The following is a look at three different Orb-centric religions that have come into being ever since Touched began to be a thing in this world.
The Church Of The Resonant Call
In the middle of a grassy park, a tall man with short blond hair carefully set a bowl full of punch in the middle of the folding table he had just set up. He wore a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and dark pants. The tie he had originally shown up wearing was balled up in his pocket, and the suit jacket was draped over one of several dozen nearby folding chairs that had been arranged in neat rows in front of a wooden podium.
The man’s name was Maurice Alverson. Several decades earlier, he had graduated from medical school and even started up a decent private practice. Then things had changed. The orbs had begun to appear and give people incredible gifts. Maurice had seen it for himself when his own son touched one of the orbs and became one of those empowered people. Though only thirteen years old when he’d first Touched, Jake had become incredibly strong, capable of lifting an entire full sized car with one hand. To say nothing of what he could do with both. And he had only got stronger as he grew.
Unfortunately, physical strength was one thing. There was another sort of strength, and Jake… As his thoughts turned that way, Maurice forcibly pushed them back. Now wasn’t the time to dwell on his son’s fall to gambling, or the fact that he spent all his time in Vegas these days playing bouncer and enforcer for criminals. Today was meant to be a celebration. So he pushed those dark thoughts aside and focused.
After his son had become one of the Touched, and had even gone into the then-fledgling Minority system for a while, Maurice had become involved as well. And after his son left to become… what he was now, he stayed involved. One of the other fathers he had become close to through their children being part of the Minority had introduced him to a group that called themselves The Resonant Call. At one time, they had been a very small group meeting at an old church late at night. But their membership grew quickly in those early days, as the man who had founded their group, a man who abandoned his previous faith with the arrival of the Orbs, continued to convince more and more people that the Orbs themselves were even more than they appeared to be. What had begun as twenty to thirty people meeting in the basement of a church for an hour a week had expanded into a membership of at least fifty thousand across several states here in the midwestern US.
They were large enough by this point that their founder, Gregor Diamati, had to constantly travel to visit each congregation. Which he did under his own dime. The man was independently wealthy, and had never asked for anything monetarily from his people. He insisted that they give their money to the communities they lived in, to help enrich and improve those areas. Everywhere he set up one of his groups, Diamati also established very specific rules. The churches they built or bought had to be used to give shelter to those in need. The main room could be used for worship, but while it was not in use, it and the rest of the building were to be given over for anyone who needed a place to rest. So long as they followed the rules of the building, which mostly involved cleaning up after themselves, not harming or harassing other residents, and remaining respectful of the service while it was in session, all were welcome. There was no requirement that they be a part of the religion, or even attend. As Diamati put it, the Orbs made no distinction between race, gender, position in life, or anything else, so neither would his church. They were there to offer a time and place to worship the Orbs that had brought their gifts to this world, and to emulate those gifts by providing food and shelter to those in need, no matter what their circumstances might have been.
Yes, Diamati was a very good man. And a very busy one. He traveled throughout all of his churches, ensuring they weren’t being put to ill-use. Today was the first time in more than six months that he would be back here, visiting the very first congregation he had put together. That was why this was a special day, during which Maurice was not going to allow his thoughts to dwell on his son.
Thankfully, the sound of footsteps helped with that. The man turned with a bright smile on his face to see several more people approaching with folding chairs under their arms, brought over from the full pickup truck he’d parked in the nearby lot. The nearest, an older gentleman with gray hair and dark skin, called out a greeting. “Morning, Maury! You think we're gonna have a good turnout today?”
“I hope so, Eddie,” Maurice replied easily even as he moved to help take a couple of the chairs from the man. “Really don’t want old Gregor to think we’re slacking off here.”
His words brought an assortment of chuckles, while they all moved to arrange the chairs near the others. Together, he and the rest of the group walked back to the truck to get even more of them, along with the food, cups, and plates that needed to be set out on the table. Before long, the rest of the congregation would begin showing up. They were bound to have a full crowd today. They always did whenever Gregor was there to give a talk. Gregor. That was what he insisted they call him. He wasn’t known as Pastor or Father or even Brother. Nor were any of the others he allowed to run services under his banner. They went by first names in this church. He insisted that titles created a separation between member and speaker that he didn’t want. Which was another thing. Those who led the congregation in worship were known as speakers, not preachers. Their job was to speak, and to lead discussions everyone was allowed-- no, encouraged to participate in.
