The Dark Divine

"I can't do this anymore," i heard someone say. The strained voice sounded somewhat like my father's. "I can't do it again."

"I didn't mean to," someone else said. It was a masculine but childish voice. "I didn't mean to scare nobody."

"But you did," the first voice said, and this time I was certain it belonged to my father. "This is the third time this year. i can't help you again."

"You promised. You promised you'd help me. You fix things. That's what you do."

"I'm done!" my father shouted.

I knew I shouldn't, but I pushed open the door and saw Don Mooney throw his hands over his head. He wailed like a gigantic baby.

"Dad!" I yelled over Don's cries. "What on earth is going on?"

Dad looked at me, startled that I was suddenly there. Don noticed me, too. He fell quiet, trembling in his chair. Fluid streamed from his nose and his great, swollen melon eyes.

Dad sighed. His shoulders slumped like the weight on them had increased tenfold. "Don decided to take his knife to work. Again." Dad pointed at the hauntingly familiar dagger that lay on his desk. It was the same knife Don had once held to my father's throat. "He scared off a bunch of customers, and Mr. Day fired him. Again."

"I didn't know he'd been fired before."

Don cringed.

"That's because I always smooth things over. Don screws up, and I fix it." Dad sounded so distant, not with the normal kindness and compassion so characteristic of his deep, melodic voice. His face sagged with lack of sleep, his eyes shadowed by dark circles. "I try and I try to fix everything for everyone, and look where it's gotten me. I can't help anymore. I only make things worse. Both of them are on their own."

"Both?" I asked.

Don wailed, cutting me off.

"Dad, this is Don we're talking about," I said, shocked at the sudden rush of feeling I had for the blubbering man--even with his knife so close by. "You weren't trying to scare anyone, were you?"

"No, Miss Grace." Don's huge lower lip quivered.

"Them people were already afraid. They was talking about the monster--the one that tried to eat Marya

grandpa used it to kill monsters. My grand daddy told me so. All my ancestors took an oath to kill monsters. I was showing the people that I could stop the monster before it--"

"That's enough," Dad said. "There's no such thing as monsters."

Don cowered. "But my granddaddy--"

"Don." I gave him my best don't push it look. I turned to my dad. "Don needs you. You said you'd help him. You can't just quit because it's hard. I mean, what ever happened to seventy times seven and all that 'be your brother's keeper' stuff you're always talking about?"

Guilt washed through me. How could I say all that? I mean, I was the one who wanted to give up on Daniel just because helping him had turned out to be difficult in ways I hadn't expected. And I really couldn't believe I was the one expounding scripture--however crudely--to my father.

Dad rubbed his hand down the side of his face. "I'm sorry, Grace. You're right. These are my burdens to bear." He put his hand on Don's shoulder. "I guess I can talk to

Mr. Day one more time."

Don lunged and wrapped his arms around my father's middle. "Thank you, Pastor D-vine!"

"Don't thank me yet." Dad sounded breathless from

Don's death-grip hug. "I'll have to take your knife away for a little while."

"No," Don said. "It was my granddaddy's. The only thing I've got of his. I need it ... for the monsters..."

"That's the deal," Dad said. He looked at me. "Grace, put that thing in a safe place." He led Don from the room, the latter gazing longingly at his knife as they went.

"We'll discuss its return in a few weeks."

I put my test in my backpack--today was obviously not the right time to get it signed--and picked up the dagger. I held it out in my hands. It was heavier than I'd expected. The blade was stained with tarnish and other strange, dark-colored marks. It seemed ancient, valuable even. I knew where Dad wanted me to hide it. I tipped back the potted poinsettia on the bookcase and slid out the key it concealed. I unlocked the top drawer of my father's desk, where he kept important things like the cash safe for the Sunday offerings and his first-aid kit. I placed the knife under a flashlight and locked the drawer.

I replaced the key and felt a pang of remorse. I knew what Don was capable of doing with that blade of cold silver, but I couldn't help feeling sorry for his loss. I couldn't fathom having only a single item to remember a loved one by.

"Hey." Charity slipped into the office. "That was really nice, what you did for Don."

"I did it more for Dad," I said. "I don't want him to wake up tomorrow regretting the things he did today," "I don't think Dad will be back to normal tomorrow."

I looked up at her. She seemed to be blinking back tears. "Why?" I asked, though I really didn't want to know the answer. I'd been holding on to the fantasy that I would wake up tomorrow and everything would be the way it was supposed to be: oatmeal for breakfast, uneventful day at school, and a genial chicken-and-rice supper with the whole family.

"Marya

I sighed. "I guess I should have thought of that. Death is usually followed by a funeral." Helping Mom prepare loads of rice pilaf and all varieties of casseroles for bereaving families was just another part of the pastor's-kid gig, but I hadn't been to a funeral for someone I was actually close to since my grandpa died when I was eight.

"That isn't the bad part," Charity said. "Marya

"What? That's not fair. Dad knew Marya

"I know. But they won't listen."

I sank down in the desk chair. "No wonder he's talking like he wants to give up."

"You know the worst part? Pastor Clark heard about our duet from Sunday, and he wants us to sing it at the funeral because it was Marya

I opened my mouth to protest.

"Mom says we have to." Charity sighed. "She says it's our obligation or something like that."

Obligation. I was begi

Chapter Eight

Temptation

WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON, AT THE FUNERAL

A somber shadow cast over the parish, touching the hearts of all those who shuffled into the sanctuary for Marya

"Invite whomever you'd like," she said to Charity and me as we loaded trays of food into the Blue Bubble. "I want this to be the warmest Thanksgiving your father can remember. He could really use the company."