#PSALMS OF THE PISTOL GRIP

[lpdwillwrite4coffee]

BLOODY SUNRISE CHAPTER SEVEN

Two days.

Two days of heading east. Of trudging through forest and abandoned crop fields. Of discovering suburbs or towns only to find them razed or overrun with Geeks. And more fences.

Each time they came across a chain link barrier, Booker got quieter, almost brooding. Whatever quip he’d been about to hurl at her died on his tongue and he’d slow his pace, fresh disappointment and sorrow washing over him.

He never said why though. But Caitlin could guess.

Their options were running out. Their path was being chosen for them, forced to go the even longer way around. And their supplies were dwindling.

They finished the last of their water on the morning of the third day. Booker immediately pulled out his map and crouched down to read.

“Any viable sources for drinking water are south west from here. And…” He squinted up, gauging the sun’s position. “If we keep going this direction, we’re gonna land smack dab in the middle of a hot zone.”

Caitlin sighed. “What?”

“Atlanta is a day’s walk that way,” he said, gesturing. “If we keep trying to go around, we’re gonna end up in some trouble.”

She wanted to yell and pull her hair. Instead she just exhaled roughly and planted her hands on her hips.

“I spent a week getting away from Atlanta only to wind up back there.”

Booker stood, refolding his map. “It’s my fault,” he said. “I thought there’d be a way to go up and around, but…”

“Okay, so now what?” She couldn’t focus on the time lost. Only on moving forward.

Locking eyes with her, Booker said, “We go south. Fill up our water supply, then we head west.”

Caitlin nodded. It was all she could do. “Alright.”

She felt him watching her as she swung her pack over her shoulder and started walking.

After a few moments, Booker was on her heels. “I know what you must be thinkin’.”

“Oh?”

“You’re thinkin’ I’m an idiot for gettin’ us lost. For leadin’ us towards a hot zone.”

She cocked her head to look at him. “You’re a mind reader now?”

“I really did think there was a way—”

“Booker.”

“—I just thought if we stuck to the forest, we’d have better luck at avoiding any—”

“Booker.”

“But we’ll figure it out, we’ll—”

“JACK.” She stopped, spinning on her heel to face him. “I’m not mad at you. I don’t think you got us lost. You made a judgement call and it didn’t work out. So stop projecting your insecurities. It’s extremely unattractive.”

She started walking again but could feel him watching her still.

After a moment of silence, he called, “Did you just call me attractive?”

“Should’ve left him for the Geeks,” she muttered, marching onward.

                                                               ***

Late afternoon sun cast the surrounding land in a golden glow. Caitlin squinted in the light, shielding her eyes.

“Hold up,” Booker said, slowing his pace. “You see that?”

It took her a second, but then she spotted the wire wrapped around a few saplings. It was a perimeter marking, with pieces of metal dangling from it. A homemade alarm.

“People,” she whispered. There wasn’t a house in sight, but it must be closer than they knew if they were that close to their warning system.

“Maybe…” He swung his rifle off his shoulder and held it at his side. “Stay close, Meadows.”

They maneuvered under the wire, stepping lightly and keeping their eyes open wide. After another ten minutes they found a second row of wire and cans, this time with stakes in the ground, pointing up and out to impale any Geeks that managed to make it that far.

“Booker, I—”

“Jeremiah!!” A woman yelled, and Caitlin heard the distinct click of gunmetal. “Trespassers!!”

“Shit,” Booker hissed, making a move for his rifle.

“Hold it,” a man called. “Don’t you move, son!”

Caitlin’s heart was in her throat. Her legs shook with the need to run.

Lifting her hands, she scanned the thin tree line for faces. Several yards away, she spotted the woman aiming a hunting rifle at them.

“Booker, they’re armed,” she whispered.

“Yeah, kinda figured that one.”

Heavy foot falls alerted them moments before the man stomped through the brush. Tall, barrel chested with a round belly, he wore a white button down and suspenders. Not exactly what Caitlin had been expecting.

“You bit?” He yelled, adjusting his grip on his shotgun. “Scratched?”

“No sir,” Booker called back, holding out his hand and gun to show he didn’t mean trouble. “Neither of us. We were passin’ through.”

“Ain’t you seen the perimeter?”

So subtly she nearly missed it, Booker shifted his weight, putting himself just a few more inches between Caitlin and the man.

“Yes sir, we did. Made us a little optimistic there might be people ‘round.”

Booker’s accent thickened as he spoke, and Caitlin silently appreciated his knowledge of code switching. Sound like you’re a neighbor, get treated as a neighbor.

“There more of ya?”

Booker shook his head. “No sir, jus’ us. And we don’t mean y’all any harm.”

The woman stepped through the tree line then, her long greying hair in a braid over her shoulder, white dress and apron fluttering in the breeze. Her gaze shifted to the man—her husband, Caitlin guessed.

“Jeremiah…”

“Constance, be smart.”

Booker didn’t move. They were clearly having a conversation made purely of subtext neither of them understood.

The man took a step forward. “Y’all God-fearin’ people?”

Caitlin bristled at the question, but Booker didn’t even blink.

