"It's not appropriate," said pastor Cal Sterling, straightening the powder blue tie that he liked to wear with his expensive grey suit with the hand-woven interlining. "I realize the boy is getting used to a new town, a new family-"
"Call him Bobby, Cal," admonished his wife, Vanessa, in a gentle but insistent way. She was seven years younger than he; 35 to his 42, and while he was greying at the temples she was as attractive as when they had first married. Cal often joked that marriage to a woman as lovely as Vanessa was one of the advantages of being a Protestant. "He's just as much your son as Aaron is. Not ' the boy '." She sighed. "I swear, sometimes I think you'll never warm up to him."
"Bobby, by all means," Cal went on. "And you know I have no problem with what we've- with the adoption," he went on, looking at himself in the large mirror that filled one entire wall of their walk-in closet. Walk-in closets and large mirrors were two of the benefits of living in a rather expensive house; but since Cal was the pastor of the Church of the Divine Pentecost (average attendance 1,200, thank you very much), the lord, with a little help from hundreds of generous parishioners each weak, had provided handsomely.
Vanessa put a hand on his shoulder. "Then why not excuse him this time?" she went on. "A Halloween mask is just such an innocent mistake. He didn't know any better."
"It's the occult ," Cal said, firmly, finishing up his tie and turning to Vanessa. He stood a head taller than she. "I won't have it. If Bobby doesn't know better, we have to teach him. That's the Lord's way." He paused, then added: "And that mask - you have to admit it was grotesque."
Vanessa had no disagreement there. Bobby was eleven years old, and had fashioned some simple paper and string into a startlingly spooky representation of a human face with an exaggerated jack o'lantern mouth, stitched shut with vertical hashes. The eye-holes were ringed with black marker and appeared to be crying black tears that ran down the 'cheeks' of the white paper face. It was, he claimed, part of a school project. But Vanessa had found the entire thing startlingly chilling, perhaps because it was so simply made. "Yes, I know. It looked like… I don't know. A man suffering the tortures of the cross."
"They didn't stitch your mouth shut on the cross, dear," Cal said, evenly. "I don't want to make a big deal of this. I just want Bobby to know that he should think of the Lord and Jesus Christ, and let that inspire him instead." That was the pastor in him talking. Cal Sterling was a firm believer that God and his son Jesus Christ were happy, prosperous, affirming things, and he passed that message along to his congregation every week during services at the warehouse-turned-church that served as their place of worship. Cal's interpretation of the bible was simple: that poverty, suffering and sacrifice were, contrary to what many Christians would tell you, not part of God's plan to effectively worship Him. Religion wasn't about bearing suffering, it was about a community of shared belief that would bring any god-fearing family out of suffering in time of need.
God's true believers were all promised happiness, wealth, and a blessed life. And if that didn't happen? It wasn't God's fault, and certainly not Cal's. Perhaps they just didn't give enough, or open their hearts fully to the Lord. Perhaps prosperity hadn't arrived yet and it was all just around the corner if they would keep their faith strong. And there were a million ways to keep faith strong. For example, if a congregant happened to have some luxury box seats to a college football game Cal wanted to attend, wouldn't it be a show of Christian good works for him to pass them along? And if the contractors working on converting the warehouse into a church were asking for more money for their cost overruns, wouldn't it only spread the blessings around to put an extra ten, or twenty, or fifty, or a hundred dollars in that collection plate? Of course it would! And in these million different ways, Cal took his taste. But no more than God, or his son Jesus Christ, would find seemly.
Cal also believed in the strength of family - he had two children with Vanessa, 11-year old son Isaac and 13-year old daughter Katrina - and had planned to have many more… until God threw a wrench into those plans. Bang! Polycystic ovary syndrome for Vanessa… and no more kids for the two of them. Until she had broached the idea of adoption. That was when the Bobby entered the picture. At first he had been against it - reasoning that blood was a special and perhaps spiritual bond, and also because any children Bobby had wouldn't carry on the Sterling name as blood-related male heirs. Still, he realized that male sons, young men who could at least be his ideological heirs, could also carry the Church of the Divine Pentecost forward. Two boys instead of one, two incomes, two wills, two pairs of hard-working hands instead of one, setting up the chairs and passing the collection plate.
He and Vanessa had chosen Bobby because he was a handsome boy who had a skin complexion that wouldn't make it obvious he was adopted. The agency told them his parents had been victims of violence, and that he had been in multiple foster homes and suffered possible abuse at some of them. Cal had initially cooled to the idea of taking in a boy who, because of his rough times in the system, might have behavioral problems. But surprisingly, he and Vanessa had found Bobby to be cool as a cucumber. During their initial meetings, he was calm, articulate, and seemed almost uninterested - always drawing doodles with paper and pencil while they talked. Cal had been ready to pull the plug if the boy seemed violent, dull, or otherwise damaged, but Bobby seemed very smart for his age… almost too smart. When Cal told him of the church and their mission to bring the grace of god to the congregation each week, the boy took only shrugged and nodded with a 'sure', as if he knew all of Cal's tricks and was happy to play along and help him fleece the rubes. There was a cynicism there - Cal was sure of it - but he had no proof. Only a gut feeling.
Other than that feeling of unease Cal had about his seriousness, Bobby seemed a model child. He wasn't overweight, and was also rather handsome with black hair so dark it was impossible to discern anything lighter, the bangs bangs combed over his forehead. Vanessa raved about his cuteness, predictably, and Cal had to admit he was happy the boy wasn't slovenly or strange-looking; it was important to him, in the way he imagined it must be important to all fathers, that his sons carry his name with dignity. His biological son, Isaac, was the same age as Bobby… but Cal thought he lacked intensity. Isaac was happy to go along with the family business - performing at each service during a period of "exaltation" and passing the collection plate. This was a task that Cal intended Bobby to also perform, once he introduced the boy to his flock.
"Cal, are you listening to me?" Vanessa asked. Cal blinked himself out of his woolgathering.
"I'm sorry," he admitted. "I was just thinking. What did you say?"
"I said you shouldn't be don't be too hard on him," Vanessa repeated, and leaned in and kissed his aftershave-scented cheek before looking him up and down. "You look good," she said. "I'm sure the collection plates will be full. That pool needs a new lining; remember - and there's the matter of the Tesla stalling out… we're going to need to have it checked."
"Right, right," Cal said. "Well, God will provide."
He stepped out of the bedroom, ready to meet the day. There were two major services each week at the Church of the Divine Pentecost, and in two hours, he would preside over the first one. He would tell his flock to exalt in the glory of God and his son Jesus Christ, and using passages from the good book, salted with his own motivational techniques, he would explain to each of them how the poor and struggling were not consigned permanently to their lot. Forget about Jesus washing the feet of the lepers and exalting the poor. That was all good and well, but it misunderstood what true Christianity was about. God, he would tell them, didn't love poverty. God loved prosperity. And Vanessa would get a new pool lining and a new car, and a new diamond choker for her graceful, impeccably-tanned neck, new bangles for her wrists, the kids would swim in scooters and day-trips and video games, and oh, how the money would roll in.
Forever, and ever, amen.
