The Losers: Preacher Part 2

Check out entries one, two, three, four, five, and six if you haven't been reading The Losers. In short, it's a novel about a small town that becomes isolated by a strange alien menace, written in a darkly comedic tone.

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   “Who is this girl to you?” said Preacher, speaking to the Cretin.

   “I guess it’s his girlfriend of something,” said Officer Larry.

   “Another girl you’ve lured into your den of ill-repute? Why is she fleeing from you? Did you drink too much? Say the wrong thing? Perhaps you showed her that abomination of a movie. Maybe you’ve degenerated far more than I thought. Did you hit her? Threaten her? Blackmail her in some way?”

Preacher felt the corners of his mouth tighten in a scowl. A righteous anger, one that had been brewing in him for a long time, frothed to the surface as it found a worthy target for its vehemence. The Cretin was a failure, an unchristian man, a person who took and used people without contributing anything in return. His life was a meaningless charade, a simulacrum of how a human being should live. Mindless drinking, endless fornication, the guilt being put aside and tossed away like garbage, ignored until the stench became unbearable and then the facade cracked. But who was there to turn to? He didn’t think Cretin had many friends.

   “Listen to me, Cretin, you are not setting foot in this house of God. If I let you, the both of us would likely be consumed in holy fire, so I’m doing us a favor. You can repent for your sinfulness somewhere else. Try the Methodist church on fifth street, or the Presbyterians if you prefer. Officer Larry, you seem to be here in a civilian capacity, so there is no reason for me to let you into this church after hours. You… gentlemen can see yourselves elsewhere. Goodnight.”

   “Now wait a minute, Preacher,” said Larry, extending a big hand to catch the door. “We don’t mean no harm, there’s no reason for you to shut the door in our faces. As an officer of the law, I don’t like being told no for an answer, and I also don’t like your preachy tone, which is a little much, even for a preacher. So why don’t you step aside…”

   Preacher had to stop himself from smashing the door on Larry’s hand. His face grew grimmer; his brow furrowed, and lines creased the corners of his forehead, distorting the topography of his visage.

   “You know the chief attends every Sunday with his family, don’t you, Officer? He’s very generous in his offering. He’s even thinking about becoming an Elder. Word is that you’re on thin ice with the department, due to your lack of professionalism and heavy drinking. If you forcibly enter into my church, I will let the chief know. In fact, you can be assured that I will do everything in my power to get you fired from the force. So kindly take your meathook off my doorway.”

   “Wait,” said the Cretin. “It’s not what you think. She’s special. Silica, I mean. I’ve only know her for about an hour. Larry’s telling the truth. I don’t know why the fuck he’s here, honestly. Fuck off, Larry. I don’t need your help. And your not getting my sex doll, either.”

   “Jesus Christ, what’s wrong with you people, I’m only trying to help,” said Larry. “Thought you could support the local police community, Mr. Cretin. Some charity every once in a while would be nice. Who do you think has their ass on the line when a methhead is smoking in your garage? Who rescues the damsels of the world from their hillbilly bucktoothed boyfriends? It ain’t Mr. Holier-than-thou over here. It’s me and my brethren. The hated cops. The smelly pigs. Next time somebody’s dog poops in your yard, don’t bother. Assholes.”

   Officer Larry flipped them the bird and started walking across the parking lot. Preacher locked eyes with the Cretin, the grimace on his face not moving an inch. With a ferocity that surprised himself, he slammed the door on the miscreant, locked it, and then went back to his office. Degenerate heathen. Harassing women, taking advantage of the weak, blaming his vices as though he had no self-control. He was how God made him. Yes, but God gave him a choice. God of course knew that the Cretin would fail, but he had still given him the tools to pick the right path. The failure was the Cretin’s, not God’s. Imperfect beings tend towards imperfection. Why did these doubts plague him constantly? No wonder he was a terrible preacher; he didn’t believe what he was preaching.

   He opened his office door and found the room empty. After several minutes spent searching the church, he found no trace of Silica, nor any evidence of where she had gone. It was as though she had been abducted by aliens, or God for that matter.