Soon, more and more people showed up, filling the small parking lot as they brought their own supplies. There were several hundred chairs all lined up in this section of the park. They had gone to the city for a permit to hold their reunion with the church founder out here, of course. He wanted to hold it here rather than in the church building down the street, preferring the fresh air and bright sunshine these days.
An air of excitement began to grow as the time of his arrival drew closer. The faithful of the Resonant Call didn't worship Gregor Diamati of course. He wouldn't have stood for it if they tried. All glory was meant to go to the Orbs for the gifts that they brought. He was simply a man of great earthly wealth, who used that money to build a large congregation that could help spread the message to aid and care for one another. The orbs brought power and opportunity. Diamati saw it as his duty to help, both in more material ways, and by teaching others that the orbs were messengers from a much higher power.
Finally, a red and white sedan pulled into the lot. It was a newer car, though not top of the line. It was just a few years old, but with enough miles on it to match one several times its age. As soon as they saw the familiar vehicle, a hush fell over the assembled group. They watched as the car came to a halt, idling briefly before the engine was shut off. First the passenger door opened, and Gregor Diamati’s bodyguard stepped out. He was a Touched man known only as Vicks, a heavily-tanned, dark-haired figure whose locks were long and curly. He wore a red suit with a black shirt and tie, his powers revolving around the creation and control of golem animals made of stone. He went everywhere with the church founder, and had ever since he joined as the sixth member.
Only once Vicks had surveyed the park and said something toward the car did the driver's door open. And then, he emerged. The founder of their religion stepped out of his sedan and came into view. He was, from an outside perspective, not that impressive looking. He stood only a few inches over five feet, and was not only visibly paunchy, but also almost entirely bald, save for a ring of hair around the back of his head. More than one person had made comparisons to the character of George Costanza, from the old Seinfeld sitcom.
In his own past life, before the Touched became a thing, Diamati had traded in antiques. He had built an entire business around that from the ground up, and was a millionaire when people first began to demonstrate powers. One night, an ordinary street gang had ambushed the man outside his mansion and attempted to torture and kill him and his family. In the midst of that, one of the very first people to gain powers and actively use them to do good things had noticed what was going on. His name, or at least the one he was known by, was Blackwalk. With his shadow beast powers, Blackwalk had disabled the attackers and saved Diamati and his family. He’d arrived just in time to stop the man's five year old daughter from being shot in the head.
That was why Gregor Diamati devoted the entire rest of his life to creating and maintaining a church that would preach about the glory and power of the orbs that brought these powers. He believed that whether the powers were used for good or evil was the choice of those they were given to. Evil was the fault of human beings. The orbs were sent from a power far beyond comprehension. They came to provide opportunity, as well as some chance for the Earth to defend itself against the Abyssals.
Some out there, of course, believed that the Abyssals were Touched who had been corrupted. Diamati and his followers, however, knew the truth. The Abyssals would always have come. And without the Orbs, they would have overrun the world already. The Abyssals were demons, and the Orbs had been sent as messengers to give humanity the power they needed to stop those demons.
Smiling as he approached his first congregation, Diamati greeted them all by name. The same near perfect memory that had served him so well in business when he traded in antiques also helped him remember all of his people. No matter where he went, no matter how large his flock became, the man always knew their names.
“Maurice,” he greeted the man in question while shaking his hand, “it's so good to see you again. I want you to know that I looked in on your son as we passed through Nevada.”
Swallowing hard, Maurice shook his head. “He’s still using his power to hurt people. He doesn't understand.”
Diamati lowered his gaze briefly, the sorrow visible in his eyes before he squeezed the other man's hand a little more firmly. “You're right, he doesn't. But we can't control others or force their hands. All we can do is offer the opportunity to do the right thing, and teach all who will listen why lifting others up will always be better than tearing them down.”
They exchanged a few more words before the man was pulled away to speak to others. Everyone here wanted a moment with him, and why wouldn't they? Though he made no claim of divinity, and indeed swiftly corrected those who made the mistake, it was hard not to idolize their founder. He was, in no uncertain terms, a very good man.
Finally, Diamati made his way to the wooden podium while everyone else found their seats. Vicks took a chair to sit directly behind his charge, always watching for any potential threat.