When Cal walked into the kitchen, his son Isaac and his daughter Katrina were already seated at the table, eating cereal and buttered toast. The kitchen was exactly as you'd expect from a man who was well off - stainless steel appliances, marble floors, two (!!) different kitchen islands, and a custom skylight. The refrigerator even had a camera display so you could see the food without opening the door… and this could be streamed wirelessly to your smartphone if you wanted a remote view of the dinner possibilities for the night. Cal enjoyed bragging to his circle of friends about this feature; it showed he was a forward-thinking pastor who wasn't afraid of modern technology in the digital age.
Isaac was dressed in white shirt and black suit with a black string tie and a crucifix clasp - his standard attire for church days. Katrina, with mousy brown hair pulled back tastefully in a ponytail, looked just as puritan in a navy dress that was extremely modest in terms of hem and bustline. Nonetheless, it was clear that the shape of her blossoming thirteen-year-old body was at the point that there was no use trying to completely hide her feminine curves. Cal felt a twinge of regret at that, but also pride - Vanessa was a beautiful woman, and those genetic advantages had been passed on to their daughter. The fact that somewhere in the great wide world, a good, strong Christian boy was dangling her eventual defloration between his legs was something he would eventually have to accept…but not yet. Until she was eighteen at least, he intended to keep her on ice. No dating. No silly parties. And certainly no daring dresses and risque swimsuits, like the ones he'd seen on television and the internet.
"Where's your brother?" Cal asked, and the two kids looked at him with momentary confusion before speaking up.
"Oh, Bobby ," Katrina said, smiling with embarrassment. "Sorry, it's so weird to have, like… an extra brother. I'm still getting used to it."
"He's putting on the suit mom got him," Isaac said, and Cal nodded with satisfaction. Bobby's wardrobe had been rather dark once he joined them; consisting mostly of black tee-shirts, athletic shorts with waistbands worn to inelasticity, and dirty-looking, scuffed jeans. He certainly couldn't wear any of those things to service, so Cal had authorized Vanessa to take him shopping and get him a smart-looking suit in order to celebrate God's love… and to look good while holding the offering box! He heard footsteps coming down the hall and expected it would be Bobby… but when he saw the boy, a wave of surprise and unreality swept over him.
Bobby was wearing his suit - black jacket, black slacks, black shoes, black tie, white shirt - but the fit and gangly boy carried it off in a totally different way than Isaac did. For one thing his tie was a four-in-hand rather than a string, which made the entire look more mature. The tailoring was better - Vanessa had obviously gotten the suit professionally fitted - and instead of swimming in the sleeves or looking like a kid playing with an adult businessman's costume, narrow shoulders beneath big shoulder pads, the jacket and slacks were trim and showed off Bobby's slender body and graceful legs and arms. When he walked into the room with his black bangs swept over one eye and down to one perfect cheekbone, Cal had a momentary vision.
The man in black. He reminds me of a kid Johnny Cash!
This was not the effect Cal had intended when he got Bobby dressed up. While Isaac's suit had a way of infantilizing the boy in a Little Lord Fauntleroy sort of way, Bobby's suit worked the opposite magic.
"You look like-" Cal cut himself off, realizing he was on the verge of verbalizing his thoughts. "You look good," he finished lamely.
"Thanks," Bobby said, sitting down at the table. "I didn't think I would look good in clothes like this… but I think it suits me well, don't you think?"
Cal only nodded as his own thoughts were verbalized with uncanny precision. "Yes," he said, and looked back and forth between Isaac and Bobby as they sat at opposite ends of the table, with Katrina in between. Isaac had the same hair and eye color as his - brown and brown - but in his suit he looked like a kid playing dressup. His body was softer than Bobby's and so was his facial expression and in general, his demeanor. He could have taken a picture and labeled the two boys Sharp and Dull.
"So, I guess we should talk about this little matter from yesterday," Cal began, walking over to the fridge to get himself a glass of milk. It was covered with refrigerator magnet letters; and the kids would amuse themselves by arranging them into words. "This… mask you made."
"Oh gosh, I saw it," Katrina said, her face impressed. " Super creepy! Like, not like kid masks you get at the Halloween store but more like something from a movie."
Cal looked back over his shoulder. "And what movies have you been watching with such things, young lady?" he admonished.
Katrina turned red at once, and looked down at her plate. "Oh, I'd never watch a movie like that, daddy - I just saw the cover on Lisa's Netflix account when we were looking for other stuff to watch." She was lying, Cal saw - but he couldn't judge whether it was a lot or a little. He decided not to make an issue of it for the moment, but he would have to have a talk to Katrina about her media consumption habits. A parent could never be too careful - Cal judged that most forms of media had a corrupting effect on young ladies.
"When I see young men dressing up in scary costumes - glorifying the macabre - I don't see any glorification of God there, Bobby," he lectured. "And in this house, this family… we put God first." He shut the door after grabbing the milk and his eyes focused on a set of fridge magnet letters right at his eye level. Someone had arranged them to read:
SIC LUCEAT LUX
Cal lost his train of thought. It was Latin, right? He realized he was simply standing awkwardly in the middle of his lecture and pushed the thought away from his mind. "If you want to apply your artistic skills, Bobby, let's work together and come up with something more constructive," he finished. "Something as beautiful in the eyes of god as it is to the eyes of everyone here on earth."
Bobby was chewing a piece of toast and his green eyes flickered over to Cal. "Sure, Dad," he said, and his voice was gentle and clean as his new suit. Cal felt a surge of something like pride at the boy calling him 'dad', and at the same time felt like Bobby was getting off too easily - addressing him in a way he knew would placate him. But if he made any more of an issue out of it, he was sure to look like an ogre in front of his other two children.
"Good," he said. Sitting down himself. After a swig of milk, he looked back at the fridge and then back to the table. "Does anyone know what that phrase means, written with the fridge magnets?"
Isaac, stuffing his face with buttered toast and a bowl of Frost Flakes, shook his head with disinterest. Katrina tried to parse it but only shook her head in wonderment, failing even to pronounce the words. Cal was just about to start explaining Latin (and also his theory that their mother had perhaps read it in the online crossword puzzles she was always doing) when Bobby spoke up in the same even, gentle voice.
"Thus, let the light shine."
There was a moment of silence. Bobby tore the crusts off of his toast and ate the buttered bread, dusting crumbs from his hands. Then Katrina broke the silence. "Woooow! You can read that? Is it from the bible?"
Bobby shot Cal a look and shook his head. "No," he answered, and then, amazingly, winked. "Right dad?"
Cal cleared his throat. "R-right, of course." He did not know where it came from… only that it seemed to carry a sinister meaning beyond the mere words. Isaac glared and rolled his eyes at Bobby, perhaps already thinking the boy was a know-it-all. But even as Isaac grew further apart from his new brother, Katrina seemed to take a greater interest in him.
"Well, I think it's pretty," she said, smiling at Bobby sweetly. "Light, shining down on all of us." Cal noticed the top button of her dress was undone. When had that happened?
