The chilly September air stung his cheeks painfully, and the wind forced tears that had not spilled out of despair from his eyes. Heavy clouds filled the sky. The air was thick with the scent of approaching autumn.
The decline of all that was beautiful...
Todd stared melancholy at the browned leaves.
"Just wait until the trees shed their rusty cloaks at the feet of the majestic winter... Just as I cast my life aside before the silent Lady of Cold..." He shuddered involuntarily and clutched his shoulders. He didn't like his thoughts. He was cold. Not just physically.
"Well, Todd, you have to get used to the fact that you're dying..." he thought dispassionately. "God, how that sounded..."
He lowered his head. He wasn't looking where he was going. He didn't care. He let fate carry him along in its swift current. He didn't look at people either, as if his mere glance could harm them. He felt dirty. He stared blankly at the sidewalk and shuffled steadily on his journey to nowhere.
He raised his head and looked around in surprise.
"I'm so tired..." There was genuine surprise in his voice. He had arrived at one of the wealthiest districts. He was standing on the city's main promenade, lined with luxury shops. The price of most of the products sold there could have fed an ordinary mortal for three months.
Todd clearly sensed that this wasn't his place. He didn't belong. He scanned the faces of the passersby uncertainly. They expressed either complete indifference to his existence or simple contempt. Young Armstrong didn't know which was worse. Paradoxically, surrounded by a crowd of people nudging him, he felt utterly alone. He wanted to scream in helpless despair. With a desperate leap, he broke free from the venomous horde and ran blindly forward. People moved out of his way, fearful of this terrified misfit. He stopped only a few streets away. He leaned his back against the cool window of a shop window.
"What's happening to me?" he asked quietly, not expecting an answer. He wiped the sweat from his forehead. He gasped for air in shallow, ragged breaths. His heart was beating fast, as fast as a terrified animal caught in a trap. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. His thoughts resembled the ocean during a summer storm. He was no longer certain of anything.
He sighed heavily and pulled his back away from the glass. He turned and accidentally caught his reflection in the glass.
"Is that really... me?" he wondered. Before him stood a strange man, rendered in shades of gray. Dark hair peeked out from under an even darker cap, lazily framing his neck. A black jacket hugged its owner's thin body. The stranger's pale eyes were unnaturally wide. He was afraid.
"Why are you trembling, sad twin? After all, your death is certain, and you can't change anything..." He leaned his burning forehead against the window, quoting the words of a long-forgotten poet. He bit his lip. He raised his head and looked at his friend in misery. A solitary tear rolled down both cheeks.
"Farewell..." He placed his hand against the window and smiled sadly. "Who knows? Perhaps this will be the last time we see each other..." He laughed softly, his voice devoid of humor. He abandoned his brother and walked away, leaving the district of desolate decay without regret.
"How high up here!" he said, leaning over the bridge railing. A dozen or so meters below, the water flowed peacefully. But appearances cannot be trusted—in truth, it was a deadly force.
Todd stared emotionlessly into its depths. He wondered what its temperature was.
"Perhaps I'll find out?" he wondered aloud. Why not? He was dying anyway. He would end his life here and now. Why bother?
He climbed over the railing. He stood on a narrow strip of concrete suspended above the river. He held on to the metal bars, waiting for the right moment.
"As a child, I wanted to kill myself many times. I wonder if I'll have the courage this time..." he thought.
"I wish I'd decided to do it sooner," he admitted regretfully.
He felt a fresh breeze on his face. There was no one nearby, and in the silence that reigned, he could hear the soft, inviting whisper of water. He smiled.
"Yes, the world is beautiful..." He looked at the horizon. He didn't even try to hold back his tears—two salty streams adorned his face. He felt happy. "And without me, it will be even more beautiful."
He let go of the railing.
"The end..."
As his body leaned forward, he heard a sad female voice in his mind.
"Don't you dare do anything! Remember, there will always be someone waiting for you here..."
The whisper was like a bucket of icy water.
"God! I don't want to die!" he cried desperately. At the last moment, he jerked back, his slender fingers clutching the metal bars. He stared down in horror. His throat was so tight he couldn't even utter a word. He was shaking as if he had a fever. Swinging his leg over the railing was a superhuman effort, but he hesitantly undertook it. As soon as both feet touched the surface of the bridge, the last of his strength left him. He fell limply to the ground. The bars dug painfully into his back, but he didn't even notice. He pressed his thighs against his steadily moving chest. He folded his hands helplessly on his knees. He slumped his shoulders and burst into tears.
