubbing her head and sides, playing with her tail. There was a sudden slam into her back which sent her rolling, one of her legs snapping and a large crack in her back. Blood covered her fur. They were screaming at her.

One of her assailants suddenly howled in pain, a hard branch across his back, followed by a angry, intense roar of unhinged rage.

“Leave Hina alone!” Chris stood with both hands squeezed around the tree’s limb, his knuckles white and face bright red and hot. There was yells to run away, the young man who tried to help left behind, himself beaten up. He met Chris’ eyes for a moment. He couldn’t look any more than that; he was unable to do so even if he had wanted. He took a step back before turning and running away like the others.

The branch fell to the earth. Chris stood in place.

“Hina…Hina stay alive, please!” The tears rolled down his face as he slowly picked her up, holding her in his arms, rushing her to the car. He struggled to get the passenger side door open, ending up crouched down till his hand was level with the lock, maneuvering himself around the door as he pushed it open with is head and shoulder. With Hina laying down on the seat, the blood staining its fabric, he rushed her over to the emergency veterinary clinic. He would later be thankful that they were opened all night.

Kaylee put a hand over her mouth and yawned. Tonight was a dull night, the worse being some old lady who thought her dog was sick. Turned out he was just constipated. Some nights were pretty wild though; sadly, not all of them make it. But, she still helped in some way to save a lot of animals who otherwise wouldn’t have made it. She could hear Doctor Lamont singing to Alice Cooper’s song “I’m Eighteen” as the radio pushed out classic rock tunes, his Scottish accent making her laugh behind the nurse’s counter. Her smile was soon killed as the glass door was kicked open, swinging wide as he ran through, holding his cat, face and cheeks wet with tears, screaming that he needs help right away.

“Chris!” It took a moment for Kaylee to realize it was him, but once she saw, she knew it was him for sure. And she knew that was Hina in his arms. “Glenn! It’s bad!” She yelled to him, unaware he was coming up behind her. Even he looked shocked by it.

“Come on, bring it this way!” The vet hurried Chris into one of the rooms, laying her down on a metal table. He didn’t hesitate to get started on the animal. “Kaylee, get in here!”

As soon as she came through the door, he was barking order at her like the alpha of a wolf pack, demanding the respect of her and her obedience. He had Kaylee get Chris out of the room so that he wouldn’t get in the way.

“Sorry Chris, it’ll be easier not to have you in there. Go sit and I’ll let you know later.” The door closed behind him, leaving him alone to stand there. He paced around the waiting room, fondling with his cell phone as it rumbled in his shaking hands, attempt after attempt to dial the number failing in misdials, streams of obscenities falling from his mouth as Led Zeppelin filled one of the rooms, fading into commercials as he finally managed to get a hold of his wife’s cell phone. He was greeted with a automated female voice, rambling on about leaving a message on the phone’s voice mail. All he said was there was an emergency with Hina and to call his cell phone.

“Fuck!” He yelled out to himself, closing his phone and slipping it into his pocket. He slumped into one of the poorly cushioned chairs, his legs splayed out before him. The tears have started again. Time seemed to still, slowly crawling along, a laughing bitch in the face of heartache, a torture on the soul. It was hard to breath as his throat filled with mucus, nose stuffed and eyes puffy. He didn’t know how long he sat there crying. It felt like hours, yet the tears wouldn’t stop. Refused to stop. He prayed to Goddess Freja to let Hina live, prayed to her out loud in the empty waiting room. He loved his kitty ever since they found her wandering a ditch, still a young kitty. She was so thin, her fur was covered in filth. But they took her in, fed her, washed her, got her shots, and had been beloved by them both ever since. This wasn’t her time, it couldn’t have been, not like this. He felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Well, we both should thank the Goddess, ‘cause she feels the same.” Kaylee was standing beside him, looking down at his face. She was smiling. “Chris…Doctor Lamont is very good. He’ll take good care of her, trust me on this.” She sat next to him, rubbing his shoulder as she went into the details. Hina suffered from several broken ribs, her front left leg, two vertebrate, and her tail. There was some internal bleeding as well, along with external bleeding due to the breaking of bones puncturing her skin, but to much surprise, nothing vital was seriously damaged. Although she’d be in some pain for a while still, Lamont expected her to make a full recovery even though it may take a while. But he felt confident she won’t pass on to the next life, not this time.

Kaylee, although a few years younger than him, was a really good friend to Chris. She had served as a volunteer to the ASPCA, and helped rehabilitate animals both large and small. And it was Chris who encouraged her to go for a veterinary degree. Kaylee was also a fellow witch, though she was a member of a coven in contrast to Chris who preferred to be a solitary practitioner. She knew that he was being victimized, both from him and his wife, even helping to clean up occasionally. Nat had already told her about the effigies that had been strewed across their lawn.

“It was them, wasn’t it? The ones who’ve been causing you trouble.” She laid her head back against the wall, closing her eyes.

He nodded. “Yeah.”

“You know, Chris,” she paused. “You really should have called the police earlier. I think they would’ve taken notice of something like burning shit in your yard.” She sighed. “Well, you have a case now. Don’t think they can simply ignore it anymore.”