"Button that top button, sweety," Cal chided, gently. The blouse was rather modest, but with the top button broken, the outline of the top of Katrina's developing chest was visible. The inappropriateness of it, combined with the off-kilter tenor of the conversation, added to the strangeness of the breakfast. Katrina blushed and re-fastened it.
Cal poured himself a bowl of cereal and they ate the remainder of breakfast in silence.
Vanessa felt guilty snooping in Bobby's drawers; when she found his drawings she told herself it was perhaps a sort of sin to look at them, and hesitated with her hand on the cover of the sketchbook she had discovered in the bottom of the bedside table, beneath various activity books and a video game controller bundled up in its own wires.
She knew her newly adopted son was an artist; she had seen him scribbling and sketching during interviews at the adoption agency. There was a playroom there, and though Bobby was too old to enjoy many of the things in it, he did like to sit down and paint or color; Vanessa had found these abbreviated sketches and doodles to have a rough-but-recognizable quality that was admirable. He didn't draw big exaggerated faces or lemon-colored suns beating down from two-dimensional skies. Instead, he drew shapes that formed abstract versions of things; such that it took a moment of exploring and concentration to figure out what a given image was. But once you recognized it - the half-triangle was a nose, the rosey blot a blushing cheek, and so on - you couldn't see it as anything else.
CLACK! A picture frame fell over and Vanessa uttered a peep. Her large breasts, hanging down in her white cotton undershirt as she leaned over the drawer from the end table's side, had brushed against the corner of a picture of Bobby standing with both she and Cal and caused it to tip. "Goodness," she muttered, and straightened the frame. She was a beautiful woman, well-endowed in breast and thigh, and in another life might have wiled away her 20's and 30's as the desired object of a wealthy man. But she had been aimless after leaving high school, and though male interest had come, the closest she had come to putting her round rear and large breasts to work in such a way was a brief stint as a Hooters waitress. The church, and Cal, had filled a void in her life. Now, her job was to act as matron of the Sterling-family clan; a smiling public face who by her very presence implied to the parishioners that a woman with her charms was waiting to fall into the arms of any man who glorified god and believed in His good word - delivered care of Cal Sterling, and specifically at the Church of the Divine Pentecost.
The contract between her and Cal - that she look good and represent the family and the church - was unspoken, but she still took it seriously. She had gorgeous, movie-starlet dark hair, almost black, and with the slightest turn of her head could send it cascading and swirling in ways that would have made a shampoo commercial jealous. She kept her legs and arms toned, and favored sleeveless blouses and tight shorts in the summertime. Nothing lewd, of course - but those male parishioners who attended service could attest that her chest was a fine example of God's infinite bounty. When she wore lighter fabrics, it was easy to imagine that one could see the puffy shape of her large nipples. Her skin was always evenly tanned and glistening with a gorgeous sheen; she used moisturizer every night. Her fingernails were immaculate but not gaudy. Her feet were also lovely - allowing her to wear open-toed strappy heels and sandals when out in the summer. Katrina loved to accentuate her grey-green eyes with smoky mascara and long, dark eyelashes. Isaac had once come home from school and asked her what a "MILF" was, since the other boys were referring to her as one. Once she learned the definition, Katrina was utterly scandalized and disgusted by the boys' blasphemy… but also slightly flattered.
She adjusted her breasts in her bra, looking to avoid a repeat of the picture-frame tipping problem, and quickly flipped to the first page of Bobby's sketchbook. Distantly, in the kitchen, she heard the murmur of conversation. The family was sitting down to breakfast; she herself had yet to fully dress for church, though she would have to start quickly.
What she saw made her gasp.
The art was good. Very good. Better than she could have ever expected. Months before, talking to Bobby, Cal had suggested that perhaps he could draw some images from the bible, or something else celebrating the good works of God and Jesus Christ. Bobby had said 'sure', but she had never seen anything religious-themed since then… until now.
The image, made of of tight and clean lines, was a woodcut of a man crawling to shelter under a joshua tree in the barren desert, with the sun beating down. Vanessa looked closer, and the man's face was pure agony - he was sweating, and appeared to be dying of exposure. The full effect was entirely unsettling. And under the image, in Bobby's simple handwriting, was the inscription:
"The rock will not hide nor the dead tree give shelter from His judgment"
Vanessa thought back to her explorations of the Bible. She knew a few passages by heart, many more roughly; but Cal didn't quote or refer to the Bible in ways that, as he put it, would make people "feel icky". He wanted services at the Church of the Divine Pentecost to be 'uplifting' and 'dialed-in' to the needs of the modern worshiper; this didn't include long and arduous parables about suffering being the lot of the penitent man. In this way, while Bobby's drawing was religious, even pious… it didn't fit in with Cal's philosophy at all.
"Oh dear," she muttered to herself, examining the line work. An asp was slithering out from behind the joshua tree; seeming to indicate that any man who seeks respite from the wrath of the Almighty would find his path fraught with serpents. And in the sky, the relentless sun beating down.
She turned the page, not wanting to look at it anymore. Vanessa didn't know why the picture made her feel uncomfortable, why it made her cheeks flush and her taut tummy tremble, but it did. But the image behind it was no better. In it, a rumpled troubadour on a city street sat slumped with his guitar case open and piled high with money… but it was obvious the man was dead; his face was gaunt and his head falling back at an angle. Below was the inscription:
Make no music but with human tongue, saith the Lord.
Peeking out from behind the clouds above was an archangel, glowing down at the man; this looked uncannily like Cal.
"Oh my!" Vanessa gasped. The turned the page again, not wanting to see the gaunt cheeks, the crooked neck of that mouldering man on the city bench. But the next image made her drop the book with a gasp.
It was a mother and child, the boy draped over her her knee and being given to suck at her breast, which seemed large and full; the boy perhaps too old to be engaging in such an intimate practice. She had let her cloak fall from her shoulders to bare her chest, the boy was in a swaddle of robes, and yet in the area of his genitals, the cloth seemed to bend around a large and intimidating phallic shape.
He can't have meant to draw it that way, Vanessa reasoned. He's just a boy. Just a beginning artist. He drew the lines wrong, and made it seem like the boy in the picture had… had a large penis!
More than that, the breastfeeding mother had certain… characteristics… that were familiar. Eye makeup. Dark hair spilling down her shoulders. The shape of her cheekbones and her mouth. Bracelets on each wrist. Vanessa looked down at her own wrists and saw she was, indeed, wearing silver hoops in the exact same place as the woman in the painting. And there was something else - something anachronistic to the otherwise biblical or ancient look of the figures. A pair of reading glasses, hanging around the mother's neck from a fine chain.
She wore reading glasses. Vanessa looked at the inscription.
Long is the way and hard that out of Hell leads up to light.
Long. Hard. These words had been scribbled over multiple times to make them appear bold. "Oh my!" Vanessa gasped again. She dropped the book back into the drawer. She had seen a window into her new son's mind and what was inside had shocked her. The unexpected intimacy of it - knowing his true artistic talent level, knowing the focus and theme of his output… knowing he had… certain kinds of thoughts. She felt a rush of excited worry. She couldn't tell Cal about this - not yet. Not when she was already worried he wouldn't take to the boy.
