28. Chapter 27
Chapter 27
Eden
A s we make our way downstairs, the sound of lively chatter bounces off the walls of the house. Both Aiden and I are tense as we approach the living room, where the back of Eric’s head comes into view. I position myself behind Aiden, trying to stay out of sight.
"That's quite a tumble you took," My father jokes, his voice amused and jovial.
“What can I say,” Eric’s nauseating voice grates on my nerves, “I’m clumsy as hell.”
“That you are,” Roman chimes in, appearing from the kitchen with a glass of scotch in hand. His smile is as unsettling as it is calculated. “I’m glad I was there,” Roman’s gaze briefly flicks toward me before he moves closer to Eric and my dad, barely acknowledging my presence.
Finally noticing us, my dad’s smile broadens with an unsettling warmth .
“Come here, kids,” He grins, his invitation feeling more like an order.
Turning around, the sight of Eric’s bruised face is disturbing. His eyes are wide, and the tension in the room is palpable.
“What the hell happened to you?” Aiden hisses, his anger barely masked by his attempt at neutrality.
“He fell going to his car,” Roman explains smoothly, his tone dripping with insincerity. “Seems the elevation here didn’t agree with him.” Eric manages a nod in response.
I move toward the couch, my anxiety growing as Roman leans casually against its back.
“Well, I think dinner is almost ready—”
“Actually, David, there’s something exciting I’d like to share with everyone,” Roman interrupts with a grin that sends chills down my spine. My heart races, and anxiety grips my chest.
Roman takes center stage, his demeanor almost theatrical.
Roman’s eyes, cold and calculating, sweep over the room. “As you’re aware, Eden has been diligently fulfilling her service hours at the church,” He begins, drawing nods from everyone in the room. “What you may not know is the extent of her commitment. Today, I had the opportunity to review some documents she entrusted to me.”
With deliberate slowness, Roman retrieves papers from his jacket and places them on the coffee table, nudging them toward my father.
“This is a lease agreement,” Roman declares, his voice smooth and confident. “Eden and Aiden will be moving into a new place in two days. ”
My father’s confusion is palpable as he scans the papers. “Roman, this isn’t what I intended when I asked you to guide my daughter. My children are not leaving this house.”
Roman’s gaze is steady, his voice smooth but laden with a gravity that commands attention. “David,” He begins, “you must understand that the path to true devotion often requires more than mere ritual. It demands sacrifice, a renunciation of the familiar to embrace the sanctity of a higher calling.”
He gestures toward the lease papers with a deliberate grace, his movements measured. “Eden and Aiden’s decision to move into their own residence is not a mere change of address. It is a sacred act of faith, a tangible manifestation of their commitment to God’s will.”
My father’s chair scrapes across the floor as he stands, his finger driving into Roman’s chest.
"What the hell do you think you're doing-"
"You want her to know true discipline?" Roman questions. "Then throw her into the water and watch her come crawling back to you. Do you think she can make it with that job? Do you think she can make it without you? David, this is merely a test. Let me help you see it through."
As Roman continues to feed into my father's delusions of power, I see his face calm with realization.
“Fine. You want to leave Eden?” David stands in front of me, his eyes cold, a mocking half-smile twisting at his lips. “Fine. See how long you last without me.”
The sting of his words leaves me reeling. I shake my head, trying to grasp the enormity of the situation .
“Leave your keys on the counter, and get the hell out of my house,” He hisses, his voice a chilling whisper. “Both of you.”
Roman’s gaze meets mine, his eyes narrowing with an unspoken command. It’s clear—run. Run now.
I grab Aiden’s hand, the urgency propelling us through the front door. We stumble over the bags I’d packed for us earlier, grabbing them in haste. Outside, Zoey’s car is parked, her hand frantically waving us toward it.
“Go,” I whisper fiercely. “Go, go.”
We scramble to shove our bags into the car, Zoey’s face pale with shock, her breaths shallow and rapid.
