TWO
Private confession of sin is an inexpressibly better alternative to facing the Day when God bringeth all unconfessed sin to light.
Julius Mann, Bible Notes, vol. 22, ch 16
Roy Hoyle was relieved to find the beach deserted and quiet. A few hours earlier the sand was trampled by multitudes of party-mad youths, celebrating for no other reason than that it was another Saturday night. Now they were gone, with the arrival of the unfriendly cool wind that always seemed to come with the dawn. Roy had the entire beach to himself, just the way he wanted it.
His hands were pushed as far down into his coat pockets as they could go, which was only past his knuckles. The designer jacket was not made for any sort of practical use, only for show. The pockets were mere decorations and ridiculously short. But Roy was not displeased with having no protection from the biting chill. He let it numb his bones, such was his despair. Sand filled his shoes, again not practical articles. His clothes were meant for a place far different from the Carlow city beach. His destination had been the other side of the island, about an hour’s drive, to Blackstone, a town the fraction the size of Carlow, and with the advantage of having few people who would recognise him.
He had forgotten how long it was since he had stopped walking over the endless sand and begun looking out over the slow waves to nothing but the empty horizon. He had no wish in trying to see the lights of the large country, the “mainland over the river” that sat just forty-five kilometres offshore, and always intimidated the people of little St Antipas, the island of some one-and-a-half million residents.
Roy’s light blue eyes were lined with red and his nose was running. His grey-streaked brown hair was messed from the wind. He looked back at his tracks in the sand, but not really caring how far he had gone. He could see better now, with the dawn light becoming stronger.
There was nothing more to say, and he had already said enough, perhaps too much. Silence was now this best option. Silence and repentance. Freedom to obey. Yes he was free, free indeed; but free to obey. The crying was over. The confession was over. Now the hard part. Now the new day.
He idly looked at his watch. Six-fifty-three. His hand moved to the back of his neck and he rubbed it. The night of no sleep was starting to hit him. He started to head back to his car. His own bed in his own house seemed a better prospect.
Then he realised as he jerked his wrist to see the watch again. He nearly swore as he quickened his pace over the steep sand hills. His watch had displayed it the whole time he was out there, but he had not noticed. It was a Sunday.
When he reached his car he impatiently searched for the right key and again caught himself before he swore. The place he had parked looked different with the light of dawn, but his car was easy enough to find. It was the only one left in the car park.
He looked at his watch again. Seven-o-five.
His teeth clenched as he steered his car over no less than four sets of judder-bars. Patience, patience, he told himself angrily, all the way home. You have plenty of time.
At home he parked his car on the street and walked quickly up his cobblestone path, surrounded by a neat and always cared-for garden. He knew something was different even before he saw it—a different atmosphere, a chill different from down at the beach. This touched his soul.
His lounge window had a hole smashed in the bottom corner nearest the door, and he could see the curtain and net were torn. Glass littered the path and shrubs below, but as he looked at it he could tell that most had fallen inside. The he saw his front door was slightly open.
He stepped inside and checked the lock. It was intact. The small section of stained-glass, placed at an angle across the solid oak, was also still in one piece. He closed it and without alarm clinically looked through every room, finding no sign of an intruder. At first he could not tell if anything had been removed. As far as he could see, nothing had been touched.
He fetched a brush and cleaned up most of the glass in the lounge. The he noticed there was mud on the curtain and the carpet, leading to the door. The conclusion was easy: the Thompson kids. They were nearly two old to be called youths, let alone kids, but at least it was better than what the other neighbours called them. Roy himself would never stoop to such name-calling and abuse, but they scared him too.
The more he looked at the mess the more he knew it must have been them. They must have smashed the window after he went out. Knocked in a ball or something. They must have opened the door from the inside. He made a mental note to see their parent and talk it over. This was going too far. Their bald and colourised heads and animalistic behaviour was one thing, but vandalism was an issue Roy knew he must protest, for nothing else but the continued harmony of the neighbours.
The shower was so refreshing that he wanted to drift off to sleep. He shaved and applied make-up to his face. It was make-up specially designed to be invisible and yet enhance his appearance. Roy could have been a good male model, with or without the make-up. His face was chubby but not fat, with thick eyebrows and a smile that made him look happy with everything in life. In spite of his natural appearance, he had used the make-up for years, and found it as indispensable as his razor, his hair drier, and his set of combs.
Any old tie was pulled from the closet, and it turned out to be one of bright and cheerful design. As he stood before his full length mirror and adjusted his tie, he was relieved he had done so much in the little time available. But then, he did not have time to eat. On the outside he was polished and neat, but on the inside he was a hollow shell of despair and frustration, as if his very soul and been wrenched from his body. His empty stomach just made the day seem all the worse.
Once out the door he started to run for his car. But he heard a familiar voice that caused him to stop.
“Morning Roy! Off to church, huh? Great to see you still with us!”