“Psalm 121, verses 7 and 8,” Booker called.

At that, the man started to lower his shotgun. “The Lord keeps you from all harm and watches over your life. The Lord keeps watch over you as you come and go, both now and forever.” He grinned. “Welcome Brother, you have been delivered.”

Staring at the back of Booker’s head, she made a dozen mental notes to ask about that particular exchange.

The woman lowered her weapon and out of the brush stepped several more people—all aged twenty to nine, and armed. Most of them were boys, but one girl about ten years old in a floral dress held a teddy bear in one hand and a pistol in the other.

“Did you see them before?” She whispered to Booker.

“Yep. You?”

“No.”

In total, the family was about ten strong.

The pit in Caitlin’s stomach grew.

“Sorry about the less than hospitable greeting,” Jeremiah called, striding over. “We’ve learned it’s better to be gruff first and apologize later.”

“No offense taken,” Booker said.

The men shook hands, but Caitlin took a step back, eyeing Jeremiah warily.

Maybe she just hadn’t been around people in so long, especially people different than herself, but… something felt off. The memories of the first family to take her in rolled over and over in her mind. The openness, the kindness, the general feeling of ‘we’re all in this shitty situation together’… It was a stark contrast to Jeremiah’s gatekeeper attitude.

“I’m Booker, this is Caitlin.”

Jeremiah reached for her hand and she took it on impulse.

“Nice to meet you, young lady,” he said, squeezing her hand just a little too hard.

“You too.” It was a lie. Her legs still trembled, begging her to bolt away and drag Booker with her. She stayed planted.

“The house is just up this way. Ya caught us while we was doin’ chores.”

Caitlin didn’t move until Booker did. She stuck close as they followed the family up to their cabin.

As they walked, Jeremiah talked with Booker like he was an old friend—the result of having the same creed, she guessed.

She listened in as Jeremiah explained the cabin was his daddy’s and kept just for vacation and hunting trips, but when the world went to hell, he’d brought his family there to stay safe and away from the roaming ‘biters’ as he called them. He quoted scripture so many times Caitlin lost count, all about how it was the end of days and that Christ was soon coming again.

It wasn’t the Bible talk that made her nervous. It was the unsettling glint in his eye. Like he’d just decided he was running for Mayor, too friendly, too chatty, too happy to have them stay with them. All while his wife was silent, his children keeping their distance from them.

From him.

The house was larger than Caitlin anticipated, and well protected it looked like.

Secluded. Far away from any main roads. No neighbors.

She tried to shake the disturbed feeling, but it clung to her.

As they made it up the front porch steps, Constance spoke for the first time since they’d accosted them.

“We’re making stew for dinner. Y’all are welcome to get cleaned up. Maybe wash your clothes.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Caitlin said. “But I’m not sure how long we’re staying.”

“Well you’ll stay the night of course,” Constance said, a desperate tremor in her voice. “Y’all look tired and in need of some good food. We’re happy to have you.”

It felt final. As if the decision had already been made. Caitlin fought not to grimace.

Booker had been led to the other side of the main room by Jeremiah, and while the distance was maybe only a few feet, it felt too far for her comfort. With a polite smile, she wandered over to Booker’s side. The men were in the middle of discussing how the cabin had managed to maintain hot water and electricity with the right amount of propane and generators.

“Excuse me, can I borrow him back for a moment?” She asked, already reaching for Booker’s arm.

“’Course, darlin’.”

She’d grown accustomed to Booker’s voice saying that word and hearing a stranger call her that made her spine go rigid.

The family all milled around—younger children running off to play and the older boys hovering, looking like they were trying to puff up like their father.

Booker followed her back onto the porch, careful not to let the storm door slam.

“I don’t—”

“Shh shh,” he cut her off, pulling her to the other end of the porch away from the open windows. “Whisper.”

She nodded and crossed her arms. “I don’t like this.”

“I know that wasn’t the friendliest of greetings.”

“It’s not… Booker, something’s… off.”

He furrowed his brow, dark eyes locking with hers. “Whaddya mean?”

Caitlin bit the inside of her bottom lip, unsure if she should open a wound she’d only just managed to close in hopes of getting him to understand.

“This guy… his family…” She shook her head. “Booker, I don’t want to stay here.”

He sighed, leaning against the porch rail. “I know that back there shook ya up—”

“It’s not—”

“But Cae, they’re offerin’ us food. Water. Shelter. A hot shower—something I definitely haven’t had in…” He sniffed himself. “A very long time.”

Caitlin ground her molars.

“It’s almost dark,” Booker continued. “We’re out of food, and we’re at least another half day’s trek to anywhere that might have supplies.”

Her legs began to shake again, muscles screaming to run, run, run.

“We’ve managed on our own this far,” she countered, staring up at him. “We don’t need them.”

Booker watched her a moment and then took her by the hand, pulling her further away from listening ears.

“Talk to me.” He turned to face her, watchful gaze on the door to the house. “Just this mornin’ you were sayin’ how we needed supplies, we needed a safe place to make camp and rest up for a bit—”

“I know, I know what I said,” she interrupted, annoyed that her own argument was being used against her.