“Zo—” I start, but she cuts me off.
“Roman told me everything,” She murmurs, her voice quivering. “About my dad, my stepmom, the kids…”
The mention of “the kids” draws a confused look from Aiden. He’s still piecing things together, uncertainty written on his face.
A sudden thud against the window makes us jump. A rock smashes into the glass, my father’s furious shouts piercing the night.
Zoey slams her foot on the gas, and we lurch forward, the car speeding away. I glance back, catching Roman’s smirk as he stands by the sidewalk. My phone buzzes with a new message—Roman’s text with our new address.
The city lights blur as we drive into the night, the weight of our departure settling over us.
Roman
Staggering onto the lawn, Eric approaches his car, glancing back at me with a look of cautious curiosity.
There’s only one more thing I need to do tonight.
I stroll over to him, my steps deliberate. With a tap on the hood of his car, I watch him slide into the driver's seat.
"I think we got off on the wrong foot—"
"How long do you think David will buy your lies?" Eric interrupts, his voice low and dangerous. "You think Eden leaving will change anything? I know you’re the mole, and I’ll make sure David finds out."
I clench my jaw, forcing myself to remain composed.
"How about this: come over for a drink at my place. Maybe you’ll get a clearer picture of my role in all this," I offer.
Eric surveys me with a skeptical look, shaking his head.
"Why would I do that?"
Leaning on his open window, I take a deep breath, meeting his gaze.
"Perhaps I want to discuss Eden’s true nature. You spoke about her being a temptation—well, I’d like to show you how I’ve been handling that particular 'temptation.' After all, if anyone should understand what drives a man to sin, it’s someone like you," I say with a dark grin.
His expression shifts as he considers my words, finally allowing a thin smile to form. He glances at his watch, seemingly intrigued.
"I suppose I have time for a drink."
The room is dimly lit, the amber glow from the lamp casting long shadows on the walls. Eric lounges comfortably in an armchair, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips as he sips his drink, oblivious to the darkness that lingers just beyond the edge of the light.
I keep my gaze steady, though my mind churns with a storm of righteous fury. The air is thick with the scent of aged whiskey and incense, a dissonance that mirrors the turmoil within me. I sit across from him, the silence between us growing heavy, each tick of the clock a reminder of the divine justice I am about to enact.
“So, Eric,” I begin, my voice low and deliberate, “you really believe Eden was a temptation sent by the Devil. Is that right?”
Eric chuckles, a dark, mirthless sound that cuts through the room. “You think too much, Roman. She’s nothing but a sinner, like the rest of us.”
I take a slow sip from my glass, letting the fiery liquid warm my throat. “A sinner,” I echo, considering the gravity of the term. “The Devil’s work is subtle, weaving through the innocent and corrupt alike. But sometimes, it needs a hand to guide its machinations.”
Eric’s eyes narrow, his amusement fading. “What are you saying?”
Leaning forward, I set my glass aside, my hand brushing over the worn Bible resting on the side table. The holy book feels heavy. Its weight is a tangible reminder of the sacred duty I bear. “ I believe the Lord has tested me,” I say, my voice gaining a fervent edge. “He’s shown me the corruption that festers in those who claim to be faithful while plotting sin in the dark.”
Eric shifts uncomfortably, the realization dawning on him that this night holds more than idle conversation. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“You spoke of Eden as a force of temptation, a means to corrupt,” I continue, my voice now a whisper. “Yet, it’s you who have allowed that temptation to fester, to poison you. It’s you who’s been an instrument of the Devil’s will.”
The Bible feels cold in my hand, but it grounds me. I open it slowly, turning to a passage that has become my guiding light in these troubled times: “And if thy right hand offend thee, cut it off, and cast it from thee: for it is profitable for thee that one of thy members should perish, and not that thy whole body should be cast into hell.” (Matthew 5:30).
Eric’s eyes widen, a flicker of fear crossing his features. “What are you doing?”