She had only come into the room to change Bobby's sheets and gather his laundry, a task she performed for all three of her children prior to dressing for services on the weekend. She placed the book carefully back where it had come from, making sure it looked just as it had been before, and then threw back Bobby's rumpled coverlet.
"Oh my Lord Jesus!" she hissed, clapping her hands to her mouth.
The bed as absolutely covered with semen. There was so much it had actually puddled into still-wet pools in places… and long, heavy strands were drying and becoming tacky all the way from the middle to the foot of the bed. A powerful scent of male emissions - unmistakeable for what it was - wafted into her voice and she turned her head and winced. The smell was so powerful . She knew that her son Isaac sometimes masturbated at night - she had seen the evidence, and decided not to tell Cal about it. Isaac was 11, and his output had been only a few cloudy streaks. But this … it looked like Bobby shot as much as a horse!
She extended her hand and ran her fingers through one of the cum pools, moaning at the nasty, gelatinous consistency and the lubricated wetness of it. More cum stink wafted in her face. The semen was so thick she could gather it in big, chunky handfuls… and the undried strands could be picked up like long, white worms.
An 11-year-old boy did this , she thought, and the wrongheadedness of it made her shudder. Yet, it seemed to be true. Certainly nobody else had slept in Bobby's bed, and some other explanation like the boy gathering semen from condoms to play a grotesque prank seemed remotely plausible. Her mind returned to the woodcut image of the Madonna and overaged, breast-feeding child, with that large protrusion in his robes, and her hand lingering near it as she gave him to suck. Her stomach quivered and Vanessa felt her nipples harden and her heart begin to beat more quickly. She inhaled again and again her nose and sinuses filled with the scent of pure, concentrated semen. How could a boy shoot so much? Why did he leave his bed in such a state, for her to find, absolutely splattered with his huge loads ?
Even thinking of a boy in such terms made her feel sinful. But she couldn't help but ask herself - how big would Bobby's balls have to be to produce so much? She had never actually seen him naked; even when being measured for the suit, which might have required him to strip to his underwear, he insisted on talking to the tailor alone. She had dismissed it as harmless juvenile modesty, or a desire to show his new mother that he could handle 'adult' tasks himself. As a result she hadn't seen him undress, so she really had no idea what his genitals looked like.
She heard the clank of dishware from the breakfast table, and it reminded her that time was of the essence. She grasped great handfuls of the coverlet and the smeared sheets and balled them up, dumping them into the laundry hamper, causing the thick, white seminal discharge to clump up on her fingers. A waft of the semen-smell hit her nose again and she groaned. It was so nasty… but in the context of her new son she found she wasn't disgusted. Rather, she felt like she had discovered a secret, and it was her parental duty to deal with it in a way that didn't make Bobby feel strange or self-conscious.
"Oh… god!" she breathed, as she saw the chunky cum wads clinging to her fingers. Her hands were a mess and the sheets were damp and heavy with cum as she made her way down the hall toward the brightly-lit laundry room where the washer-dryer was kept.
"Vanessa?" came Cal's voice, and she heard his chair scrape against the tile. The door to the laundry room was shut, and the footfalls of his smart Sunday-best shoes were clopping on the floor, moments away from entering the hall and catching her with cum-loaded sheets and hands. The coverlet was so loaded with sperm she couldn't wipe her hands on it - and attempting to do so on her clothing would only leave huge clumpy streaks of semen! "Vanessa, did you take Bobby to Spencer's like I asked? Because this suit…"
She did the only thing she could.
Vanessa one cum-covered hand to her mouth and, with pursed, puffy lips, started sucking up the clumpy wads of thick semen. Her tongue worked over her fingers the crevices in between each digit as she slurped up her 11-year-old son's nasty cum wads, making sure each hand was clean. Cal stepped into the hall but his view was partially blocked by the laundry basket; she had time to finish one hand, adjust the basket, and start sucking at the other. The scent and taste of pure boy sex filled her mouth. She was eating pure sperm - the same sperm that had fired out of her adopted son's underage cock. She had never, enthusiastically or otherwise, engaged in such a consumptive act even during sex; but her desire to protect Bobby from her husband's scrutiny was so strong that it purred inside her like a revving engine. Cal didn't like squeaky wheels - he wanted everything to run smoothly. And if he found out his son was having nighttime emissions that would make a stallion blush…
She filled her mouth from her second hand and let the thick semen run all over her tongue and the inside of her cheeks. It tastes so strong. She almost felt the illusion that she could feel those big, fat, wriggling tadpoles wriggling in the white gelatinous mess, looking for eggs to impregnate.
Gulp. "Nnngh!" Vanessa moaned, and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand just as Cal peeked around the laundry basket.
"Vanessa," he said. "Bobby says he asked you to take him to a private tailor? Alighieri's?" He seemed flustered, and in his agitation didn't notice the blushing look on her face or her freshly-licked hands. "I wish you had consulted me first."
"We can afford it, dear. And he seemed to have an interest in fashion," Vanessa replied, looking guilty. "It hardly seemed right to stifle him." She paused. "I don't remember what the place was called. It wasn't Alighieri's. Massimo's? A little hole in the wall shop near Beacon Street. Very 'Little Italy'."
" Bobby said it was Alighieri's. But I don't care if it was called Guido's Wophouse," Cal grumbled, sourly. "The point is, it's a very slick suit, but… it's not quite the effect I wanted. And the boy needs to learn he can't be treated special, with his every whim taken care of. He has to respect our choices, as his parents."
Vanessa gave him a rather sour and hurt look, and Cal held up his hands and backpedaled a little. "I'm overreacting," he said. "You're right. It's… it's a smart-looking suit."
"It's okay to treat him special, Cal," she lectured. "He's our son. He's spending his first weeks as part of a new family. Honestly, sometimes I think you care more about the flock at CDP than you do about your own boy!"
"If have strong opinions about how he's treated and how he acts, it's only because I do care," Cal shot back, and now there was some color in his cheeks as well. He let out a sigh, and this seemed to dissipate any acrimony between them. "I don't… I don't know if he should be up there with us today. I don't know if he's ready." He referred to the planned portion of the service where he and Vanessa would introduce Bobby to the flock as a new member of the family. Cal was planning to spin it off into a sermon - carefully constructed to solicit support and tithes, of course - about the importance of family, being fruitful, and multiplying, even while overcoming adversity. But Bobby had irked him all morning, and now he was having his doubts whether the boy could take it seriously. They had already taken him to several services; he had always sat dutifully and been well-behaved. But as far as playing his part… could he be trusted? Cal didn't know.
"That will only make him feel more excluded," Vanessa said, her eyes filled with worry. "Bobby said he would do it. Why would you have second thoughts?"
"I don't know," said Cal. "Perhaps I'm just being silly."
Vanessa touched his arm reassuringly. He did not notice that her hands were still slightly wet. "Go finish up breakfast," she said. "I'll be along after I take care of this load." Her brain immediately buzzed - phrasing! - but lamely adding 'of laundry' to the end would only make it stand out more. Cal, seeming placated, turned and walked down the hall.
She had two hours until the service to think about what she had done, and what she was going to do.
