“God bless you.”

A priest in spotless white robes placed his hand on the churchgoer’s shoulder.

“Now Dan, I know that you want to do the best for your son, but you can’t expect him to always follow what you say. Each and every one of us has to go our own way at some point and your son is trying to express his independence. Just make sure to see things from his point of view.”

“Thank you, Father. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“There is nothing more I can ask for.”

The priest sighed. He watched the latest visitor to his church exit through the doors. Looking through the rows of empty pews, he walked back to the pulpit. Leaning on the podium, he perused through the bible, thinking on what to preach tomorrow. He looked up as someone entered. A small smile graced his lips.

“Solomon, it is good to you again.”

The new arrival smiled back.

“Father Lucius, it’s nice to see you again as well. How have you been?”

Lucius walked down to sit on one of the pews.

“Same old same old. My bones are creaking and my arthritis is acting up. It’s this weather, I tell you, all cold and damp. So… what brings you to my church. It’s been at least a few years.”

Solomon sat next to the priest. He hesitated. Closing his eyes, he leaned his head back and let it hang. Contemplating whether he should say the next few words, the duo sat in silence.

“Father… I need some supplies.”

He winced as the words left his mouth. He knew the reaction the priest would have and was not looking forward to it.

“I see.”

Lucius became stone-faced.

“Now why would you need “supplies” when I distinctly remember you swearing to never get involved in that life ever again. You barely left with your mind intact and for all accounts it was a clean break. It’s been six years since I saw a thin eighteen year old, crying his heart out, darkening my church door, and begging for an escape.”

The priest stood up and loomed over Solomon. His voice grew lower.

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“So what in God’s green earth are you thinking, asking me for supplies?”

Turning his face away, Solomon studied the stained-glass windows to the side, with the evening sunlight shining through and casting shadows. The faded white interior paint had cracks, showing the age of the building. He turned his head back to face Lucius. He hated himself for asking this, but he had no other choice. He saw the raised eyebrow on the priest’s face.

“Well? Do you have an answer for me or are you going to sit there?”

Locking eyes with Lucius, Solomon stared blankly.

“There’s been rumors. I heard it at the bar. You know I still get some information. There’s been some blood ritual murders going around. Apparently people have been showing up dead on the streets, od'd on a drug. A red pill called Rush…”

Solomon knew it. He saw the worried expression on Lucius’s face and could tell the priest was going to try to stop him. Lucius’s weathered hands gripped Solomon’s shoulders like a vice.

“This has nothing to do with you.”

Solomon’s eyes narrowed. Throwing Lucius’s hands off him, he stood up and was face to face with him.

“The hell it has nothing to do with me! You think its coincidence that a drug called Rush is showing up killing people? These ritual murders obviously don’t suggest anything at all. Don’t be coy with me, you know exactly why I need those supplies.”

Lucius’s brows furrowed.

“You’ve suffered so much. Why are you choosing to walk back into that life?”

Solomon chuckled.

“I didn’t choose that life.”

“Well now you are Solomon!”

“You think I had a choice! It’s my fault old man! You think now that something similar has popped up they’ll let me go? You know what I am. I’m a Dealer and a junkie. Getting hooked on his own merch, even if it was different from the rest. You helped me through a lot, but I need to do this. I’m already seeing the Shadows.”

Running his hand through his grey hair, Lucius closed his eyes.

“I swear at this rate I might start drinking again,” he muttered. Snapping his eyes open, Lucius trained them on Solomon.

“Fine. I have an emergency stash in the back room.”

Solomon sagged with relief.

“Thank you so much. I’m sorry for asking you to do this.”

Lucius grimaced.

“Don’t thank me yet.”

Lucius stalked away, opening a door nestled in the corner of the church and walking through it, leaving Solomon alone. Solomon looked at the giant cross held up in the middle of the church. He saw a man hanging from it, bloody wrists and ankles pinned to the wood. Long mangy hair trailing down on a bowed head. Dried blood splattered over the white paint. He felt a hollowness in his stomach. Blinking, the cross was plain once again.

Solomon walked toward the holy symbol. He brought his hand up to touch it. With a bang, the backroom door slammed shut. Turning to face Lucius he saw a small backpack in his hands. It was placed in Solomon’s hands.

“I’ve placed most of what you’ll need in here along with a few things extra just in case.”

“Thank you Lucius. You don’t know how much this means to me.”

The priest waved his hand in the air.

“Never mind all that. You look after yourself you hear me. I don’t wanna see your gravestone in our cemetery.”

Solomon let out a barking laugh.

“There’s no chance of that happening.”

Solomon turned around and made his way to the church’s exit. He felt Lucius’s eyes boring into his back. Turning around, he saw a small gleam in the priest’s eye. With a grim smile Lucius called out, “Don’t let your past catch up to you.”

With another laugh Solomon walked out of the church.

It already has.