I stand, moving toward him with a calm, determined stride. The alcohol has done its work, loosening his inhibitions.
“You see, Eric,” I say, my tone a dark melody of vengeance and faith, “sometimes the only way to cleanse the soul is to remove the source of corruption entirely.”
Eric sneers, his bravado returning. “You think you’re so noble, Roman? You’re just another puppet in the Devil’s game, trying to play savior.”
The insult strikes a nerve. My grip tightens around my glass, the pressure of his words cracking through the veneer of my control. I shatter the glass in my hand, the shards cutting into my skin as I stare at him with fury ignited.
“You have no fucking clue who I am,” I hiss, my voice trembling with righteous wrath.
Eric’s laughter is cut short as I snatch a shard of glass from the broken pieces on the floor. His eyes widen in shock and fear as I approach, the edges of the glass catching the dim light.
“This is your final judgment,” I declare, the words dripping with a grim sense of purpose.
With a swift motion, I press the glass shard into his neck, the blade slicing through flesh and muscle. Eric’s eyes bulge, his mouth opening in a silent scream as he struggles against the inevitable. Blood pours from the wound, staining his clothes and the carpet beneath him.
As the life drains from him, I offer a silent prayer, my heart heavy with the gravity of my actions. “Forgive me, Lord, for I have acted as Your instrument. May this act purify the sin that sought to spread its darkness.”
Eric’s body falls limp. I step back, breathing heavily, the weight of divine retribution heavy on my shoulders.
The room is silent now, save for the faint whisper of prayers on my lips and the soft rustle of the Bible as I close it.
I stare at Eric’s lifeless body, the remains of the shattered glass and blood painting a grim testament to my divine duty. The room still echoes with the weight of what’s been done—Eric’s challenge was met with the justice that only the righteous could deliver. I take a deep breath, feeling the fire of righteous anger cooling into cold resolve .
The phone rings, cutting through the silence. I pick it up, my fingers brushing over the edges of the device as though it’s an instrument of fate.
“Seth,” I say, my voice smooth but carrying the weight of an unspoken threat.
“Roman,” Seth replies, his tone guarded.
“I trust everything’s running smoothly on your end?”
“Pretty much. What’s up?”
I let out a measured breath, keeping my tone even. “I’ve got a situation here. A bit of a mess that needs... handling.”
Seth’s pause is telling. “A mess? What kind of mess?”
“You know,” I say, leaning against the wall, staring at Eric’s body. “The kind that requires a certain level of discretion.”
Seth’s tone grows cautious. “You talking about something serious here?”
“Oh, it’s serious alright,” I reply, feeling a cold smile touch my lips. “But it’s nothing you can’t handle. And believe me, it’s in your best interest to handle it well.”
A moment of silence hangs between us, heavy with implications. “What’s in it for me?” Seth asks, his voice wary but tinged with hope.
“I’ve been thinking,” I say, pacing slowly around the room. “You’ve had some... complications with your name recently. You know, regarding certain church vehicles and their... activities.”
Seth’s breathing quickens, a mix of fear and relief. “Yeah?”
“I have a way to clear up those complications. It’s a delicate matter, but with your cooperation, we can make sure your name is in the clear,” I murmur, letting the words hang in the air.
Seth swallows hard. “What do you need me to do? ”
“Just handle the situation here with the professionalism I know you’re capable of,” I reply smoothly. “In return, I’ll make sure everything that’s been tainting your name gets put right. We all have our roles to play, don’t we?”
“Fine,” Seth says, his voice steady now.
“Good,” I say, the finality in my tone clear. “I’ll be in touch with further details. Make sure you’re ready.”
As I hang up, I feel a grim satisfaction. The pieces are falling into place, each move aligning with the grand design I’ve set in motion. Tonight’s work was necessary, and tomorrow, the path to cleansing the world of David Faulkner will be that much clearer.
Proverbs 15:18: "A hot-tempered man stirs up strife, but he who is slow to anger quiets contention."