"I'm pathetic..." he sobbed. So what if he was well over twenty? He was still a child, as helpless as the day he came into this world. His own mother had never made him feel safe. When he most needed love and support, he received only hatred and contempt. Only with two strangers had he found what he'd been searching for his entire life. And he wanted to just abandon it?
"Jimmy... Rebel... I want to go home..." he whispered, wiping away his tears. He was like the prodigal son who had realized his mistake. And now, even though he felt like trash, afraid and hated at the same time, he longed to return to the place where he belonged. To his true home. To a home where someone was waiting for him...
But he didn't have the courage to get up and face the world. He gave in...
An icy droplet fell down his neck. He shuddered. Another one splashed on his pale hand. He looked up at the sky in surprise.
"Rain?"
A cold downpour, like a baptism that washed away all sins, washed his face of bitter tears.
Todd sneezed.
"Oh, yes. I'm sick..." It seemed to him that the fever had returned. And in his condition, that was very dangerous. "It's too far from home. I need shelter somewhere..." He jumped up. What stagnation and despair had halted, a simple rain could stir. Todd broke into a run, splashing water from the puddles. The steam rising from his lungs created a hazy curtain behind him. His vision blurred and distorted in his feverish frenzy.
He ran off the bridge, desperately searching for refuge for his tortured body. Empty.
Some violent impulse he couldn't explain drove him on. He passed streets after streets with unfamiliar names. Yet something kept pushing him forward. He didn't know what it was, but it was an incredibly powerful feeling.
A right turn, a dilapidated tenement building, a left, a wrecked Volkswagen, another alleyway, and…
Todd stopped dead in his tracks.
The bronze gates were open. The dim light illuminated by the faint glow of lamps and the timid flicker of candles. The unmistakable scent of dignity. An iron cross above the door.
A church. A house of God in a poor neighborhood.
He hesitated. When had he last visited a church? When had he been eight? Ten?
"No…" he remembered. "I was at my mother's funeral. As a fourteen-year-old brat…" he muttered glumly. Why had he come here, anyway? He couldn't answer that question. But since he was here, why not take refuge from the unfavorable weather inside?
He wrestled with his thoughts for a moment and hesitantly stepped into the church.
Todd didn't actually believe in God. However, he figured "you never know," so he tried to stay out of His way too much. He had enough troubles as it was…
He took off his cap and stuffed it in his pocket. However, he couldn't bring himself to dip his hand in the holy water.
An eerie silence enveloped him like a cocoon, muffling all sound. His presence in this holy place was blasphemy. He felt like an intruder, a false note in the melody of creation.
He paused in the vestibule, pondering what to do next.
The church was empty—people had already left after evening Mass, and the sexton hadn't yet managed to put a padlock on the grate separating the corridor from the main part of the church.
Only by touching the very essence of silence, without the crowds around, can one perceive the full mystical beauty of sacred buildings. Todd was captivated by this atmosphere. He entered, mesmerized. Halfway to the altar, he fell to one knee. Although he hadn't been in the House of the Lord for many years, he still vaguely remembered the activities he had performed long ago. He rose and looked back. The rain hadn't let up even a bit, and in fact, it seemed to have intensified.
As if out of spite...
Todd glanced around automatically and, without much conviction, took a seat in the pew. He blew on his hands, not so much to warm himself, but more to exercise his upper limbs. In church, hands automatically folded in prayer. And yet, he didn't believe in God.
"Besides... What's the harm?" he asked himself and knelt. He crossed himself clumsily. His lack of practice was evident. He placed his folded hands on the back of the pew. He sighed silently and began to pray the bitter, incoherent, yet sincere prayer of an incorrigible sinner.
"God,... if you're even there at all, of course..., I won't recite any litany or prayers for you here. Forgive me, I don't know a single prayer. My mother was too busy drinking to teach me any. Besides, you know that perfectly well..."
"What idiocy..." flashed through his mind, but he quickly reconsidered.
"I don't like to beat around the bush. So I'll be blunt: you've screwed up, for I don't want to
put it more bluntly, my entire life. I'm not afraid of hell, because I've simply become accustomed to it. And it's all your doing. Actually, I don't blame you for that. I don't hold a grudge. On the other hand, I have a grudge against you for something else. Why, when my life was finally starting to fall into place, do you want to take it all away from me? It's a bit unfair, don't you think? What am I saying, it's damn unfair!"
He felt tears welling up in his eyes.
"You never listened to my prayers. Not once. Never. Not even when I wanted my mother to be sober on my seventh birthday. Nothing happened - I was also beaten with a vacuum cleaner cord. I still have a scar under my shoulder blade. I understand, you had many other worries - floods, diseases, murders, epidemics... What did you care about one crying and unhappy child? But now I beg you to listen to me again,at least this once..."