Bernard Thompson, his neighbour, was a mentally unstable man with notably artificial hair. He was standing behind the short fence the separated their properties, and he waved a friendly hello. Roy thought of him as a good missionary’s test-case—a man with zero church experience—should anyone wish to navigate their way into his messy home. But he always had a good word for Roy, and the pleasantry would always be returned.
Roy was sure that Bernard was suffering from multiple hidden afflictions and pains. Being on his own with two wild teenagers did not help the poor man’s chances. Many times Roy had pondered using the “hard sell” salvation technique to get him along to church, instead of the “be a friend” technique he had been using for years. He knew he had to be something to break through Bernard’s hesitation over religion. Then he remembered the broken window.
“You wouldn’t happened to know anything about this, would you Bern?” Roy asked with the utmost politeness. Bernard followed his hand carefully. Roy knew he had the capacity to learn and recall great amounts of knowledge, but at other times he could be annoyingly slow. It looked like he was in one of his “slow” moods.
“You’ve got a broken window there.”
I can see that, thought Roy. Patience, patience; be nice.
“Someone broke in,” said Roy. “I suspect during the night, but nothing’s been taken. It appears they were just taking a chance to have some fun at my expense by breaking into my house. It wasn’t your boys, by any chance? If it was, don’t worry about the cost, I’m quite prepared to finance the bill. But I would appreciate it if we talk it over with them, and get it sorted out that other people’s property should be respected.”
“Oh it wasn’t my boys,” Bernard interrupted excitably. “Oh if it was I would punish them, I can assure you; limit their drinking of something. But that’s getting hard now; they are getting so big, you understand.”
Roy stole a glance at his watch. Time was not waiting for him. “Well, did you hear anything? Did you see any intruders, or anyone looking suspicious, hanging around?”
Bernard lowered his voice as he took a quick look around. “Some mighty strange th
ings been going on round here lately. If you ask me, it’s them aliens. Them ETIs. There’s been many reports, and I’m not one bit surprised.”
Roy felt like laughing, even in his depressed state. Surely Bernard did not believe that endless stream of media hype and misinformation? Roy took another look at him and realised that if anyone would believe it, then it would be Bernard. He retained the politely sincere expression that he had developed so well during his days at the Kingdom of God Theological Seminary.
“Aliens, Bern? You think aliens broke my window and trooped mud through my lounge?”
“Wouldn’t be surprised.”
“Come on, now.”
“No, really. Anything’s possible.”
“Trust me, Bern; if anything is not possible, it’s that.”
“Don’t you go thinking you’re not susceptible to them, Roy. Many people like you have taken no notice of the correct procedure in defending ourselves against them, and they have got what they asked for.”
“Bern, I don’t go along with any of that stuff about aliens. I don’t believe a word of it, and I advise you to do the same. It’s nothing but scare-mongering by certain companies so they can sell their crystals and other questionable merchandise. Please, I’m concerned for your well-being, Bern: Stop watching that overseas station you’ve been getting lately, is my advice. They’re telling you all sorts of strange things. You don’t know who they really are or what their purpose is.”
“But you got to admit they’re on to something, here, given what’s happened.”
“What do you mean?”
“Look around you.”
“To what, exactly?”
“I know you know. You just don’t want to admit it, do you?”
“Admit what?”
“They they’re right, that I’m right. The aliens are real and they’re starting to make their move on us. Call them ETIs or whatever, but they’re after us.”
“I’m sorry, but I’m certainly not about to agree to such a ludicrous notion about aliens.”
“You be careful what you say. There’ve been many reports about people saying things out loud like that, and then they disappear. I’d watch out if I were you.”
Roy started walking for his car, trying not to appear desperate to get away. He knew Bernard could take it as an insult, but he really did need to leave in a hurry. “I would like to stop by and visit with you one of these days, Bern. I’m sure we have a few conversations waiting in the pipeline that we could share together.”
“Well, you be careful now. I’ve boarded up all my windows.”
Roy politely waved good-bye. As he opened his car door he wondered what Bernard had been drinking, or inhaling, sniffing, eating, injecting or watching. The best option was merely watching the oddball alternative news service he had recently tapped into, run by a secret cultic group and beamed out around the world from either Switzerland or some place near to it. Roy had seen it once, and found it too juvenile to worry about. As he thought about it he allowed himself a little laugh. After all, it had been a long night.
His car started sweetly. The car breaking down would have been a good excuse, but Roy just wanted to get through the rest of the day without any more worries.
He drove as carefully as he always did on Sundays, even though he found the roads remarkably quiet. He stopped at two sets of lights, and both times his was the only car in sight. He could have rolled on through the red had he not been Roy Hoyle. The thought did not even enter his mind as he sat, both times, all alone at the two busiest intersections on his side of the city.
The car park was empty too, and he parked in his own marked area. As he locked his car he looked at the vacant space next to his. Russell Heslin and his family always arrived before him, always keen to commence his duty as official church elder. Roy closely inspected his watch to see if its battery had gone askew again. He checked his cell and saw it had the same time, but it was also telling him that the network was down, which was not unusual for the island.