“Thank you all so much for coming,” Diamati greeted them, his loud voice filling the silent air as his eager followers hung on every word.
“Let us begin with the show of hands. Who among us would like to share a few words about how the orbs have brought happiness into your life over this past year?”
********
Grace In His Stars Church
“We stand on the precipice of utter annihilation!” Those booming words filled the large auditorium as a tall, very tan man with a handlebar mustache and full head of dark hair stood with the back of his heels on the edge of the stage, the rest of his feet out in open air over the audience of several hundred he was preaching to. His wild eyes scanned the crowd, ensuring that none of his people dared be distracted in that moment, while he held a Bible up in one hand and shook it to draw their attention that way. “As I stand here, wavering over a fall, so too does our world waver on the brink of collapsing into the endless void! God has sent His final word! And His word is battle!”
His name was Malcolm Dennis, and he had been a preacher on the outskirts of North Carolina for the past forty years, ever since he was only twenty-one years old and had come out of a three year stint in prison for robbery. He’d turned to religion while he was locked up, began his sermons for a dozen or so people at first, and never looked back.
Twenty years ago, halfway into his stint as the very vocal leader of the Grace In His Stars Church, the Orbs had begun to appear. Malcolm had taken some time to pray on what their arrival meant, before choosing the best response. That choice had turned their church from a small, quiet congregation that experienced only the occasional raised voice when Malcolm became particularly energetic, to the sort of fire and brimstone gathering it was known as these days. The change had helped grow the church by leaps and bounds. Whereas before they could meet in a small community center room they rented out every Sunday, now it required a full auditorium to accommodate all the people who came to hear him speak. Or, in most cases, shout.
“In the days before this world existed, as God reigned in his paradise, His angels split into two factions!” Father Malcolm’s words echoed out through the room while his audience bobbed their heads rapidly, smiles blossoming as they murmured their soft amens to encourage him to continue. They knew the story, having heard it so many times before. But none would interrupt his telling of it. It was the same as a man watching an old movie he knew by heart, a familiar comfort he went back to again and again. This world had become so strange, so alien. Every day could bring the end of everything they knew. Their lives could be entirely upended if the violence reached them. So of course they would seek out not only an explanation for what the world had become, but a familiar one that they could, if they chose, silently mouth the words to.
“These angels, God’s true creations, went to war with one another, for that was their nature. They saw the faults in one another, and they loved their God so much that they desired to remove those faults from his presence. They believed that He deserved to stand only in the company of perfection. But they did not understand that all who were not God were imperfect. They saw the flaws in others of their kind, but not their own or those of those closest to them. And so they went to war. A war which lasted millions of years and began to tear at the very foundations of the paradise God had created!”
Through those words, Father Malcolm had deliberately leaned back and forth, waving his arms as though he was actually in the danger of falling from the stage. His people knew he wasn’t, but they still played along with the show by gasping and holding their hands up as though they could catch him. Finally, after a few seconds of playing that up, he stopped, freezing with his body leaning out over them. A bright smile found its way to the man’s face, as he took two steps back to reach the middle of the stage once more. “But that would not be! Heaven would not truly fall, for God is great!”
Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.
“God is great!” returned his enraptured and eager audience, the echoing words coming automatically by that point. It was a part of the show, a part of why they came again and again to hear the same speeches over these past couple of decades.
Raising the hand with a Bible, Father Malcolm used his other hand to tap the front of it as he continued. “God had a plan to teach His angels how to live with one another in peace! He created this very world and others like it, Earths where His children would be sent to live mortal lives! We are those angels! Each and every one of us, and all those who have lived and will ever live, have stood in the presence of our God! He has seen our flaws and has shown us how to defeat them. We were brought to this world and put in these fragile shells in order to become better than we were! These bodies are the eggs out of which our true glory will be born when all is done!”
His voice quieted for a moment as his gaze moved over the audience once more, seeking any who might make the mistake of looking away. He found none. They were all staring intently at the man as he almost vibrated from the energy he had built himself up to. That silence reigned for another precious second or two, before he broke it with a loud clap, bringing both hands together with the Bible between them so that his free palm smacked against the book dramatically. “God, in His perfection, saw that what we truly needed was mortal lives, a temporary existence where death was meaningful. In our days as angels, defeat in battle was a mere inconvenience. We were destroyed only to reform soon after and throw ourselves right back into that same fight. We are here, in these mortal forms, to live, to love, and to experience true loss so that we may finally understand what our constant battles may cost if we allow them to tear apart the heavens!