“Okay, then what’s changed?” He waited but when she didn’t speak up immediately, he added, “Meadows, I wanna understand, okay. I’m here, I’m listenin’. You’re sayin’ you wanna leave, turn down their hospitality, I gotta know why.”

Caitlin swallowed, throat abnormally tight. “He reminds me of my stepdad.”

Booker blinked, waiting for her to continue.

“Overly nice to company, while his family is stock still and quiet, terrified of making a wrong move they know they’ll pay for later.” She folded her arms over her stomach. “And his wife? She’s too insistent on having us stay, probably because she knows he’ll be on his best behavior while we’re around.”

“I didn’t see any bruises…”

“Oh, Booker, come on,” she snapped, about to turn away from him.

“No, I just… I don’t wanna make assumptions about a man we don’t know.”

Pegging him with a glare, she said, “I know him. I know men like him. He’s good at fooling people into thinking ‘no, not him, he could never.’”

Booker inhaled, glancing at the darkening sky. “Cae, I know you’re scared… and bein’ around people again is nerve wrackin’ for me too. It’s hard to trust anyone anymore. But turnin’ our backs on shelter and food this close to nightfall… I dunno...”

A sharp pang of betrayal was quickly followed by a sour feeling in her stomach. Maybe he was right… she’d been distrustful of Booker when they first met, and he was a good man. Just because someone was like her stepfather didn’t mean history was repeating itself.

And the prospect of a hot shower and warm meal was alluring.

“Okay,” she relented. “You’re right, we need a safe place to rest. It’ll be fine.”

Booker wrapped his hand around her arm, gently squeezing in reassurance. “One night, two tops, and then we’re on our way again.”

She nodded, forcing down the lump in her throat.

The porch door swung open and Constance stepped out. “Supper’s ready. Y’all hungry?”

                                                               ***

After nearly inhaling their venison stew and rolls, Constance showed them to the bathroom upstairs and laid out some toiletries for them. She told them to pile their dirty clothes outside the door and she’d throw them in the wash.

Caitlin watched the woman, searching for signs she’d been right before… or wrong. It all felt smudged and blurry, like wiping a hand over something written in chalk.

Booker insisted Caitlin shower first, keeping subtle watch by the door.

It was an action that had her eyes pricking with unshed tears. He might not agree with her about Jeremiah or his family, but he wasn’t about to leave her vulnerable and alone.

After three weeks of rinsing off in creeks, sponging off with stolen paper towels and rags, and keeping her hair in a tight ponytail, stepping under the warm spray was almost orgasmic.

She moaned like it was anyway.

“Do I wanna know what you’re doin’ in there?” Booker called through the door, smirk audible.

“You wish,” she responded, lathering up her hair.

She could hear his chuckle even over the water’s spray.

If she wasn’t afraid of using all the hot water, she’d have stayed in the shower for an hour. But once she was clean, rinsed, and cleaned again for good measure, she turned the water off and wrapped herself in a towel. It was a little thin, but the air was warm enough she wasn’t concerned with catching a chill.

Finger combing her hair, she opened the bathroom door to let Booker know she was done. He stared up at her from where he was sat on the floor, and immediately averted his gaze.

“Your turn,” she said, one hand keeping her towel closed at her chest.

He cleared his throat and nodded. “Alright.”

Caitlin grinned to herself. “Oh look, there are those red ears again.”

Booker stood up in a hurry. “Just tryna be polite, Meadows.”

“Where are our packs?” She asked before he could close the door.

“Tucked ‘em away in that room over there.”

“Thanks,” she said, padding down the hall in her bare feet.

Quickly digging out her only other set of clothes—bra, panties, grey tee shirt, and jeans—she got dressed facing the door, holding her breath so she could hear someone coming up the stairs.

No one did.

When she was dressed, she yanked her shoes back on and sat on the end of the hope chest at the foot of the twin bed, waiting for Booker.

After a few minutes, the door opened.

“Jesus, Cae.” Booker pulled up short, one hand keeping his towel around his hips. “Why ain’t you downstairs?”

“I was waiting for you,” she said, sitting upright.

She expected him to tease her, but instead he just nodded and shut the door behind him.

Her gaze tracked the movement, momentarily stunned by how much of Booker was on display. Rivulets of water followed the curve of his muscular back, disappearing beneath the edge of the towel. His Marine Corps tattoo wasn’t the only ink he’d collected—a family crest covered his right shoulder blade, and a black and white lion’s head was high up on his left bicep.

He had the tanned complexion of someone who worked outside shirtless more often than not. Had the physique to match too.

As he turned, Caitlin forced her stare to the floor, hands fidgeting in her lap.

Grabbing clothes from his pack, Booker stood at the foot of the bed to lay them out.

He grinned. “Now who’s blushin’?”

Rolling her eyes, Caitlin stood up. “I’ll wait for you outside.”

“’M hurt, Meadows. Don’t tell me I’ve let myself go.”

“Jackass,” she muttered, striding out into the hall and shutting the door.

“Beg your pardon?”

Jeremiah was stopped on the stairs, eyeing her.