His cell started to ring, and knowing it was Nat, he asked if Kaylee could talk to her instead. Although he was relieved to hear what she had to say, he still couldn’t articulate his thoughts at the moment. Plus she knew more of the specific details than he. She agreed, explaining everything to Nat, telling her how Chris was doing, what clinic they were at. Before she said her goodbye, she told Nat she should stay home, and that she would send Chris home. After she hung up, Chris tried to argue about staying, but Kaylee eventually got him to leave. There wasn’t anything more he could do to help without veterinary education, and he could probably use his wife more than he need her. She knew Hina and would see to it she got the best of what they could offer her, and she knew that Glenn would treat the poor cat as if she was his own child.

Chris dragged his way into the living room, Nat simply watching him as he sat on the couch and sulked. It felt so unlike him.

“Chris…” She pushed her hands gently onto his shoulders. “Talk about it, for me. Please.”

He refused, saying he would be alright, but she felt otherwise, pleading for him to open up, only to be rejected again. This really wasn’t like him; she could almost hear the thundering storm taking place in his heart.

“Chris. I know something is wrong, I know you’re not going to be fine. I am your wife, and you need to open up. You have been acting strangely for the last few days.” She moved around in front of him.” I’m worried about you, Chris. Talk to me about this, she was my cat, too, and you are my husband.”

He repeated himself, that he was going to be fine, that he just had stuff on his mind, but is tone was harsher, sounding more annoyed.

“Damn it Chris, I know that’s not true!” She yelled back at him, her body stiff.

“Fine! I have a lot I’m going through, alright? There! I said it!” He stood up before her, seeming to tower over her but she stood her ground against him. “I just saw our cat nearly beaten to death and it’s my fucking fault!” He volume raised as he felt an uncomfortable heat burn in his face. “If I hadn’t let her outside, she would still be here with us tonight!”

Nat’s jaw clenched as she closed her eyes. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing!

“Chris! You are such an idiot! This is not your fault, you, you, you…you stupid! None of this was your fault! There’s nothing for you to blame yourself for!”

“You’ve been harassed, our cat nearly died, and just because you’re all with me! How can you say I have no blame? If you weren’t with me, none of this would happen to you! Why don’t you just leave before you get hurt too!”

And that did it. Nat couldn’t take any more of his self-accusation. She spread out her hand, and raised it to her side. Then there was a loud slap as she brought it against his face, leaving his cheek red. His eye widened with surprise.

“Chris…I heard what you said in the attic the other night. If I thought I couldn’t take what has been happening, I think, I would have considered leaving by now. But I haven’t, not once.” She put her head on his chest. “You shouldn’t blame yourself for any of this. You are not the one doing these things, they are. And I’ve always  loved you, Chris.”

He closed his eyes, letting her hold him, rubbing her face against his chest. He asked if he could take a walk alone, just to clear his head. She let him go without a fight.

“I’m going to get that asshole!” He repeated, the others in the car going on about he should get what he deserves, about how he should burn in Hell, and other malicious statements. The lights of their car turned off as they slowly crept far behind him. He hadn’t noticed they were following him since he left his house, as he walked alone down the sidewalk, waiting for him to get some distance from his home. He was coming up to a stop sign, and it will be there they will get him for what he did to Marcus, his back still aching. When  it was offered someone else would drive, he blew up in their faces; he was going to drive, so everyone else can shut the hell about it. But this time, if he tried that again, he would get a bullet in him.

Marcus grinned at the weight of the gun in his pants’ pocket. The witch paused at the sign. Marcus accelerated then slammed on the brakes, stopping near him, all four piling out of the car, surrounding him.

“You…you god damn bastards!” Chris knew it was them. He saw the kid with the video camera earlier, and no mistake it was him again. The street light casted a white fluorescent spotlight on them, cutting into the blackness of the night, the final ray of hope against the all-devouring. A fist smashed into Chris’ chest, knocking the air out of his lung, someone grabbing his leg and forcing him face down onto the pavement. The four of them kicked in every inch of him. His arms, back, legs and chest. Bones cracked as they broke, and they were laughing and hollering, enjoying the torture as Chris screamed out in the immense pain. Then there was the loud bang of a gunshot. A second shot. Blood poured from wounds in Chris’ right leg as he howled in pain.

“Holy…holy shit dude! You shot him!” The one with the camera let out. “We have to get out of here!” But they stood there for a few more moments before clumsily jumping into the car and taking off. One of the neighbors, an elderly woman, looked around after hearing the gunshots, and saw what had happened. She ran out to check on him after calling 911. In what voice he could manage, he asked her to call his wife, giving the kindly woman his phone number. Nat was there in moments, staying beside him as a crowd started to gather around, and riding in the ambulance.

After almost a week in the hospital, Chris was released to go home. He couldn’t do much with his injuries. Four broken ribs, his left shoulder blade and arm had been cracked and broken. It hurt to eat because of the damage to his jaw, but the doctor said it would go away eventually. His right leg had been shot twice. He sat on the couch, watching the television, Nat in the kitchen cooking lunch for them both when there was a knock at the door.

