04 Timeus Year 76 Day 194 AB

The priest sat in his office looking deeply into the crosses that adorned his walls. He had never before dealt with a force such as Thomas. Just the look of the pale young man brought fear to Father Timeus’s soul. The world did not seem to make sense anymore.
He bowed his head, looking for answers. Speaking to God in the most intimate way, he questioned the purpose of the demonic-drenched boy. He received no answers, which did not come as a surprise to the priest as he concluded, long ago, that the phrase “speaking with God” was not to be literally translated.
He scratched his old, cracking fingernails across the new plastic of his desk. Money in the church was spent on meaningful items and his desk was not one of them. The small plastic and metal structure swayed with nearly every breath Timeus took. Nothing brought peace to his mind.
Questions flowed through his head. Am I being tested? Is it God or Satan tempting me to drop my faith with the evil that treads through this holy building so nonchalantly? Why can’t I hear your word when that monster claims to have spoken to you?
His questioning directed toward God was not a new issue for the priest. Ever since his time in seminary, he envied other men who claimed to speak to the Lord, an activity he typically came to deny. There was no way someone as faithful as he had been, someone who tore his life asunder to preach the Word of God, could not be allowed to hear the voice of the divine.
Father Timeus took a deep breath, letting his cynical side turn toward his own faults as opposed to the perceived ones of God. The skepticism hit hard when he began to relive his most despicable of actions.
He lay his face on the cool, wobbly surface of the plastic, picturing his youth in his head. The boy who haunted his teenage mind became so clear again. His light red hair curled atop his head, shadowing over the ever gleeful face that he possessed. It was a painful sight, one that he never wanted to see again.
He was only twelve years old at the time. The late nineteen forties housed the memory perfectly as he remembered the war ending and everyone around town being so happy. It was the worst situation for your best friend to kill himself. He almost felt guilty to be unhappy, as if he were unpatriotic, but he was betraying his childhood if he did not grieve for his childhood chum.
Had it not been Timeus’s fault he may have been able to get past it. But his reaction to the sexual come-on of his schoolmate sent him screaming. He threatened to tell the boy’s parents, called him names, even threw a few punches as the last thing he wanted to do was kiss a boy.
That was enough to drive a young gay child to suicide. A funeral that was surrounded by the pride of a tyrant brought down. Maybe that was the issue for the priest. He mourned for his dead friend, but because he missed the companionship, he was not repentant. He was somewhat glad the boy would not come on to him again. He almost felt some tyranny ended in his own small world.
Still sitting at his desk, the priest wondered if he were evil himself. Years of acting out to mask his hatred of himself culminated in his entry into the seminary.
He laughed to himself as he thought about the squirrel story he always told to explain his entrance into the church, but it was false. He was there to keep himself from being a murderer, a thief, or any number of other things he was on track to become. The church was his refuge.
He stood up to go check on Lilith, still letting the ideas roll through his head about how to get rid of Thomas. He just wanted to move on with his life, with Thomas gone forever.