“Oh, uh…” She glanced over her shoulder. “It was… nothing. Sorry.”

He didn’t comment, just continued up the stairs until he was only a couple feet from her on the landing.

“Y’all gettin’ settled alright?”

She tried to seem relaxed but knew it wasn’t working. “Yes, thank you.”

“Shower’s nice, ain’t it?” Jeremiah took a couple steps closer. “I praise the Lord every day we had the foresight to put in extra generators a few years back. And those propane tanks too. ‘Course, we never imagined what we’d be usin’ this place for…”

“I’m not sure anyone knew to expect this.” Her gaze darted behind him, wondering if she would be better off excusing herself or if waiting at the door with Booker in ear shot was safest.

“The day of reckoning is upon us,” Jeremiah continued. “The good book gave us all the signs. Least that’s what I told my congregation anyway.”

Caitlin squinted up at him. “You’re a pastor?”

“Yes’m. Holy Bible Church, about five miles down the main road.”

Something sickly curled in her gut. A pastor that took his family and ran, hiding out in the woods, armed to the teeth with weapons… It didn’t feel very godly to her.

Just then the door behind her opened and Booker walked out.

“Sir,” he greeted Jeremiah. “Thank you again for lettin’ us get cleaned up.”

“Oh, o’course,” Jeremiah said. “Now, y’all save room for dessert?”

Caitlin blinked. “Huh?”

“Constance made a pie. C’mon ‘n’ have some.”

He started back down the stairs and Booker brushed by her, touching her elbow gently.

“Y’alright?”

She nodded, decidedly ignoring the churning in her gut.

                                                               ***

Dessert with the family was only mildly uncomfortable. Caitlin felt like they were being watched, but not just as outsiders. It was like they were being tested, observed for anything Jeremiah deemed unsavory.

When they finished, Caitlin started to take their plates to the kitchen, but Constance jumped up, taking them instead.

“Let me,” she murmured, quickly rushing into the other room.

As Caitlin settled back in her seat, Jeremiah leaned forward, pegging her and Booker with a stare.

“Now, I’m happy to have y’all here,” he started, and Caitlin’s heart rate double timed. “But there are some house rules we follow as the good Lord has bestowed them on us.”

The more he tried to sound devout, the worse he came across.

“We’re a Christian family, and as such we don’t believe in committing sins of the flesh. Things like premarital relations are against God’s teachings. So, I’m afraid y’all will have to sleep in separate rooms.”

Booker started to chuckle, opening his mouth to speak, but Caitlin jumped in.

“Oh, I think there’s been a misunderstanding,” she said, voice as sweet as she could muster. “We are married.”

Booker cocked his head, careful to keep his expression neutral.

Jeremiah’s stare narrowed. “Y’all ain’t wearing weddin’ bands.”

Wrapping her arm around Booker’s in an affectionate gesture, she leaned into him. “That’s actually my fault. See, it’s actually coming up on our one-year anniversary, and I’d taken our rings in to the jeweler to get them cleaned and… Well, I was gonna get something engraved on sweetie’s here—” She squeezed Booker’s arm, hoping he understood.

Go along with this.

Back me up.

Please.

“—But the day I was supposed to pick them up… The virus outbreak happened.” She held Jeremiah’s gaze, unwavering. “Didn’t even occur to me to try to get our rings. Especially since they’re just material possessions. And a marriage is more than that, right?”

Jeremiah hummed, but he didn’t look completely convinced. “Tell me about your weddin’, Booker.”

Shit.

Booker’s stare met Caitlin’s for a split second before turning to the man, grinning.

“Oh man, did she hate our weddin’,” Booker started, hand covering hers and giving a gentle pat and squeeze. “We both wanted somethin’ simple, real easy, ya know? I’d’ve been happy goin’ to the li’l chapel by the base, but her mom was not havin’ it.”

He squeezed her hand again, thumb rubbing a circle on her palm.

Follow my lead.

I’ve got your back.

We’ll be fine.

“Mom wanted all the family there,” Caitlin supplied with a smile.

Booker nodded. “Both our mamas wanted half of Texas there,” he said with a laugh. “And then nobody liked the food we picked.”

“I thought a taco bar would be a good idea.”

“But my mama wanted sit down style, real classy to impress her friends. And then her daddy—”

“Oh gosh.”

“Her daddy refused to walk her down the aisle if she wasn’t wearin’ pure white.”

Caitlin feigned a giggle. “I’m fair skinned, pure white looks awful on me.”

“I still think you looked gorgeous,” Booker said, looking to her.

“You have to say that, you married me.”

Booker squeezed her hand again, reassuring her.

“Anyway, when it was all said and done, the day itself was a disaster.” He tilted his head towards her once more. “But every day since then has been a blessin’. And it ain’t really ‘bout the day, it’s ‘bout the marriage, right?”

Jeremiah took the bait, believed them totally by the look in his eyes. “That’s right, son. A marriage bond is a blessed thing, ain’t that right Constance?”

Returning from the kitchen with a pitcher of iced tea, Constance nodded jerkily. “Sure is.”