He raised his glassy eyes to the altar.
"You can do whatever you want to me—maim me, beat me, strike me with lightning, kill me... I don't care. I might die, but I beg you: Don't kill Jim and Rebel too!" He didn't even realize he'd shouted the last sentence forcefully to the entire church. He rested his forehead on his clasped hands and stopped holding back tears.
"You'll probably ignore me anyway, right?" he whispered, his tone so strong that it could never dispel the darkness of suffering.
"Do you want to confess?" the timid question came from his right. Todd jumped as if scalded, trying to discreetly wipe his eyes. A young priest sat down next to him. He looked at him patiently and gently, with that characteristic look of all "men in black" eager to convert another sheep.
It took a moment for the meaning of the words to sink in.
"No," he smiled ironically. "My sins are too 'grave'. It's far too late for me to forgive."
"It's never too late..." The priest wasn't put off by his words, but placed a hand on his shoulder and smiled reassuringly.
"No," he repeated firmly. That was all he needed—a religious fanatic on his back. "
I see something's bothering you... Perhaps you'd at least like to talk? Talking is balm for the soul...
" "And what about you, priest? Is he getting a doctorate in psychology?" he said dryly. "We have nothing to talk about."
He'd hoped the priest would be offended and leave him alone. He'd miscalculated; the man sat motionless, staring expectantly at Armstrong. A very irritating look..."
Todd sighed dramatically. "
Listen, I'm an alcoholic, a drug addict, and a gay man who found out today that he's HIV-positive, and on top of that, he might have infected his friend and loved one. Do you still want to 'talk' to me?" "He asked mockingly, but there was a bitter note in his voice. His blue eyes narrowed to slits.
The priest instinctively withdrew his hand. For a moment, fear flashed in his pupils. Anxiety, contempt, and reluctance. And though he made no further movement, he moved a little away. A terminal illness and resignation can effectively discourage help.
"I knew..." The ironic smile on Todd's face looked like a cardboard cutout. It didn't fit the sad face and glassy eyes. He hung his head, staring at the bright floor of this holy place, which he sullied with his mere presence.
The priest was visibly confused. This wasn't what they taught him in the seminary...
"I heard you scream..." he began cautiously. Todd remained silent. The priest continued. "If someone asks with such faith and passion, it will be granted. You opened your heart to God." Trust Him, and you will be heard. Deep faith is always rewarded...
Todd glared at him and burst out laughing, a hollow echo echoing through the vast church space.
"But I don't believe in God! I'm just desperate. I could beg and hug the knees of every passerby if it would help. So don't tell me anything about deep faith..." he grimaced in disgust. "This whole Church is a complete sham." He folded his arms across his chest, glaring defiantly at the tabernacle. "
You offended me with that statement." The priest's voice sharpened. "
You don't think I'm going to apologize, do you?" he challenged. He frowned, and a deep furrow crossed his forehead.
They stared at each other for a moment. A storm hung in the air...
They both turned away, hiding their embarrassment with a short clearing of their throats.
"Come on..."
"We're adults after all..."
After these simultaneous sentences, silence fell again. Todd closed his eyes. He felt truly awful. A gray space filled him. He was slowly sinking into its treacherous depths...
"But why don't you actually believe in Him?" the priest's slightly pathetic voice brought him back to reality. He looked at him in surprise.
"You still ask? It's so obvious... He's unjust and doesn't care about our fate at all," he declared. "
Why?" he probed. In some strange way, this man was beginning to fascinate him.
Todd's eyes misted over.
"You want a reason?" he laughed cynically. "I'll give you enough..." He exhaled with a hiss, and along with the carbon dioxide, the last semblance of humor vanished from him. "I was born a bastard of the worst kind—the product of rape. Every day I was spat upon, insulted, and hated with all my heart. Even as a small child, loneliness, bitterness, and despair consumed me. I asked God for help, but He was deaf to my pleas. Finally, I stopped. If He won't listen to innocent and unfortunate children, will He listen to a sinful adult? And when, after so many bitter years, I finally found loved ones worth living for, He wants to take it all away from me. And now tell me," he stared at the young priest with haunted eyes. "Can you believe in Him after all this?" he said dryly and rose from the pew. Suddenly, he felt a strong tug. He turned around, surprised. The priest grabbed his sleeve and spoke gently.
"God loves all people. Just give Him a chance...
" "Yeah... sure." He jerked his hand away angrily and quickly left the House of God. The rain had stopped. Todd looked at the sky. It had cleared considerably.
And the priest knelt, crossed himself, and offered a fervent prayer to the Creator...
End of Part Three.
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