Bobby's first gathering with the Church of the Divine Pentecost was like none before it. The church itself was a converted warehouse, if one looked carefully, one could see that the improvements bought and paid for by Cal (all via the generous donations of his flock), were only skin deep. A layer of carpet covered only some of the cement; there were pews the center rows but others had to sit in endless lines of chairs. The altar and pulpit were on a raised stage, above which the overhead lighting and scaffolding was more reminiscent of a rock concert than the hallowed halls of Notre Dame or Santa Maria. Indeed, while installing it, the contractor had bragged about doing a 'bitchin'' stage setup Iron Maiden.
The sound system was state of the art, making Cal's voice boom over the hum of the industrial air system that kept the place livable summer and winter. This same sound system would play rousing Christian hymns and music during the 'praise' a period where Cal could rile up the crowd and get them excited about the glory of God and Jesus Christ His Son… riled enough to open their wallets.
Cal held court on the stage, in a powder-blue suit with a cross-embroidered maniple draped over his shoulders, while the rest of the family sat in chairs on either side if they weren't engaged in other duties. Vanessa and Katrina took turns running the music. "And it says in Matthew 18:5," he bellowed, with sweat on his wrinkled brow like he was the second coming of Jimmy Swaggart. "He who receives one child in my name shall receive me." Cal had to be careful how he talked about Bobby; being a non-denominational church built around the idea that prosperity was okay, and that Christians didn't have to bend over and give money to every homeless person just because Jesus said some stuff once, he tended to downplay Jesus' spiel about taking in orphans. But it was glorying oneself with an adoption, bathing in the grace of God? That was fine. "Come up here, Bobby! Show them your face! Come up here with Isaac, your new brother. Show them that we're all brothers!"
The crowd was getting emotional and Cal knew that meant money. Bobby and Isaac came up in their suits, Bobby looking slick in his black and white and Isaac softer in his grey with string-tie. Cal clapped his hands on the shoulders of both boys and held them against his hips, and Isaac tossed Bobby a rather distrustful glance that the congregation mostly missed. "We're all a family," Cal repeated. "And when your stove is broken and you need to fix it, who do you call? Your family. When your car's engine stops working, who can you trust to give you a fair deal? Your family." The music, playing in the background, added to the atmosphere of praise; Cal could see he really had the place humming. He spotted old Miss Carlyle, who was 88 and confined to a wheelchair, rocking and gesticulating in her seat. Each week she came to get his blessing, to get healing for the arthritis that tortured her body, to get absolution from Cal and his slick tongue. And each time he put his hand on old Miss Carlyle's head and told her that God would give her his blessing, he found another $200 in the collection plate, courtesy of her pension. Sometimes, on religious holidays, it could go as high as a thousand.
"I had no fear about taking this new life into my family because I know I had a family of thousands," Cal went on, hugging Bobby to his side. The boy stared straight ahead with no expression. "I knew that if Bobby needed a dentist or a doctor or new schoolbooks, I could count on the grace of God, working through all of you. Say 'Hallelujah!'"
The congregation did, and Vanessa smiled as she saw Cal incorporate Bobby so effortlessly into the routine. Even Katrina seemed to be getting a kick out of it, from her seat off to the side of the podium. Only Isaac looked rather jealous and upset, and Vanessa knew she would have to have a talk with him. She treasured him, as she did all her children, and wanted him and Bobby to get along and help each other like true brothers. Isaac was so enamored with being the favored male child - the one Cal used to tug at people's heartstrings. Seeing the look of distrust on his face made her heart sink.
"Who wants to come up?" Cal was saying. "Who has something to say about the grace and love of god? Who wants God to lift that financial and emotional burden from their shoulders?" This was a period in every service, before the sermon, when people who were overcome with the spirit could make their way to the stage and receive a touch on the head and some comforting words. Cal and Isaac would perform these touches, normally, and this week, Cal intended to show Bobby was part of the family by having him participate as well. His instructions to the boy were simple - Bobby was to place his hand on the heads of the faithful and say one of a number of phrases. If they had something to say - something about a personal trouble, illness, or financial difficulty, he was to listen and then give the same blessing, assuring them that all ills could be cured with the power of god.
The line of parishioners came up and split into three. Sometimes people would get very animated - speaking in tongues and gesticulating with seizure-like movements as they were overcome by the holy spirit. Cal didn't mind it. Such shows of faith - performative as he thought they might be in his private moments, though he would never admit it - helped to loosen the pursestrings. He only hoped that none of these 'enthusiastic faithful' would go into fits in front of Bobby. It could be a strange thing to watch for a first time. Though really, the kid seemed cool as a cucumber as he placed his hand on the heads of the people in his line and repeated what Cal had told him.
When Miss Carlyle arrived at the stage in her powered wheelchair, she happened to be in Bobby's line. Cal decided, on the spur of the moment. "Miss Carlyle," he announced, his voice ringing through the speaker system. "So faithful, here with us every week. 88 years old and blessed by god." He walked over next to Bobby as she approached, and a clap went up from the crowd as the old bird, her emaciated body wrapped in a shawl, became the center of attention.
"Oh, Mister Sterling, praise Jesus and the Lord God," she croaked. "My arthritis pains me somethin' awful. I need the Lord to take my pain away. Each week I ask, and it comes and it goes… but it's been gettin' worse." She held out hands with the knuckles grotesquely beneath liver-spotted skin. Tears were running from the corners of her wrinkled eyes - tears of pain from an old woman with a body rebelling against her. "And now they say I've got this bone cancer. I just say, 'help me Lord'. 'Help me Lord. Deliver me from this pain.'" The look on her face was one of bewilderment and confusion, as if she didn't understand why she was being made to suffer so. Eyes filled with cataracts gazed into Bobby's young face with naked desperation.
But the boy was like a rock. He held out his hand and placed it on Miss Carlyle's head. The crowd was abuzz at the image - an old woman at the end of her life, receiving absolution from a dark-haired young child, the cycle of life in one tableaux. Bobby turned his eyes up to Cal and give him a knowing look.
"Go ahead, son," Cal prompted. But Bobby did nothing, only looked at Cal.
"Do you want release from your suffering?" Bobby asked, in a soft voice, and amazingly, Miss Carlyle gripped his thin wrist with both of her arthritis-riddled hands and kissed it.
"Yes!" she gasped. "Oh, yes! Lord, release me from this pain!"
Bobby looked up at Cal again, and Cal felt a sudden chill, the sense that something was amiss. He was accustomed to being in total control of his services and his message. He was just about to open his mouth and tell Bobby to go ahead, to bless the rich old biddie and move on to the next one… but all he got out of his mouth was "Bobby-" before something went wrong.
Terribly, terribly wrong.
Miss Carlyle gasped and her head cocked back. A low and powerful moan rose from her lips. The crowd started to grow loud and applaud, creating a din along with the Christian music in the background. "Yes, sister!" cried a man from several rows back. "Let the Lord's spirit take you! Let God into your body and feel his love!"