Booker’s thumb pressed against Caitlin’s palm, and it instantly grounded her. The twisting in her gut, the dark edges of panic, all seemed to fade if only for a moment.

“Then the boys can bunk up and they can take the spare,” Constance offered, pouring tea for Jeremiah first. Looking over at them, she said, “It’s not much, but it’s comfy.”

“I’m sure it’ll be perfect,” Caitlin assured her. Her empathy for the woman was growing by the hour.

While convinced, Jeremiah still didn’t look exactly happy. “Guess that’s settled then.”

His tone was one she knew too well, and the dread returned, threatening to choke her.

She didn’t even realize she’d been clutching Booker’s arm with a vice grip until he caught her eye.

                                                               ***

A mattress. A real mattress.

They were getting to sleep on a real bed, with sheets and pillows and a floral quilted bedspread.

Caitlin wanted to pinch herself.

“See?” Booker whispered, shutting the door. “Silver lining.”

“It’s a little small… We’re gonna get extra cozy.”

Booker faltered from where he was grabbing a pillow off the bed. “I was… just gonna…” He motioned to the floor.

Caitlin wanted to smack him. “I’m not gonna deprive you of sleeping in a real bed, Booker. You’re just as exhausted as I am. Besides, what if they walk in and see you on the floor?”

“We pretend we had a fight and you kicked me outta bed?”

“And you really think they’ll buy that?”

“Prob’ly not.”

“Exactly. So be an adult and pretend to be my husband already.”

She turned down the covers and started to climb in when Booker made a noise.

“You’re sleepin’ in a bed with your shoes on?”

Caitlin leveled her stare on him. “I have slept with my shoes on every night since this hell began. And I’ve never been woken up in the middle of the night and had to run. So…”

He nodded. “Ahh, so it’s a Murphy’s Law kinda situation.”

“Yup,” she said, settling in on her side of the twin bed.

“Want me to do the same?”

She grinned. “I should tell you no, so I’ll have a thirty second head start, just in case.”

Booker shook his head at her and climbed in, still in his boots. “One of these days, you’re gunna feel real bad ‘bout these jokes if somethin’ happens to me.”

“Maybe. Maybe I’ll pour one out for you and move on.”

Shifting to get comfortable against the pillows, he said, “I prefer Johnny Walker Blue, if the occasion ever comes.”

“Noted.”

The bed really was small for two people, but Caitlin was so bone-deep tired, she was already dozing off halfway through rolling onto her side. She vaguely remembered mumbling ‘goodnight’ to Booker before she was out.

                                                                               ***

Run! Run! Run!

Caitlin awoke with a violent jerk, gasping for air.

“Shh, shh, hey,” Booker’s voice was right in her ear. “It’s alright, you’re safe, Cae.”

Sucking air into her lungs, she tried to sit up, but something kept her pinned. “Jack?”

“Y’started kickin’ in your sleep,” he murmured. “I was worried you’d roll outta bed, so…”

She slowly understood, could feel in the dark what he meant. Her back was pressed firmly against Booker’s chest, his thick arm around her waist. His hand was balled into a fist against the mattress, she guessed as his way of assuring her he wasn’t coping a feel.

“Y’want some water, or--?”

She shook her head. “No, no, I’m…” She took a deep breath. “I’m alright. Thank you.”

He started to lift his arm off her when she grabbed his wrist and kept him where he was.

“Just in case,” she murmured, letting her head settle back on the pillows.

She felt him nod and adjust his position a little, attempting to give her space.

It wasn’t necessary. They might’ve lied about being married, but they’d gained a level of intimacy in their time together. To call each other friends felt weirdly hollow, but there wasn’t another, more accurate word for them.

Friends. They were friends.

Easing into the mattress, Caitlin closed her eyes and tried to remember the sounds from the trees. The birds. The crickets.

And then Booker started humming “Jolene” by Dolly Parton, and she almost cried.

They weren’t friends. They were something else, something more careful, something fiercer. Viscerally interdependent. A blood oath made by children in a backyard fort—Innocent and vicious with the same swipe of a blade.

“Thank you,” Caitlin croaked, pressing her face into her pillow.

Booker’s response was a soft pull of his arm, securing her, and a smooth transition to the next verse.

[winchesteralex]

who wants a liiiittle teaser from the epilogue? SPOILERS obviously, but pretty vague... and I wonder if you will know who she is referring to when she curses him with a “son of a bitch”...

And then, at that moment, Alex suddenly feels something weighty in one of her hands, and she looks down at what is tightly gripped at her side, surprised. ...The Colt? She turns it over a bit, recognizing the beautiful silver pistol with a long, thin barrel that has intricate swirling designs on it—a pentagram etched into the handle—and on the barrel of the gun is inscribed a Latin quote from Psalms: "non timebo mala.” Or, in English: “I will fear no evil.” Her brows furrow deeply as her face contorts in extreme, sudden bewilderment. Why am I carrying this? Where did this even come from? Even as she asks herself that, she remembers. It floods her mind like a switch went off—which, it did. Quickly, her confusion turns to annoyance, then almost anger. You son of a bitch…

[massivecore13]

gameswillbeplayed​:

@massivecore13 , idk whats going on with notifs for posts atm so just double checking you get this ^^;

Before he knows what’s going on, Matt gets dragged to the table he was planning to escape from. So much for sneaking out unnoticed. Or finishing up his drink, for that matter. Matt throws a glare at Rue, unconsciously touches his vest pocket that hides a small pistol in it.