“Our battles, our wars, our fighting here in every form is meant to demonstrate the cost of such in a way we may finally retain once we return to His side. The horrors of those battles exist so that those of us who one day stand in the heavens under His loving gaze may finally cease and live peacefully as He always intended. It is our destiny to live peacefully and to love one another. But that is a destiny we may only reach by truly experiencing and understanding the cost of the endless wars we have always inflicted upon one another. Do not look away from the blood and death as it fills your television screens and computers. Search it out, see it and understand it. Help where you can, for those who are truly in need. We are here to experience and comprehend loss, not to glory in it. Our place, our time in this world is meant to demonstrate just how terrible war and suffering really is. And it is also meant to show us how much better it is to help one another, to stand up for those around us and extend the hand of love and acceptance.”
Lowering the Bible to one side, Father Malcolm took a long, deep breath. “Those of us who are visited by these messengers of our God, these orbs, were the generals throughout the wars that threatened to ravage Paradise. It is they who are meant to fight the most in this world. They are given these gifts so that they might… work through the aggressions they have felt since the dawn of their existence. This world is a teaching tool for most of us. For those who are known as Touched, it is a playpen, a safe place for them to work out the violence deep in their hearts, so that they might, before the end of this existence, truly recognize, as we do, the cost of it.
“Those who are given such powers and do not fight have already been reborn by their experiences in this world! God's plan has succeeded for them. They see the true value of peace and choose to hold it sacred! Though they stood as the most violent and dangerous angels of our past existence, God's plan has brought them an understanding of the cost of such violence! We pray that the others of their kind, the Touched who continue to commit war upon one another, may one day come to that same understanding!”
That final word seemed to reverberate through the audience as Father Malcolm pointedly fell silent. He sensed the way they all hovered on the edge of their seats, anxiously awaiting what came next. For one second, then three, then five, he let them wait. He allowed anticipation to build before abruptly shouting, “But should that understanding fail them, they shall be damned!”
A cheer rose among the audience, as they all shouted those last four words back at him. “They shall be damned!”
“They, the great generals of the wars throughout Heaven, were given power in this world as a test! It is their final opportunity to comprehend the cost of the endless battles they insisted on perpetuating, the battles which threatened to destroy God’s great paradise. And when this world ends, when the egg cracks and we all find ourselves standing before the Almighty once more, He will judge them. They will be put before His gaze, He will ask if they truly understand, and then He will see in their souls if they speak truthfully! Those who do, those of the Angelic Generals who will have finally grown beyond violence, will lead us all into a new era of paradise. Those who do not, who refuse to learn the lesson, will fall into the dark, eternal abyss!”
Walking forward before lowering himself to sit on the edge of the stage, feet dangling, Father Malcolm looked out over his people. His voice became much more conversational, yet no less powerful. “God has sent these Orbs as a final test, in these last days, for the generals who perpetrated and led the worst of the violence in Heaven, the leaders of those battles which most threatened to shake apart the very foundations of paradise. Should they fail that test, they shall be cast down and forgotten. But we, those who live and learn in this world for ourselves, the minions of those same generals, shall bask in his glory for the rest of time! For God is good!”
Once more, those three words were repeated by the audience. God was truly good, and His plan perfect. The former leaders of the armies of heaven, who had created and gloried in such strife for so long, had been given this one last opportunity to see and understand the folly of their ways. They would learn from that and return to live in eternal salvation, or they would fail and be forever lost. Either way, Father Malcolm and his people knew the truth. They would be saved and brought to exaltation.
But in the meantime, until that exaltation happened and the world ended, they would continue to live in it. They would help those they could, would experience the lows of all the death constantly perpetuated upon this world, and when it was over, they would tell their God that they truly understood the cost of it. They would be ready, at last, to move on from violence and suffering to enter a true paradise.
They could hardly wait.
