The Baptist

“And we baptize him in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, buried in believer’s baptism, resurrected in the newness of life.” With these words he startled awake desperate for breath. Sweat anointed his body, the sheets sanctified. Another long night.

At the same time each year the nocturnal visitor crept into his sleep, returning him to the heart-stopping unknown filled with the reverberating screams of hell. As much as this troubled him, he found himself more unsettled by the fact he forgot the priest was coming.



***



“I have a headache.”

“Ok, you just seem off.”

“I’ll take something.”

“Do you have time this afternoon to meet with the sales rep?”

“Who is it?”

“John.”

“Yes. But make it after two.”

“You want some water?”

“Thanks, that’ll help.”

And with that she was off, a turn and a flip of hair, the smell of her lingering. Without realizing it, he audibly inhaled. It helped. His focus slipped from his grasp. Again, the room, the smell, the priest rushed into view. Something new, white tile stained with blood.

“Steve. Steve.”

“Sorry?”

“You screamed.”

“Sorry.”

His words shrank as he spoke. She handed him the water resting her hand on his shoulder. He was trembling.



***



The steadiness of her breath held him curled in her lap. His head on her chest, he reached up to grab a curl. It played in his fingers. Everything was right in the world when he nestled there with her, not in a way he knew out loud, but rather a whisper in his heart. Her embraces were growing more infrequent as the child yielded to the boy. But their moments together were stolen with willful ease.

“Mom, I had fun at the park. I liked the curly slide best. Did you see me go up it from the bottom? There was a girl at the top who wanted to go down so I stood on the edge and she went down under me. I felt like a giant.”

“Was my Stevie a scary giant?”

“Yes, I was fierce. My teeth were sharp as razors and hung down past my chin. My hands were hairy and my fingernails were humongous.”

“Really, humongous?”

“Yes, humongous.”

“Was she scared?”

“Who?”

“The little girl?”

“No. Why would she be scared?”

“The giant might eat her.”

“No, Mom, giants eat toads.”

“Of course.”



***



“And we baptize him in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, buried in believer’s baptism, resurrected in the newness of life.” White-knuckled, gulping air, head throbbing, he awoke. Terror his bedfellow, Steve ached for morning. Again the visitor came.

Just as the sun gave hint to the sky, he drifted off. The sun rose spraying the horizon crimson as the morning birds christened the day.

It was dark at first, but then a bright light, too bright. The floor was sweaty cold beneath his bare feet. A hand rested on his back, reassuring him, guiding him. Heavy in his lungs, the air tasted thick. The priest eased him in. They waited. He looked for his reflection. Sickness swept over him, the room came loose. He drifted. Covering his mouth, the priest prayed. Sounds fell over him as he went under. And there in the blackness of it all, he died.



***



Pain shot up the front of his legs each time his feet pounded against the ground. He liked it. There came a comfort from the feeling of it all. This proved things right, just as it should be. The pain kept pace as he ran. In youth, he ran as evil gave chase. Now the ground held secrets he flogged with his feet. It became a daily ritual of propitiation.

“Morning.”

“Morning.”

The road stretched on before him. Thoughts of the day marched through his mind, reminders and forgotten tasks begging attention. Today, like yesterday, like tomorrow, one step after another, again and again. He ran on.

“Morning.”

“Morning.”

One thought sat at the corner of his mind watching. Steve remained vigilant to avoid it. As his eyes fell on the woman running ahead, he smiled at the distraction. Her ponytail danced as she ran. He followed. Quickening his pace, he drew along side.

“Morning.”

“Morning.”



***



Passing the nightlight in the hallway, he turned the corner to his parent's room. His hand reached for the doorknob. He hesitated. It concerned him that he might be too old to wake up in his parent’s bed. But on nights like this, he decided it did not matter; such dreams were the kind that kept men awake.

Confusion kept the fear away. Where were they? Crawling into his mother’s side of the bed to wait their return, the coolness of the sheets chilled him. He nuzzled in pulling the covers up. Quiet noises came from the bathroom. Sleep overtook the wait.

Hard hands shook him awake. The nightmare began.

Steve slept on as the dream unfolded once again, watching, frozen, captive.



***



“Upon release or death Sir, you are to be notified.”

“I don’t understand. Release or death?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Sit down, please. I need you to explain this to me. What are you talking about?”

“Sir, we were instructed to notify you upon the release or death of Curtis Shane.”

“Do I know who he is?”

“I do not know Sir.”

“Who told you to do this?”

“It is standard procedure, Sir.”

“Why are you telling me?”

“It is standard procedure, Sir.”

“I don’t understand.”

“It is standard procedure, Sir, to notify any living relatives or victims before the release.”

“So it is release then?”

“Yes, Sir. I mean no, Sir.”

“Which is it?”

“Death, Sir, release of the body.”

“Am I expected to take the body? Is that why you are here?”

“No, Sir. The state will bury the body.”

“Why?”

“Curtis Shane has no living relatives, Sir.”

“Sad. How did he die?”

“Suicide, Sir.”

“This is all so tragic. I’m sorry, I'm not sure what I can do. I still don’t understand why you are here telling me these things.”

“I see, Sir.”

Without another word, the man rose, handed Steve a card, turned sharply, and left. Considering the uniformed visitor he turned the card over in his hands, wondering at the strange conversation. None of it made any sense. Perhaps a mistake had occurred. He would call and find out.



***



“Let me fix your tie.”

“I appreciate your coming. You didn’t have to.”

“I know, but I wanted to. You need friends at times like this.”

“Thanks. You’re right. It’s been harder than I thought.”

“Are other’s coming?”

“No, his family is gone and there’s no one else.”

“That’s so sad.”

“Yes. I think it’s about time to start.”

He stood alone, to the left of the chaplain. She stood nearby, shivering, wanting to leave. The ceremony began. As chaplain’s voice droned low and hushed creating a cadence, Steve’s mind drifted. How did this day bring him here, burying a stranger? Desperately, he wanted to reach for her hand, to feel the touch of another, her warmth, anything to stop the hollowness consuming him from the inside.

Ending in prayer, the chaplain turned and thanked him for his generous act of kindness. Never had he witnessed such an act of forgiveness. Forgiveness? Steve bent with the chaplain to lower the coffin. As the body grew immersed in the blackness of the hole, the rich soil burned his nostrils choking him. Upon standing, the ground betrayed him. All went dark.

He reached down for her hair first, the gentle curls, soft between his fingers. Empty and shallow her eyes gazed past him. His heart screamed, his voice gone. Pulling him away, the priest stepped over the body. They entered the bathroom; the smell of human foulness stole his breath. Guiding him into the tub the priest began to pray. All will of his own gone, he endured not wanting to leave her.

The bath felt neither warm nor cold but heavy. He looked for his reflection but saw only blood, her blood, all around him, enveloping him.

“And we baptize him in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, buried in believer’s baptism…”

The priest entombed him. He lost himself in her.

“…resurrected in the newness of life.” 

His heart denied him and beat; his breath abandoned him, and inhaled. He resurrected.