Should have known better than to chat to interesting looking strangers.

“Heeyyy, John wazzit?” A weak grin and a slightly raised hand for a greeting doesn’t get him far, and the other guy throws Matt a dirty look equal to the one Rue got from the ugly jacket guy. “I hope Asim’s trial’s gonna be fine,” he continues before he can help himself, and John jumps out of his chair, grabs Matt by the collar.

“It’s your fault he got caught,” the other growls and Matt raises both his hands in surrender, attempts to take a step back but the other man tightens his grip, and Rue’s arm behind him isn’t helping either. At the corner of his eye he can see the nearby tables quieting down and focusing on the entertainment at hand. Some of the staff is conveniently cleaning the floors and the tables not far away, the tasers poking from their aprons. Matt has seen fights happen here before, and he’d rather not be at the receiving end of the pub owner’s wrath.

“Look, I’m sorry, I was just doin’ my job,” he replies, glares at Rue again, just because. “No hard feelings, yea? Anyway, we were just ‘boutta leave, right?” And he pats Rue on the back, nods towards the doors. Take the hint Rue. Please.

There's a nice stench of alcohol and sweat when John's scowl is about two inches away from B and Matt's faces. Probably the man hasn't had a decent bath in a long while... Beyond can't blame him for that -prisoners don't have the privilege of hot showers and scented shampoo like any civil person in the whole world.

"Oh, it's so touching to see a reunion between two old friends, isn't it?" Beyond grins widens as his grip around Matt's waist tightens to such an extent he can feel the shivering pulsing of anxiety through his jacket.

Pushed by the mere curiosity of the unknown, he doesn't waste time pushing his unfortunate new friend in the devil's maw - blatantly ignoring the fact John is inclined to crash Matt's bones to play Shanghai with them.

A waiter circles their tables with an air of resignation, the expression of whos' seen fights happening at least twice a week and knows the police's number by heart. Might it be the proximity of the pub to some criminals' private clubs, but the place is doomed.

And another catastrophe is soon to start when, ignoring any of Matt's desperate hints, B clutches the gun hidden in the guy's vest pocket and jumps on the table.

"Hey, hey, hey!" Time freezes in the split of a few seconds, all eyes on Beyond and the weapon in his hand, now pointed at John's head. "My friend said he was sorry, don'tcha hear him?" John glares back at him, teeth clenching but doesn't move; he's heard enough of this crazy man who unsuccessfully set himself on fire that one never knows what he's up to. "Then I acknowledged my sin to you and did not cover up my iniquity. I said, “I will confess my transgressions to the LORD.” And you forgave the guilt of my sin. Psalms, verses 35:5. Never spared some times reading the Bible?"

The stench of alcohol and sweat mingles with the sweet aroma of metal and tension, a cocktail Beyond somehow missed and reminds him of old experiments.

Yet- too booooring for the first night out.

A sequence of red numbers fleet all around him again, reminding him a lot of people is going to die that night. And probably not on his hand - well, if Matt was willing to help... But he doesn't look like doing it after all.

"And oh, Asim's trial went shit by the way, because he was sentenced to death instead of me."

A cacophony of different sounds - glasses being crashed, chairs kicked down on the floor, and yells and punches - explodes as soon as Beyond shoots at the ceiling, aiming at the chandelier, and jumps in the shocked crowd, making somehow his way out taking Matt along with him.

@gameswillbeplayed

@massivecore13 , idk whats going on with notifs for posts atm so just double checking you get this ^^;

Before he knows what’s going on, Matt gets dragged to the table he was planning to escape from. So much for sneaking out unnoticed. Or finishing up his drink, for that matter. Matt throws a glare at Rue, unconsciously touches his vest pocket that hides a small pistol in it.

Should have known better than to chat to interesting looking strangers.

“Heeyyy, John wazzit?” A weak grin and a slightly raised hand for a greeting doesn’t get him far, and the other guy throws Matt a dirty look equal to the one Rue got from the ugly jacket guy. “I hope Asim’s trial’s gonna be fine,” he continues before he can help himself, and John jumps out of his chair, grabs Matt by the collar.

“It’s your fault he got caught,” the other growls and Matt raises both his hands in surrender, attempts to take a step back but the other man tightens his grip, and Rue’s arm behind him isn’t helping either. At the corner of his eye he can see the nearby tables quieting down and focusing on the entertainment at hand. Some of the staff is conveniently cleaning the floors and the tables not far away, the tasers poking from their aprons. Matt has seen fights happen here before, and he’d rather not be at the receiving end of the pub owner's wrath.

“Look, I’m sorry, I was just doin’ my job,” he replies, glares at Rue again, just because. “No hard feelings, yea? Anyway, we were just ‘boutta leave, right?” And he pats Rue on the back, nods towards the doors. Take the hint Rue. Please.