Miss Carlyle's eyes rolled back and her tongue forked out of her mouth. She made a ghastly choking noise and her head began to snap left and right as she foamed at the mouth. Cal's eyes went wide; the old bitch wasn't getting into the spirit , she was having a fucking seizure! "Oh, Jesus!" he gasped. Her chest burst forward and her crooked spine, hunched over, crackled as it went from hunched over to bent back. Spit flew into the air from her gasping mouth. Her hands flew from Bobby's wrist and started gesticulating, clenching, opening and closing in the air.
"Bobby, stop it!" Cal cried. "Bobby, hold her!"
But Bobby didn't move. He simply stood with his hand on Miss Carlyle's head, not flinching as she moved and spit and her limbs flailed. She exploded forward out of her chair and tumbled to the ground, croaking, eyeballs rolling in their deep sockets, her jaundiced yellow-white hair splayed out behind her as she stared blindly at the ceiling. Bobby knelt down with her and kept his hand on her head. His facial expression never changed.
The crowd quickly began to realize that something was wrong. There were gasps and overturned chairs as people stood up to get a better view, and several ran forward to the stage. Vanessa cut the music off and the clamor of voices threatened to drown out all else. Katrina and Isaac watched, eyes as big as saucers, as the old woman seemed set to violently expire before their very eyes.
"Y-you!" Miss Carlyle said, looking up at Bobby with milked-over eyes. Flecks of drool were on her dried out liver lips. "You! You're…. You're…"
Bobby never wavered, even when flecks of foam from the old woman's gasping, spasming mouth splattered against his cheek. He only looked down at her with his unblinking green eyes, black bangs hanging over one of them, as she stared up, looking through him toward the lighting rig. To her, the blazing lamps must have seemed to be a host of angels, shuffling her off this mortal coil.
"Bobby, goddamn it!" Cal said, and his microphone, slack at his side, didn't pick up his blasphemy. He slid onto the stage and looked down at Miss Carlyle. He didn't want the old woman dying on him; not after all those weeks of receiving God's grace at his church. He raised the mic back to his lips. "Is there a doctor in the house?" Cal asked. "We could use some assistance here."
There was - Cal's doctrines were very uplifting for the wealthy, after all - and the bald, sweater-wearing medical man didn't need to graduate first in his class at medical school to tell Cal what the deal was. Miss Carlyle was dying. After a moment of performing some chest compressions, lightly, for he didn't care damage her brittle frame - he upgraded the assessment to "dead". Bobby kept his hand on her head the whole time, only removing it when no gasp of life remained. Only then did he stand and look down at her with what seemed to Cal to bean impassive expression. Not so for his other children. Isaac looked ready to begin weeping, and Katrina's wide, beautiful green-grey eyes - mirroring her mother's - were open and devouring every detail. For both of them it would be their first time seeing something like this, and this irked Cal to no end, since he was careful about what sorts of media they consumed. The look on Katrina's face especially unnerved him. Isaac's response he could accept - a kid was supposed to cry when something was scary, after all - but Katrina looked like a just-unlocked door, an interior being flooded with new and exciting knowledge about human mortality.
Considering the circumstances, Cal cancelled the rest of the service… and informed his parishioners that the praise gathering would resume the next day as scheduled, during which time a remembrance would be held for Miss Carlyle. He shut off his microphone and stepped down from the stage. The old woman, and her $200/week, were gone forever, and his new son Bobby had played a part in it.
He looked over at the boy and found Bobby was staring right back at him. Cal felt a momentary twinge of fear, without precisely knowing why.
"Brain hemorrhage and heart attack," Cal said, flatly, and the EMT nodded.
"Yeah. Simultaneously. There was nothing you could have done. That tough old lady - her body just couldn't hold out anymore. Her family told me she had Stage 4 bone cancer and was coming off pneumonia. Honestly she shouldn't even have been here." The EMT stubbed out a cigarette and stamped it with his foot. Cal listened with an impassive, understanding face, not hinting that he had been the one who had encouraged Miss Carlyle, in spite of her tremendous pain, to attend every service, to ask God for help, and, in an unspoken manner, to keep making her $200 donations.
"Well, thanks for doing what you could," Cal said. The ambulance was in the parking area; they were not even going to bother turning the lights and sirens on. Miss Carlyle was dead without any doubt or question. Death was pronounced at 11:25 AM, Pacific Time, it was now 11:45.
Meanwhile, Vanessa, Isaac, Katrina, and Bobby stayed in the large back room that the family used to prepare for each service. It was filled with audio equipment, props for special occasions (Cal occasionally performed marriage ceremonies, and there was a white wicker arch for use in such unions), and, filling large bowls, the pieces of simple bread wafer used for the Lord's Supper, which was performed each weekend. Part of Isaac and Bobby's duties had been taking these wafers and portioning them out, but the service had ended before they could be used.
"That poor woman," Vanessa lamented, and everyone nodded.
"You were really brave, Bobby," Katrina said. They were both leaning against the wall, she a head taller than her, her blossoming body curvier than his thin one. The look on her face was something like admiration. "I would have been screaming my head off."
Isaac, leaning against the wall on the opposite side of Katrina, shot Bobby another look of contempt. Vanessa caught the frustrated look on Isaac's face, and she moved to comfort him. "You were brave too, Isaac," she chided, and stood beside the boy, pulling his head into her breasts - large and round even confined in her modest church dress - and petted his hair. But he hadn't been… and they all knew it. Even Isaac knew it. The evidence of his crying was still painted on his cheeks in twin streaks of moisture. And the fact that Bobby had compared favorably in this area of composure made the boy jealous. Isaac decided he didn't like his new brother.
Katrina shot her mother a look, almost rolling her eyes, as if to say Isaac is such a momma's boy crybaby , and then she reached out and took Bobby's hand. Vanessa returned the look, as if to say I know, but what can I do .
"We shouldn't waste the Lord's Supper stuff," Bobby said, suddenly, his voice flat and inflectionless in the room. "We can at least do the ceremony here, as a family." He moved off the wall and took two steps the table, gathering some wafers. There were also large jugs of grape juice; usually a congregation would go through two or three of these, even at a rate of just one sip each.
"Well, Bobby, usually your father does-" Vanessa started, feeling a tingle, thinking about how this was uncharacteristic of the boy.
"I can do it," Bobby said.
Isaac spoke up out of annoyance. "Only a priest can give the eucharist," he said, crossly. "Dad told me. This is dumb anyway!" A whiny tinge had crept into his voice that made Vanessa wince and release him. The way Isaac dealt with problems and the way Bobby dealt with problems were so different, and she couldn't help but admire Bobby for it.
"Isaac, stop being a jerk!" Katrina scolded.
"Only a validly ordained priest can bless and consecrate the eucharist," Bobby said, holding out each hand, two bread wafers in his left, one in the right. "But dad already did that, before the service. Now, anyone can administer it."
Katrina's mouth turned to a smile. "Wow! You know your stuff, huh?" she said.
Isaac glowered and rolled his eyes. "Mom, this is dumb! Let's just wait for dad-"
"It's alright, Isaac," his mother replied. "If you don't want to do it… don't do it. But I think your sister and I are fine with it, aren't we?" The two females of the Sterling family looked at each other and nodded an understanding, almost as if they had that shared tingling feeling inside them, that feeling that the newest member of the family was something special.