He spent a few moments finding the right key. The door was usually opened before he arrived and he was not used to opening it himself. He concluded that his watch was indeed wrong and he was too early. But he knew he could put the spare time to good work. He did not even feel tired any more. Various items of business could be attended to in his office. Or maybe a cleanup of his desk.
Sure, this will work out.
He turned all the lights on and realised that he had time to contemplate each room. He had been alone at the church numerous times but he had never taken the chance to walk through it and ponder it all. There was so much responsibility involved in the behind-the-scenes work, so many lives to watch over and care for. And he had acted like it did not exist. His mistake of the previous night made his church work feel more important than ever before. It was people’s lives they were dealing with, and he had gone and tossed it aside for one night of madness.
But I’m back on track now.
With the click of one switch the main hall came alive with lights. They illuminated the pews, the altar, the various murals, and the enormous cross on the wall behind the pulpit. It had lights behind it to make it stand out, and it did so boldly. The high, apex ceiling was supported by a series of cross-beams. All painted white, the lights below threw up varied shadows, portraying a strong sense of the mysterious of the heavens, the realm of the spiritual; unknowable and far removed from the world.
Roy could not understand how the wall clock in his office could show the same wrong time as his watch. If it was five to nine, then where was Russell? Even his two deacons, Grant Westwood and John Morey, were not present. He slowly shook his head at the thought. To miss a service, for any reason, was a serious setback to their full ordination into the priesthood. It was unheard of for both deacons to be absent. Roy wondered if it was partly his fault; if he was too rigorous with them, or perhaps he had not been rigorous enough.
The biggest and least explainable abnormality was that Annie Henderson had not yet arrived. The church secretary had never missed a service in her life. One time she was wheeled along in a hospital bed, after silencing all protests from the doctors with a few sharp words. She would always eager to be at the church when the doors opened, with or without her husband who usually liked to sleep in. Annie directed every social aspect of the church. She revelled in dispensing the lessons for the Sunday school, and the crackers and drinks at the tea-break.
Roy forced himself to understand Russell’s absence. As church elder, Russell’s duties were only to watch over the laity from an “earthly” view, and virtually anyone could take his place if it was necessary. And although it was both difficult and disappointing, Roy also accepted the absence of the two deacons. There were procedures set out to cover such an emergency of the absence of both, but it would have to be reported to church superiors in Chichester, and that would make the church look bad. People would talk, and Roy knew it would be unfair and undeserving.
But Roy could not accept the absence of Annie. He almost laughed at the absurdity of the thought that if she was not going to attend the service then no one would. He briefly considered calling her, and found himself already opening his cell, before deciding they all must have perfectly good reasons for being late. Besides, the network down, so he couldn’t call her anyway.
He went back out to the car park before making himself a cup of coffee. Still no life, even out on the road. He then went and sat in his office, totally uninterested in cleaning out his desk drawers. The hands of the clock moved alarmingly quickly, his watch agreed with them all the way.
After half an hour he collected together his sermon and went to the pulpit, and made a small detour out to the car park again. The only car there was his own, proudly sitting in the number one place. There were still no cars on the street. Roy almost went out to the footpath to look at the church down the road, but he resisted the temptation and returned inside.
Behind the pulpit he acted like everything was norm
al as he looked down at the empty hall before him. He neatly stacked his notes, several times, and found himself checking the time every two minutes.
After a while he began to read his sermon out loud, but got no further than the first two lines before the guilt came crashing down upon him. A drop of water landed on the page, then another. He realised it was his own tears and he wiped them away.
The men’s rest-room doors swung open violently as he rushed in to tidy up his appearance, fearful that someone would walk into the church at that very moment to see his desperate state.
Get ahold of yourself, Roy, he told himself as he stared into his own eyes in the tall mirror over the basin. There’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for all this. You will find out soon enough. Be patient and wait.
He looked out through the still swinging doors and tried to think of another reason other than the one that had been hounding him for the past hour. He went back outside as a final check, a final confirmation that his worst fear was true. The car park was still empty, and for that matter the street. His watch said ten-fifty. He needed no further proof.
He stumbled to the beautiful and elaborate brass altar on the left of his pulpit, and fell to the floor, face in the carpet. He cried with great sobs before his God. In a voice choked with sorrow and pain he again confessed his sinful recklessness of the night before. He went over the events again in detail, all to be forgiven as if he had not prayed the same just a few hours before. This time he would be certain he did not miss anything in his confession. He felt so broken that he wished one of the deacons could be with him to oversee and approve his prayer.
After a long time he gingerly picked himself up and took a survey of his empty church.
“I deserve it, Lord,” he whispered. “My faith and trust is that you have forgiven me and that you will restore and bless my church at tonight’s meeting. Thank you. Amen, amen, amen.”
Roy quietly turned off the lights and locked the doors. He drove home down streets still empty, his mind numb with the shock. His life had spun out of control in only twelve hours. He knew he had to get it back on track, and fast. But the first thing he had to do was get some sleep.