Saturday evening
Columbia, Missouri

Father Gerald Kincaid excused himself from the group of chattering women. If they gave their husbands or children half the attention they gave him, they’d have less to complain to him about. A vicious circle, no doubt.

However, he enjoyed the attention. It felt good to be needed again. He knew he could take their vulnerabilities, their weaknesses, their sins, and gain energy and power from them. Perhaps he needed them as much as they needed him.

This party, though it officially celebrated All Saints Catholic Church’s silver jubilee and an early Fourth of July, was also a special occasion for him, too. Today was six months since he’d arrived, having finished his required leave of absence. The time away had been good for him. Though the New Mexico air had dried out his skin, the Servants of the Paraclete had been kind and generous. Now he was ready—more than ready—to get back to work.

He walked through the crowded parking lot, greeting everyone by name. The surprise on each face at his ability to remember was worth the memorization drills he had put himself through.

The entire congregation had worked for two days to transform the parking lot and children’s playground into a carnival. There were pushcarts with anything from funnel cakes and pink cotton candy to corn dogs and Sno-Kones. Game booths lined the back lot and the local hardware store had even constructed a fun house. Streamers and balloons snapped and waved in the breeze, a few of the balloons breaking free and sailing off into the cloudless sky. A barbershop quartet, made up of two church council members, a deacon and his son, found themselves with a constant audience, though Father Gerald couldn’t help thinking that positioning themselves next to the altar society ladies’ baked-goods stand added to their popularity.

Families had begun to lay out blankets on the grass, setting out their picnic dinners and settling into their spots for the fireworks show that would come later, just after dark. The small children already had their glow tubes ready, swirling them around, preparing for their preshow. Some of the teenagers made themselves comfortable on the hoods of the family cars that lined the far end of the parking lot.

Some of the younger boys had gathered in the back field for a game of touch football. There were a dozen things Father Gerald needed to check on, and yet that’s where he found himself headed—to the field of boys. That’s where he felt most at home. He still believed it was because his own childhood had been cut short. If only his mother had let him finish high school with his classmates instead of insisting he enter the seminary two years early. If only…

Being with the boys made him feel young. It seemed to make up for what he had missed as a boy. Just being around them rejuvenated him in a way the New Mexico treatment center could never accomplish. He had tried to explain it to Dr. Marik, but the old doctor didn’t quite understand. Nor did he want to understand. Instead, he seemed more concerned with writing glowing reports that would please Cardinal Rose.

Two of the boys waved at Father Gerald, and he jogged the rest of the way to the field. Someone tossed him the ball, and after several runs and handoffs he found himself at the bottom of a pile of giggling and yelling boys. Sean Harris lay stretched across him with his butt up against Father Gerald’s groin, and despite having an elbow in his side and Jacob Raine’s foot in his face, he found himself getting excited, excited enough that he could feel an erection starting. Excited enough that he asked Sean Harris to help him clean up after the fireworks show.

He knew the boy’s father had recently lost his job. The family was strapped for cash and the twenty dollars he offered Sean for an hour’s work would be considered very generous. In fact, the boy’s mother would probably even agree to Father Gerald’s suggestion of driving Sean home.

Yes, this was turning out to be a wonderful occasion for him. He tried to make his way through the crowd, now bumping into people as they oohed and aahed, their faces turned up to watch the spectacular light show that was just getting started. The only light came from the fireworks since even the parking lot had gone dark to accommodate the show. Music blasted on four large speakers, synchronized to the flashes and pops.

He stepped over several blanket corners, trying to avoid stepping on any occupants. The flashes of light gave an odd sense of motion almost setting him off balance as he tried to adjust his eyes. He stumbled over a cooler, waving off a muffled apology from its owner and bumping into several boys who pushed to get a better view.

“Sorry, Father,” one of them sang out.

The blasts were louder now, and Father Gerald could even feel the vibrations of sound. Finally he was almost through the crowd when someone ran into him again, only this time without stopping and without an apology. It knocked the air out of him. He couldn’t breathe. He grabbed his chest and gulped for air. His fingers, his hand, became wet and sticky. Only in the dark he couldn’t see.

The sky lit up again, and he saw the stain blooming on the front of his shirt. The pain, the sting, seemed to suddenly race through his insides. When had he fallen to his knees? He could still hear the bangs and pops, but even they became faint, fading out somewhere in the background.

The fireworks show wasn’t finished, and yet, everything went black.