"Kneel," Bobby said. "Open your mouths and accept this gift."
There was a strange energy in the air. Both 35-year-old Vanessa and 13-year-old Katrina, their bodies images of each other, one the finished product, one the work-in-progress, swathes of gorgeous dark hair spilling down over their shapely shoulders and backs. Their two pairs of sensible heels poked out behind their feet as they knelt before Bobby.
Isaac watched from the wall as Bobby spoke. "This is my body," the black-haired boy said, "Receive it in memory of me." Vanessa opened her mouth even wider and slid her long, pink, agile tongue out until it was hanging lewdly over her lower lip, showing off dazzling white teeth. Katrina did the same. They were opening so wide it seemed their jaws would nearly break, and the way they were extending their tongues was exaggerated. They had looks of rapt joy on their faces. Isaac blinked, as if he was watching an illusion or a dream. It didn't seem real.
"Uaaaggh…" Vanessa groaned, like a woman saying 'aaaahh!' for a doctor's tongue depressor. The sound was animalistic and dull, the sound an invalid would make, and in combination with the lolling tongue it was frightening. Katrina imitated this, twisting her gorgeous young features into mouth-stretched, tongue waggling imitation. She, too, made the nasty moaning noises - uaaaaaagh uawaaaagh, uhhhhhgh!
Bobby pressed the wafers down into their mouths; one with his left hand, one with his right, and Vanessa and Katrina both moaned as she pressed his fingers up against their tongues, drawing their lips closed around his thumbs and sucking the thin wafer off of him… making consumptive noises as if they were savoring a delicious meal, not performing a divine sacrament. Isaac and Bobby exchanged a glance - the first boy terrified, the second boy knowing and smirking.
"Stop," Isaac whispered, too scared to even raise his voice. Vanessa started sucking Bobby's fingers, first the thumb and then adding another, and Katrina followed suit. They made smacking, slurping noises as they licked his forefingers and thumbs, pursing their lips around them and stretching their cheeks out as they sucked… slrrrp slllch slrrrp!
"Glllllrg!" Vanessa moaned, and Isaac saw she was actually drooling, she had four of Bobby's fingers in her mouth and she was bubbling down her chin like a baby in need of a bib. When Bobby withdrew his hands with a wet noise, spittle flew from both of the females' mouths and they kept their puffy-lipped, glassy-eyed maws open like drooling sows, licking their tongues around their spit-slick lips! It was as if a spell had been cast over them! Isaac could not understand what he was seeing, but he knew it was wrong, it was nasty, and Bobby didn't seem to care. He almost seemed like he expected it.
"Stop!" Isaac said again… but his words still had no will. They came out of his trembling mouth in a puff as feeble as his courage. His mom and sister just kept making those nasty suck-faces, and Bobby turned back to the table, preparing for a short period while they grunted and hyperventilated. Their backs seemed to arch a little and outthrust their buttocks, making big moon-shapes beneath the fabric of their knee-length dresses. Isaac felt a tingle in his genitals while watching this, but it was confusing and unwelcome.
"This is my spirit," Bobby said, and turned back while holding two small glasses - barely larger than shot-glasses. These were the vessels used for the eucharist grape juice - with each sip, it would be Isaac's job to wipe the rim with a cloth to prepare it for the next faithful - but the contents were too light in color to be grape juice. The glasses were stuffed to the brim with something thick, lumpy, and white.
No, thought Isaac. No, no, no, no. What is he feeding them? This is all wrong! But he remained paralyzed on the wall, not believing what he was seeing.
"Drink this, in memory of me," Bobby said, and he held out one glass to each woman. They didn't so much drink as drive their long tongues into the glasses and start rimming them, hauling out fat globs of the white substance with blank-eyed looks on their faces. Isaac's stomach churned as he saw clear snot running out of his mother's nose and onto her upper lip as she sucked up that chunky goo. She was making out with that glass of nasty sludge and her eyes were rolled back like she was, much like the unfortunate Miss Carlyle earlier, a seizure victim. She made noises like animal - nnnngh, gllllch, hnnnngh, slrrrrrrp!
Katrina was even worse. Isaac remembered her as a cute, smiling 'big sis', even before she started wearing darker eye makeup this year and had dared to take up her hemlines a little, but taking 'communion' from Bobby, she looked like a pig . She drove her tongue into the glass and swirled it around, gathering up every bit of goo and swallowing it indecently, leaving fat wads and strands smeared on her mouth, she wiggled her tongue around and tried to capture these with a slrrp slrrp slrrp slrrp noise. She, like her mother, was drooling. Isaac watched as long, gooey strand of white stuff nearly slid off her face but she grabbed it, stretched it out like a worm, and dropped it into her mouth. Then she and Vanessa started chewing, making exaggerated, dead-eyed masticating motions with sloshing liquid sounds, their cheeks puffed out, before opening their mouths and actually gargling, letting bubbles foam around the corners before closing and swallowing.
Bobby held court over it all, not moving, not speaking, only looking down on them with implacable satisfaction. Little by little, the females seemed to come back to their senses, pressing hands against their taut bellies and wiping their mouths. "Oh, God," Vanessa moaned. "I was… I was overtaken by the spirit!"
"Me too, mom! I never felt something like that before!" Katrina added, and they had a worn, tired look to them, like two women whose bodies had been used to carry a hard electric current that had vanished as quickly as it appeared. Yet there was a knowing look in their eyes as well. They had seen plenty of people taken by 'the spirit', and they both knew, in their hearts, that it was only a performance - an expression of faith. Both of them had felt genuinely caught in something… powerful. For Katrina it was the first time. She imagined that it had been what sex with a boy would be like. The way her belly had trembled, the way her mouth had licked and sucked Bobby's hand like it was second nature. It felt new and adult and exciting and like a dark secret she wanted to explore.
For Vanessa, it was not the first time. She recognized the feeling. It was the same strange compulsion that had overtaken her that morning, when she threw back Bobby's sheets and saw them absolutely soaked in semen. God, what had she done? And in front of Isaac-
She rose to her feet and wiped her mouth. Katrina rose as well. "W-we should clean our faces," Vanessa suggested. They moved to gather napkins from the table and did just that, while Bobby looked over at Isaac. As they locked eyes, Bobby took the last Lord's Supper wafer, flipped it effortless into the air like a coin, and caught it in his mouth, gulping it down in a most flippant, unreligious fashion.
Then Bobby winked.
Only then did Isaac paralysis break. The boy did the only thing his terrified mind would allow. He ran to the exit that led back into the church, burst through it, and kept going.
Later that day, after a sullen drive home, Katrina asked if she could walk the six blocks down to get Chinese food at the Dragon Palace. Cal grunted his assent from the living room couch, barely hearing her. He was already trying to figure out what he would say at the next day's service. He would eulogize Miss Carlyle - that much was necessary - and he thought that perhaps if he whipped up enough exaltation and fervor, he could make back some of the contributions he had lost as a result of her dead. He barely noticed Bobby say that he would go too, and didn't notice at all that Isaac had been silent and wan-faced ever since the events of the church service.