********
Faith In The Restored Church
“I don’t know if I can do this.” Those soft, clearly nervous words came from a red-haired boy who couldn't have been older than thirteen or fourteen. He was bouncing anxiously on his heels in the hallway just outside of the main chapel of Faith In The Restored Church, a beautiful building smack in the middle of an equally beautiful city in Virginia. Surrounded by leafy green trees, well-maintained gardens, and a fountain many came to take engagement or prom photos in front of, the church had been built fifteen years earlier. And every official sermon since that final stone had been placed had been standing room only. The man who had previously founded and led this church, Reverend Carmine, had been tragically killed in a car accident six years earlier. But his assistant, Reverend Mitchell, had taken over in his stead without missing a beat. His booming voice could, even at that moment, be heard through the thick door next to the boy, imploring the congregation to hear and understand his words, lest they be lost to the never-ending temptations and manipulations of ‘the Fallen Ones.’
“You can,” the boy’s mother assured him. She too had red hair, and a kind face as she beamed at her son. He looked so handsome to her, in his ill-fitting suit that had been handed down from an older brother. A brother who even then was sitting uncomfortably in one of the first pews alongside a younger sister and their father. “You're ready for this, Cameron. You went over it with Reverend Mitchell already, right? Let me see.”
Taking a nervous breath, the young boy nodded and held up both of his hands. As he did so, a small blue tornado of energy appeared in one palm, while a red one appeared in the other. They were swirling vortexes of energy, crackling a bit dangerously. Quickly, the boy stopped summoning his power and the miniature tornadoes vanished.
“You see?” His mother was beaming with pride. “I told you, you're ready for this. You were meant for it.” She put both hands on either side of his head so he would look at her. “I am so proud to be your mother. So proud to stand in the presence of one of His Aspects and be trusted with such responsibility. You are going to be beautiful up there.”
Before she could say anything else, the door next to them opened gently and the elderly man serving as usher smiled their way, though his expression seemed a bit overwhelmed and anxious when he saw Cameron. “Sir,” he began in a soft voice, “he's ready for you now.”
Well, here went nothing. There was no point in stalling anymore. Swallowing back his nerves, Cameron forced his voice to be as steady as possible just so he could get a single word out. “Okay.” Then he took one step forward, followed by another. His legs were shaking and there was a knot in his stomach, But he made himself keep going despite everything. He didn’t want to upset his mother. She was so happy, so proud of him, of what he was supposed to be. He couldn’t let her down now.
The entire congregation, hundreds of people spread through all those pews to the left of the doorway as he came through, became eerily silent at his appearance. Cameron felt their eyes staring at him, and a blush found its way to his face. He could see his dad and siblings sitting there, staring at him the same way. They had been like that ever since he touched that Orb and gained his powers. The moment they’d found out what he was, what he could do, they hadn’t looked at him the same. And they never would. They would always see the truth of his existence, what he was meant to be, before seeing Cameron himself. His life could never go back to the way it was.
With those anxious and uncertain thoughts filling his mind, the boy made his way across the front of the room to the front podium, where Reverend Mitchell was waiting. The man who had led the Faith In The Restored Church over these past years stood a couple inches over six feet in height, his build lanky and skin somewhat pale, with very light blond hair that fell to his shoulders and a small yet noticeable scar over the center of his forehead. Now, he was watching Cameron along with the rest of his flock. “Everyone,” he began in a voice that was carried throughout the room thanks to the microphone set in the podium, “stand and bear witness. He is here. An Aspect of our Lord has walked among us, has lived as one of us, for these past thirteen years, only to be revealed now, so that he may begin his true work.”
Taking a step out from behind the podium then, Reverend Mitchell took a knee in front of Cameron. The secondary microphone attached to his lapel ensured that his words continued to be heard. “Mighty and benevolent Aspect, thank you for gracing and blessing this humble church with your presence for all these years. We surely would have faced much greater trials and suffering were it not for your subtle hand of guidance.”
It was all Cameron could do not to turn and run out of the room. He had never even liked to give oral reports in school, and that was only standing in front of twenty other classmates. There were hundreds of people staring at him now, hanging on everything he said and did. What was he supposed to do? It was too much. His feet wanted nothing more than to start running.
However, he couldn’t let down his mom. So, Cameron swallowed hard and gave a quick, jerky nod. “Th-thanks, sir--I mean Reverend Mitchell.” God, his voice came out all squeaky and nervous. Were people going to laugh at him?
But no, they didn’t, and wouldn’t. They probably didn’t even notice, because they didn’t see him as Cameron anymore. They saw him as so much more than that. Which, in some ways, was the worst part of this whole thing. None of them, not his old friends in church, not the Reverend, or even his own family, would ever see him as just Cameron again. Not now that he was one of the Touched, one of the Aspects.
