Wrath James White and Maurice Broaddus by Orgy of Souls Read Free Book Online Page B

of your life. I think that’s how you see God: He’s just another irresponsible father who refuses to follow through on His responsibilities.”

    “Well, isn’t He? How many times have you prayed to Him to cure you? How many times did we pray for Dad not to beat us? How many children are praying right now while they starve or die of diseases or neglect or abuse? Isn’t God just like our father who art on earth? Hasn’t he ignored us the exact same goddamned way? But then Dad didn’t ignore you did he? He only ignored me. He loved you.”

    “See? Things always come back to Dad.”

    “Fuck Dad! If he doesn’t love me then I don’t love him either. I’m over all that childhood shit. I’m talking about you and me.”

    “I know. You have all of this distrust and anger and then God has the nerve to take away your best friend.”

    “That’s right. That’s exactly what He’s fucking doing. God doesn’t give a fuck about either one of us. He didn’t stop you from getting sick and He hasn’t stopped me from...”

    “From what?”

    “Nothing. It’s too late for me.”

    “Jesus forgives, Samson. He forgives us all. I don’t believe in pat answers to difficult questions. I wrestle with my faith every day. But, this isn’t about me, it’s about you. It’s always been about you. Your needs. Your redemption.”

    “I don’t want His forgiveness. Not for me anyway. He should be asking for my forgiveness. I just want Him to stop punishing you for my sins.”

    “Is that what you think? You think this is all happening to me just to punish you?”

    “I’ve got to go, Sammy.”

    “Is that what you think?”

    The door to the confessional opened and Samson rose to leave.

    “I love you, Bro.”

    “Wait! What about your penance?”

    “Save it. There is no penance for me.”

    The door to the confessional closed. Minutes later, it opened again and the next parishioner shuffled in.

    “Bless me father for I have sinned…”

    Haven’t we all. Samuel thought as tears welled up in his eyes. Haven’t we all.

15

    “Can I take your coat?” Samson held out his hands. Bare-chested and shoeless, wearing only a pair of jeans, his body glistened in the light of the bright moon. Tara brushed past him with a knowing linger of her weight against him. She slipped from her thin jacket in a fluid motion. She reeked of alcohol and stale smoke, reporting promptly from her interrupted evening at Requiem for his booty call. “Here, I’ll take your purse, too, if you’d like.”

    “My, aren’t we being the complete gentleman?”

    “You make it sound as if I’m usually not a gentleman.”

    “I’ll let you know when I want you gentle.”

    “Goes with the spirit of the evening. If I gave you my belt, would that make you happy?”

    “Well, let’s just say I plan on putting it to good use later.”

    “Promises, promises.”

    Tara’s long black hair had been pulled into a loose ponytail, highlighting her dove-like eyes and practiced smile. Her electric blue satin camisole bobbed merrily with each step, matching the bounce of her freed breasts. A black leather miniskirt showcased her toasted almond complexion. Samson led her to his spacious living room. Haunting, tuneless strains of hip-hop influenced jazz emanated as dull beats from his speakers. Spartan by design as well as necessity, the unadorned walls held a bleakness about them. With no knickknacks along his shelves, the room was impersonal. Cold.

    Only a picture of him and Samuel, in much younger and happier days, rested on the mantle above the faux fireplace next to a stand with a Japanese Samurai sword and two other smaller swords. Tara immediately gravitated to it, running her fingers over the swords. She removed the bushido blade from the stand and ran the sharpened edge over her tongue, bathing the cold steel with her saliva. The very tip cut into her tongue and her blood ran down the blade. She began to dance with it, a striptease,