[johnhardinsawyer]

“Let Us Go Unto. . .”

John Sawyer

Bedford Presbyterian Church

8 / 9 / 20

Genesis 37:1-4, 12-28

Psalm 105:16-22

“Let Us Go Unto. . .”

(The Scene of the Crime)

In the first church I served, right after seminary, there was a delightful woman named Wini Saxon[1] who would attend on a regular basis.   By the time I met her, Wini had already lived quite a life.  She was one of those incredible people of an earlier generation, who, right out of college, spent several years riding a horse through remote corners of Appalachia with a typewriter strapped to her saddle so that she could keep records for the Frontier Nursing Service.  Later, after she got a Ph.D. in French, she worked as a translator for the Michelin tire company.  You know. . . as one does.

Not only was she a very smart woman, but she was funny, too.  If anyone ever asked Wini where she was from, she would respond with a twinkle in her eye, by saying, “Where am I from?  Genesis 37:17. . . Let us go unto Dothan.”  You see, Wini was originally from a town in Lower Alabama, called Dothan, Alabama.  Now, I’ve never been to Dothan, but I’ve come pretty close.  It’s hot down there – plenty of small towns and farmland.  Dothan is sometimes referred to as “The Peanut Capital of the World,” and it is named for a certain place in the Bible – a certain place that we find in today’s reading from the Book of Genesis, Chapter 37, verse 17.  

I’m not sure that all of the folks who named the town Dothan knew what, exactly, they were naming their town for, but “let us “go unto Dothan,” in the Land of Canaan, this morning, to see what happened there so very long ago.

There was a teenager named Joseph – and, no, just in case you’re wondering, this was not Joseph the father of Jesus.  I’ve had people ask me that, before.  The Joseph we are learning about today was an ancestor of the father of Jesus.  Now, this boy, named Joseph, was the eleventh son of a man named Jacob.  You might remember that last week, we heard the story of how Jacob sent his wives and children across the river and wrestled with God and didn’t let go.  Anyway, I guess if you have eleven sons – like Jacob did – there are going to be some sons who you end up liking more than others.  Joseph was Jacob’s favorite.  So, Jacob made a special long robe “with sleeves,” (Genesis 37:3) and gave it to Joseph.  Other translations read that Jacob made Joseph “a coat of many colors,”[2] – a “Technicolor Dreamcoat,” if you will – which Joseph wore proudly.

Now, as if Joseph’s many siblings didn’t have it bad enough with their father playing favorites, Joseph was kind of annoying.  We learn in today’s reading, that he tells on some of his brothers for doing a bad job while taking care of the sheep.  Nobody likes a tattle-tale, even in Bible times.  And, when Joseph starts wearing that fancy robe around, flaunting his favored-son status in front of his brothers, they “hat[e] him, and [can] not speak peaceably to him.” (37:4)  And then, to top it all off, Joseph tells them all about a dream that he has had, in which his brothers, basically, bow down to him, and so they start to hate him even more.[3]

So, one day, all of Joseph’s older brothers are out, taking care of Jacob’s big flock of sheep and goats, and Jacob says, “Oh, Joseph, my favorite, responsible son, why don’t you go out to check up on your brothers and come back and tell me how they’re doing with my flock.  I think they’re at a place called Shechem.”  Joseph, the dutiful son, sets out and goes to Shechem, but he can’t find his brothers there.  In verse 17, he does run into someone – not my friend, Wini Saxon, but someone else – who says, “Ah, they’re actually up in Dothan, because I heard them say they were going to take the flock up there.  ‘Let us go unto Dothan,’ they said.”  And, sure enough, when Joseph goes up to Dothan, that’s where he finds them.[4]

This is where today’s story takes a dark turn.  You see, Joseph’s brother can spot him from a mile away.  Nobody else has a fancy robe like Joseph’s, after all.  It’s got to be him.  They see him coming and their blood starts to boil.  “Here comes that dreamer – that ‘dream-master’,”[5] they say (in the original language) (37:19), and they start talking about how they’re going to kill him.  Now, who hasn’t thought about killing their own sibling from time to time – but not actually killing them?  These boys in Dothan are not just thinking about it in a figurative sense.  They are coming up with a real plan to kill their little brother, and throw his body into a pit, and lie about it all by saying that he was eaten by wild animals.  “It’ll be kind of hard for his dream to come true if he’s dead,” they say.  (37:20)[6]  Ouch!

Thank goodness not all of Joseph’s brothers want him dead, though.  One of the brothers – Ruben –convinces them to not kill Joseph. . . maybe just scare him a little bit.  So, they grab him, and they take his colorful coat with sleeves off and they throw him down into a pit beside the highway, with no water and no food.  And, then, a little later, while Ruben is off doing something, the other brothers see a big caravan going down the road toward Egypt, and they pull Joseph out of the pit and sell him to the caravan people.  In the verses right after today’s reading, they take his fancy – now, bloodstained – coat and carry it back to their Dad, telling him the lie about the wild animals eating Joseph.  Jacob, their father, breaks down in tears and nobody can cheer him up.  And, all of the brothers – including Ruben – keep the secret of what really happens to Joseph.  They say nothing. . . for years.  Meanwhile, Joseph ends up a slave, down in Egypt.