Clearly recognizing the boy’s nervousness, Reverend Mitchell rose and took his hand to guide him over to the podium. There, he stood with his hand still holding Cameron's while addressing the crowd. “When God made his great creation, these worlds, He poured himself into them. Everything He had, everything He was, went to give us life. And for all these millennia, our people, humanity, has grown. We have fought and we have fallen, loved and triumphed. It has all, the entirety of humanity’s existence, been in the shadow of the soul God gifted to us. Now, at the end of those days, the demons have come. What the world knows as Abyssals are the soldiers of Hell, who wish to tear this world down into the depths and destroy His most beautiful creation.
“But God anticipated this!” Raising Cameron's hand high, he continued triumphantly. “That is why we have the Touched! They are our salvation! God allowed Himself to be spread throughout these worlds to give us life. The Touched are the pieces of His soul disguised as ordinary humans, His children. Even in His absence, He always provides a way. These pieces of His soul appear to be ordinary people, like Cameron here, until His angels appear in the form of glowing orbs to awaken them from their slumber. Though his divinity has been divided into so many pieces, even in this form, what remains provides us with the hope and strength we need to stand against the demons. The Aspects are pieces of Him. They are each a small piece of God, a conduit to him and instruments of His will. It is true that some have lost their way, have become corrupted by this world. Its evils and temptations are vast. But we must pray that they find their way back to the Light. For only once enough of His Aspects are united will they merge to become Him once more."
Okay, now people were really staring at Cameron. If it had been bad before, it was almost unbearable at this point. None of the people in this entire church, including anyone in his family, would ever see him as just Cameron again. He would always be the arm of God, or something like that. Even if he felt like he wouldn't even merit being a deity’s discarded toenail. All he had done was touch that orb when it appeared, and now everyone thought he was a piece of God’s soul or something. And he was still just… confused and lost. Everyone was looking at him as though he had the answers, as if he was some big hero, part of God himself. But he barely understood how to use this new power.
He didn’t wish he’d never touched the Orb. He liked his power. He liked--he liked… what he could do. He just wished people would stop looking at him like they were right now, and that he could go back to just being Cameron in their eyes.
He didn't wish he'd never touched the orb, but he did wish he hadn't told his family about it. Which was a thought that made a brief stab of pain pass through the boy, his eyes glancing guiltily toward the pew where his mother had just moved to join his father and siblings. His whole family was there, staring at him just like the others. It made him flinch a bit, his smile faltering until he met his mother’s gaze. She nodded when he looked to her, mouthing that she loved him. That helped a little bit at least.
Reverend Mitchell continued while lowering their hands. “It has been quite some time since we had one of our own right here in this congregation chosen as one of His aspects. Six years, three months, and two days, in fact.”
The congregation grew even quieter at that, a sort of judgmental quiet. Because the truth was more complicated than the reverend was saying in that moment. It was true that the last person chosen amongst their number had been six years earlier. But that person, Dominic Carmine, was Reverend Carmine’s brother. When the original reverend had died in that car accident only two weeks after Dominic gained his power, the man had abandoned the church his brother founded. He left the church and the city itself, going off on his own before joining the Seraph organization. The last Cameron had heard, Dominic was going by the name Hallowed and was based in Detroit.
His wandering thoughts on that, and most likely everyone else's, were interrupted as Reverend Mitchell continued. “We all have to understand, now more than ever, that being chosen as one of His Aspects is an enormous responsibility. And an incredible honor. I know it can be overwhelming, for everyone involved.” He smiled a little fondly at the boy beside him. “But we'll all get through it together. We’ll learn and grow alongside one another. Aspect Lisa is returning from her mission to Brazil, to help teach young Cameron how to hear and speak the voice of God.”
That definitely got a reaction, even from Cameron. Lisa Harding was the last member of the congregation before Dominic to have been revealed as one of God’s Aspects, having become one of the Touched just over eight years earlier. She had been slightly younger than Cameron was now at that time, though now she was twenty years old. She also tended to go on all these missions to other countries, spreading the word of their church.
If she was coming back here to help teach Cameron, if they were going to be working… close together… He felt his blush return, for completely different reasons.
Maybe this whole thing wouldn’t be so bad after all.