It would be Vanessa who tended to Isaac - it always had been. The boy had much of Cal's desire to be prosperous but less of the will; this meant they sometimes butted heads. When that happened, it was always Vanessa who comforted him. She was a caring woman, very giving to her children, quick to embrace and caress and soothe, and Cal sometimes thought that Isaac needed a little more tough love. He found himself playing the hard case as a parent, with Vanessa as the 'good cop', always ready with an anointing word when he might raise his voice or show displeasure. What had happened that day, though, that hadn't been Isaac's fault. Maybe his biological son was a little indecisive, a little shy to be a good speaker, a little willowy to be an imposing physical presence… but in the matter of Miss Carlyle's dead, he'd been nothing but a bystander.
Bobby, now… Bobby had been front and center. He looked up as Bobby and Katrina were at the front door, preparing to make the walk down the hill, across the street and then four blocks more to the edge of downtown. He let he walk alone as far as Dragon Palace, but no further - that was the rule. No further downtown, and only in daylight. And with the sun only starting to show a bruised purple on the horizon, there were several hours of daylight left.
Cal saw that Katrine (and Bobby for that matter) had not even bothered to ask Isaac if he wanted any food, or to walk with them, and felt a burst of anger at his daughter as well. She had already changed from her church dress into some denim shorts and a thin-strapped blouse; he could have made the case that it was too risque but didn't feel like the argument. She wore flats, but her legs were plenty long and shapely enough to attract attention regardless.
"We'll be back before dark," she told him, and opened the front door. Bobby was still in his black suit, the jacket tossed over one narrow shoulder. He looked carefree as a bird, earning Cal's resentment again. He put a roof over this orphan's head and the first thing the boy did was kill his cash cow parishioner dead as Dillinger.
That's ridiculous, he thought, alarmed at where his mind had wandered. He didn't do anything. He's just a boy. But then he thought of refrigerator magnets, arranged to spell out SIC LUCEAT LUX, and Bobby's effortless Latin translation. There was something about the phrase that made his skin crawl. Thus let the light shine. Normally he would have associated that image with the glory of God in heaven… but for whatever reason, he couldn't in this case. Instead, it felt like a revealing, probing, invasive light. A blinding light glistening on an idolator's golden calf.
He shut his eyes and sighed. The sermon. He needed to figure out the sermon. Something fiery enough to make his flock forget what had happened the day before. He leaned his head back on the couch and began to brainstorm, thinking of Bobby and Katrina no further.
"I don't like him, mom," Isaac was saying, in a low whisper, choked with tears. "I don't like him and I wish he would go away."
They were laying on Isaac's bed, cuddled up in his favorite way - him curled into a feta position and his mother wrapped around him, the bigger of two interlocking spoons. She had noticed his sullenness and worry and had come to him, and now he was spilling his concerns for the first time. Bobby, he said, seemed like a know-it-all and a weirdo, those terms were simple enough. But his young, 11-year-old vocabulary was unable to precisely articulate what his biggest problem with Bobby was - that he believed Bobby was lying. Not telling lies with his words, necessary, but fooling everyone in the family - Vanessa, Katrina, Cal - except for Isaac.
Fooling them in what way? To what end? He couldn't explain. He just knew that Bobby was a jerk, and if his mom didn't realize it, then he must be fooling her. He tried to explain this as he lay on his side with her arms around his waist and her big boobs pressing against his back in a way he secretly enjoyed. "Katrina thinks he's so great," Isaac complained. "I don't know why she likes him." Isaac and Katrina had been at odds ever since Katrina started to rebel a little against their father's rules - wearing more revealing clothes, consuming more risque, non-Christian media (when she could get away with it). Isaac, who very much wanted Cal's approval, had tattled on her relentlessly, leading to a rift between them that was still tender. "She's probably being nice to him just to get back at me," he realized aloud.
"Oh, Isaac… Bobby is your brother," his mom whispered. "He's a member of this family. He's not your enemy. I'm sure he likes you, and he'll like you even more when he gets to know you."
"I don't want to get to know him," Isaac pouted. "He's creepy."
"Now, don't say that, it's very mean to call someone-"
"It's true!" Isaac moaned, raising his voice. "You two act all weird at the Lord's Supper because of him! Why? Because you thought he would like it?" He felt his mother's heart race as he brought up this event, and her grip instinctively tighten around him.
"We were just... overtaken, Isaac. Filled with the Holy Spirit." She knew this was at least partially a lie - she did now know what had overtaken her, and thought she hated to lie, she knew she couldn't tell the truth. Instead, she leaned in and kissed Isaac's neck. "I love you both. Bobby couldn't make me love you any less. And you know your father feels the same way. Bobby is just different than you. You're still the one he trusts, the one who will take over the church when he's retired."
This, at least, seemed to perk Isaac up a little. He understood the church was a performance, a way to make a livelihood. He had learned at his father's knee to see the hunger for spirituality as a need that could be exploited to live a comfortable life. "Really?" he asked.
"Really," Vanessa replied. "Cross my heart." She hugged him close and Isaac felt those big, wonderful boobs smooshed against his back again, along with her perfume. His first sexual experience had been an experimental, nervous masturbating session with those very boobs in mind. He was only starting down the road of self-gratification, but in general, he found that he had to think of certain things in order to really get a response. One of his favorite things to think about was some of the pretty girls who came to the church, kneeling down in order to receive blessings, feeling so happy to have received God's forgiveness. He wondered if, when he became pastor, he could make them do... things. (In these early stages he could barely conceive of what those things might be - but he did know he wanted people to like him and he wanted girls especially to like him.) Isaac might have felt guilty about these impulses but his the way his father treated the faithful - as a series of entries on a ledger - made those golden-haired young women, with their penitent kneeling in skirts and their closed eyes and their submissive waiting for absolution seem… less human. Barely real at all.
Bobby was the opposite. He felt very real, and everything he did seemed to have an effect on Isaac. He couldn't admit it, but part of the reason for his dislike of Bobby was that the slick, black-haired boy, with his confidence, had frequently made Isaac look like a wimpy doofus by comparison. Isaac had panicked that day at the church. Bobby had not even cracked a sweat.
He's hiding something, Isaac thought. He's weird. He's not right for this family and I'm going to prove it. He did not know what form the proof would take. He might find porno mags, or catch him downloading porn videos on the family computer. He might catch him smoking cigarettes or even worse stuff, or hanging out with bad kids from back at the orphanage. He might catch him stealing, swearing or blaspheming. He didn't know how, but Bobby would slip up eventually, and his mom and dad would see the newcomer for what he was.
When Vanessa patted him on the shoulder and told him to buck up and that things would get better, and he and Bobby would be the best of friends, Isaac exhaled and told her what she wanted to hear. "Alright," he said. He felt her wait rise off of the bed and walk out of his room… and Isaac rose to a sitting position and then, standing on his bed, looked out the window that was on his room's outside wall. The sun was just starting to set and two figures were walking down the hill toward downtown - Bobby and Katrina.
"What are they doing now?" he hissed to himself.
He watched them a further few seconds, and then decided to follow them and find out.