XII.

Holden Cross, the Low Priest, sat naked at the foot of his bed, his now well-toned muscles accentuated by the dim light in his parent’s old room. Behind him, two of his Cadre slept. They’d offered to try and make him feel better after he’d gotten the news. And they had tried. Tried but to no avail.

                

He got up and made his way to the dresser. He stood before it, rested his hands on it to lean, and looked right into the eyes of the crucified Christ. Not the real Christ, of course. No, the real Christ had never deemed Holden worthy of that honor. It was a ceramic Christ, an heirloom from his father’s church, hung up on the Low Priest’s wall.

                

“You never get tired of taking, do you?” he asked the Christ.

                

But as always, the Christ did not respond.

                

The Low Priest was referring to the Leper. Her sacrifice for his mission was the leading story on every news show. “Arsonist burns down local library. Survivors say she remained inside.” The Low Priest dropped his head, shook it. He missed her, would miss her. Yes, he had others now. Other disciples, other believers in his cause. But…just like with romance, there’s always a slice of the heart that can’t get over one’s first.

                

“Don’t worry, though,” the Low Priest said, looking back up at his enemy. “I’m planning to take from you too.”