This is some story, isn’t it?  Some dark stuff!  Now, I don’t want to leave you with a cliffhanger, but if you tune in to next week’s service you might just hear what happens next in the story.  Or, of course, you could break out your Bible, on your own, and read Genesis, Chapters 39-45.

For today, though, what would happen if we were to just talk about this story as it was told – as if, all we knew was that the brothers silently stayed home with their needlessly grieving father while their brother Joseph went down into Egypt as a slave?  Is there any good news that can be gleaned from this story, as it is?  You might have noticed that today’s story doesn’t even mention God once.  “What is God up to, here?” you may be wondering.  It remains to be seen.  God remains to be seen.

Sometimes, stories don’t get resolved like we think they should.  Sometimes, life doesn’t get resolved.  And, I wonder if we’re in such a moment right now.  We’re six months into a pandemic that is unlike anything any of us have ever lived through.  Four centuries of racial inequality, decades of political division, neighbor not trusting neighbor, fingers tightening around protest signs, or pistol grips, or both.  We find ourselves being emotionally strained – as individuals, as a country – beyond anything we have ever lived through.  Oh, we’ve weathered wars and terrorist attacks, before.  We’ve weathered economic downturns, before.  We’ve seen what evil people can do to other people.  And we’re not surprised by what happens between Joseph and his brothers.  We’re horrified, but not surprised.  We’ve seen it before.  We see it everyday.

But even though the experts say that a vaccine to Covid-19 will be widely available sometime – maybe six months from now, maybe a year from now – we still don’t know exactly when.  Nor do we know if or when any of the other things that are wrong with the world will be resolved.  Just about everything is hanging in the balance, and it all seems to have an impact on us, and our families, and our neighbors, and people we will never know – and the ending remains to be seen.  We’re watching for it.  We’re waiting for it.  But we just don’t know how or if or when this insane chapter of our lives will come to an end.

I would ask if you’re okay with all of it, but I think I know the answer because I’m not okay with any of it.  As a person of faith, I trust that God is up to something in the midst of all of this.  But right now, it seems like all of us are stuck down in a pit – wondering if or when we’ll get out.  And what will happen if and when we do. . .

In just a moment, as the Affirmation of Faith in today’s service, we will be reading part of the Westminster Confession of Faith of the Presbyterian Church – a document from nearly 400 years ago[7] – that outlines what people believed.  The part that we’re reading today talks about the providence of God – how God is in control, whether we understand it or not, whether we see God at work, or not.  The authors of the Westminster Confession, who were no strangers to difficult times, write that the “the most wise, righteous and gracious God” will leave, for a season, God’s own children to temptation and corruption as a way to encourage them to be humbled and to be more dependent upon God.[8]  I really wrestle with this idea.  Is this what is happening to Joseph in today’s story?  Is this what is happening to us, right now?  Has God really left us until we figure out just how much we need God?

Maybe one way of interpreting these words for the 21st Century is that we will always be living in a time in which God is humbling us and calling us to embrace a new way of life – on the way to a deeper understanding of the Holy.  The time in which we are living – right now – just seems particularly humbling for just about all of us.

But, our story is on the way toward something good.  We just don’t see it yet. . .  the ending is not clear.  It’s like we’re standing on the road in Dothan – at the scene of the crime – watching Joseph being led away in chains and his brothers heading for home, wondering what on earth God could do with this big mess of a story.  It’s like we’re standing at the cross on Good Friday, not knowing whether Easter Sunday is on the way or not.  It’s like we’re standing in a place of hurt, and worry, and pain, waiting for a moment of light, and hope, and redemption. . . and resurrection.

There might be some who would tell us, “Well, that’s life,” or “That’s death,” or “It is what it is.”  But I really wrestle with that idea, too.  Because I believe in a gracious God who is bringing a new heaven and new earth into reality right before our very eyes.  I can’t see it yet, but I trust that it is on the way.  And if, during this humbling season, you and I are called to look for this new heaven and new earth – maybe even work toward this new heaven and new earth – a lot harder and more diligently than we ever have, then maybe this is our task.  

Friends, hear this good news:  our story isn’t over yet because God’s story is not over yet.  Don’t give up.  All will be well.  All will be well.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.

----------

[1] https://www.legacy.com/obituaries/charlotte/obituary.aspx?pid=86991746.

[2] See King James Version.

[3] See Genesis 37:5-8.

[4] Genesis 37:12-17.  Paraphrased, JHS.

[5] Robert Alter, The Five Books of Moses:  A Translation with Commentary (New York:  W.W. Norton and Company, 2004) 210. Note 19.

[6] Paraphrased, JHS.

[7] The Westminster Confession of Faith was written in 1646, 374 years ago.

[8] The Book of Confessions of the Presbyterian Church (USA) (Louisville:  Office of the General Assembly, 2016) 154,  6.028.

[pray2schema-blog]

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