CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The Disciple leaned listlessly against the tile wall of her shower. The water had long ago transitioned from warm to tepid and was now flirting with being truly cold. Soon, that cold would become uncomfortable, but the Disciple couldn't find the energy to leave the shower and towel off.
Santana had died easily. They both had, but it was different with Santana. Hammond had gone to judgment, accepting his fate. In his last moment, he looked up to God, not pleading for mercy but acknowledging that he was receiving what he deserved.
Santana, on the other hand, had begged. She had cried out to God for salvation, and when the knife pierced her heart, her last word, spoken while meeting the Disciple’s eyes, was “Please…”
It was sacrilege. Blasphemy. To cry out to God for salvation when you had broken one of His holy commandments?
The Lawgiver would tell her that Santana would suffer greater torment in Hell for her disrespectful pleas. He would be pleased that she ignored the plea and let Santana fall without even a sliver of undeserved kindness shown.
But the Disciple couldn’t get those eyes out of her mind, couldn’t stop hearing the fear in that final word.
You must pray, the Lawgiver said in her head. You must ask God for strength to overcome your foolish doubts.
“Doubt is the refuge of the weak-minded,” she whispered aloud.
The water was very cold now, so she switched it off.
She remained where she was, though, continuing to lean against the wall of the shower and breathe.
Goosebumps raised on her skin as the water evaporated and took with it the heat from her body.
In summer, the cold wouldn’t become great enough to be harmful, but it would be uncomfortable, and she wanted that discomfort right now.
She wanted pain to remind her of her purpose.
There were more. More, for whom she had to dispense punishment. More who had transgressed and escaped their divine justice. She couldn't doubt now. She couldn't hesitate.
With an effort, she pushed herself off the wall and stepped out of the shower. She caught sight of herself in the mirror, naked, vulnerable, a servant of God, heart and soul bared before the Holy Spirit.
“Take me,” the Disciple said. “Take all of me. Refine me in the fire that I may come out pure as gold.”
She shuddered as she thought of the fire she would burn in for her crimes. Would God at least grant her an audience before He cast her into unquenchable flame? Would he tell her Well done, my good and faithful servant?
The Lawgiver would say no. He would say she was foolish and wicked for asking. God’s commands were inviolate, and the fact that she had killed to serve God rather than to defy Him didn’t change anything. She had broken the sixth commandment. For that, she would burn.
“There shall be weeping and gnashing of teeth.”
She closed her eyes and nearly prayed that God would take this cup from her again, but she stopped herself. God knew her fear. If it was His will to relieve her of this task, He would do so.
She knew He wouldn’t. She still had work to do.
Her time on Earth wasn’t yet complete. When it was, she would comfort herself knowing that even if God never acknowledged her service, He would remember it.
Perhaps one day, in the incalculable vastness of eternity, He would find it in His heart to show mercy on her.
God is unchanging, the Lawgiver’s stern voice reminded her.
“Yes. But even God repents sometimes.”
Something shifted inside of her when she said that. Her brow furrowed. For a moment, she didn’t see the Disciple in the mirror but only a plain woman in her forties, covered in goosebumps from allowing herself to air dry.
She tried to follow this feeling to completion, but she couldn’t. The weight of her task settled on her again.
“Not my will, but thine be done.”
She grabbed a towel, covered herself, then went into the kitchen to prepare her plain meal.