Free Guinea Pig by Greg Curtis Page B

numbers were already reported as being well into the tens of thousands. His car might be destroyed but no one had been in it at the time, and he still had a more or less habitable home to live in even if it did make some alarming noises whenever the wind blew. Hundreds of thousands, perhaps even millions weren't so lucky. In fact against the terrible suffering out there the loss of a little body hair and a few bad dreams were nothing. In fact it was almost something he should be embarrassed to complain about. It was only that he didn't know what if anything else was coming, or what he'd been injected with that gave him any real reason at all to complain. That and maybe the fact that his stomach had been playing up for days. But that could simply be nerves.
     
    Besides, if the doctor came here to worship, that surely meant he couldn't be completely wicked. Whatever he'd done, it had to be for some not completely terrible reason. It might even be for a good one. It might not be a scientific theory, but it held weight for him as he sat there with his head bowed. It had to.
     
    On the other hand it had been a long time since he'd sat on a hard wooden pew, and his backside was telling him that a cushion or two would be very welcome.
     
    “Welcome to the House of God.”
     
    Surprised, Will looked up to see the priest standing in front of him, dressed in his cassock and hat despite the fact that there was no service on. It wasn't Sunday – was it? The hat though was what really surprised him. He'd thought that this was a simple country church like the ones he had grown up with as a child. Essentially an Anglican church. Maybe even a simple Catholic church though without the requisite artwork portraying the virgin mother and the saints. But the hat, that was Eastern Orthodox. And he wouldn't have expected to find an Eastern Orthodox church in Los Angeles. Nor would he have expected to find a black man as a priest in one of them. But maybe that was just his ignorance and prejudice at work.
     
    The priest was a big man, African American by his accent, perhaps from one of the islands judging by his huge grin and big white teeth. He looked Caribbean to him. Instinctively Will liked him, just as he liked the church. Not because of his position as a priest or his words. Because of his easy smile. There was simply something about the priest that put him at ease.
     
    “Father?”
     
    “Pastor Elijah Franks. Now that the church has come to this fine land I find I prefer the title of pastor. It seems more fitting. Besides, it can be difficult being confused with our Catholic brothers.”
     
    His grin grew broader and Will knew he was having a little fun. The rift between the Catholic faith and the orthodox offshoots was a thousand years old and it had been strained in the past. But these days the church was coming together. They needed to when their faith was being tested daily as the world turned in new and ever more difficult directions. And in the end for a Christian faith, whether you offered leavened or unleavened bread at the Eucharist or accepted the Pope as the head of the church was a relatively minor thing.
     
    “Elijah? Isn't that an odd name for one of the orthodox church?” Despite everything else Will was suddenly curious. Elijah was old testament. A Jewish name. And it seemed very out of place.
     
    “It's the name I was given by my parents and I quite like it.” Was he upset? Will didn't know. But he did know he didn't want to upset him.
     
    “I'm sorry Pastor. I didn't mean to give offence. I'm Will Simons and I came because I need to speak with one of your parishioners.”
     
    Was that the correct word he wondered? Did the Orthodox faith have parishes and parishioners? Or were they just their flock? Their congregation? “I was hoping you could either point me in his direction or get a message to him. If he's still alive.”
     
    “Who?”
     
    “Doctor Millen.” Will was embarrassed to realise that he