“Hunny, someone’s at the door!” he called out. She said she would be there soon, coming out a moment later with a dish towel in her hand. A young man was at the door, his face badly bruised. He introduced himself as John, and asked to see his husband; she told him to hold on while she asked if he was up seeing the young man. Chris agreed.

His head was hung down, hand grasping the cross that hung around his neck. Chris had Nat bring out one of the kitchen chairs for him to sit on. Chris remembered that face. He remembered seeing him pulling off one of the other men from Hina.

“How…is your cat?” He asked as Nat sat on the couch next to her husband, she asking back how he knew about their cat.

“I was,” he stopped, taking a deep breath, “I was there. I tried to stop them, but-”

“Nat. May me and the boy have a minute alone, please? You should go make sure the food doesn’t burn.” She nodded, leaving into the kitchen.

“I, I’m sorry, did I come at a bad time?”

Chris shook his head. “No, it’s fine.” They sat in silence for what seem like an uncomfortable eternity, neither could stare each other in the face.

“I want to, I mean, I feel like I need to,” he paused, “like I need to confess to you.” Chris looked up at the John, though the boy’s head still hung, staring at the carpet.

“I saw what you tried to do for Hina, our cat. Didn’t see much, but enough. And you’ve came here to talk to me after everything they’ve done. I’m surprised, you’ve got lots of courage in you.” He paused, stretching his good arm. “She’s in bad shape. But they told me she’ll be alright once she heals up.” The boy said something to himself about thanking the Lord. “So then, you said you want to confess, well, have at it. Say what you need to say.”

He started by going into how he got involved, a former friend of Erick who convinced him to hang out with the group. Not long after, they heard about Chris, how he was a witch. The rumors started when he was seen with a group of others known to be of the same faith in the park. A new face among them would always cause rumors in the religious cliques. It was later when Marcus overheard John’s sister talking over the phone with Chris, and although he, John, didn’t know what it was, Marcus said it confirmed the rumors, and he managed to get his phone number off from the caller ID. It was also through those crowds at school that word of where he lived got through to Marcus. Nat stepped in to offer the boy a drink, who asked for a Coke.

After he found out, he started culling this group, talking about things such as the phone calls and later, vandalism. Going on about how “his” kind are evil, how they devil-worshippers. How they needed to be stopped from spreading their plague. How God hates them. At first, John joined in though with reluctance; eventually his guilt got through to him and he tried to leave, but they bullied him to stay in, threatening him. He pulled up his sleeves to show Chris the bruises and cigarette burns on his arms.

“So is that why you’re here then?”

“Yeah, but there’s more than just that. I’ve tried not to go with them, and I’ve tried to stop them. But, I don’t think I’m supposed to be doing this. They’re wrong about everything. I don’t think could call myself a good Christian if I didn’t try to make things right with you.” He put his head down again, tears swelling in his eyes, dripping onto his shirt and pants. “Kaylee helped set me straight. She explained things to me.” The mention of Kaylee caught Chris by surprise.

“You know her?”

“Yeah…she’s my sister.” After he heard about the cat from Kaylee, and after she heard he had been shot, he felt a deep guilt in his heart. He couldn’t bear it anymore, this isn’t what God would have wanted; if anything, they are the ones acting like devils, not the man they’ve been attacking. He felt like he needed to talk with someone, and he thought of his sister. She was horrified to hear that they were the ones doing it, and yet, felt pride in her little brother for wanting to make amends. Then she herself told him the truth; that she, too, was a witch. While Chris was in the hospital, she taught him about their faith. That not all Wiccans were witches, and vice versa, as some believe, nor do they do not worship Satan. What covens and solitary practitioners were. She explained the pentagon and the elements to him. And it was thanks to her that he managed the courage to come talk to Chris. By the end of his story, John was crying hard, stammering apologies to both Chris and Nat, who had walked in during the middle of it.

“Listen, if you want to help make things right, then I think I can forgive you. Not just because you helped Hina, or that you are Kaylee’s brother, but that you came here to apologize after everything that happened. But I think, both me and my wife would agree, that the only way to stop them is to have them put on trial in court. Will you help us?”

John looked up into both their faces, and agreed.

At first, the trial was covered just through local news, as it was a good media story, and when CNN picked it up, it spread like wildfire among the major news networks. Soon, it seemed like the whole nation knew of it. Video tapes and photographs, along with marijuana and alcohol, were found and confiscated as evidence in the homes of both Marcus and Louis. John testified against all four of them, Marcus, Louis, Erick, and Adam. Then more evidence turned up of church officials not only supporting what the boys have been doing, but a few of them, especially one of the pastors, were helping, lending them money to buy things such as spray paint and kerosene, helping in making the effigies. Nationwide, there was an uprising of Wiccans and witches and other neopagan denominations, coming out to the public about their faith and protesting against the religious groups who argued against them, and throwing their support behind Chris and his wife. The trial was longer than what was expected, but in the end, there was justice and satisfaction. All four boys were tried as adults, and all four convicted of their crimes.