Free Out of the Shadows by Timothy Boyd

contributing to her loss of breath. “Mama needs to sit down a minute.” Her southern drawl was slow and thick, and in different circumstances, I would have smiled.
    I saw a simple church with a tall steeple up ahead on the corner and decided to check it out as a possible resting place. Perhaps it was old-fashioned of me, but in my mind the church was a safe-haven, a sanctuary where no evil could touch you.
    As we approached the building made up of huge stone blocks, Deb collapsed onto the front steps, using the railing to assist her decline. I rustled Mary awake and sat her down next to Deb, explaining to her that we were going to go inside the church to rest.
    “Don’t leave us, Bear!” Mary pleaded, placing her small hand on my arm.
    I smiled softly at the girl. “I’m not going anywhere. You guys are coming with me.” I kissed her on the top of her head and helped Deb to her tired feet. We proceeded up the steps, and I cautiously pulled open the heavy, oak door.
    Inside was a small entrance vestibule that led into a modest sanctuary with wooden pews. The outside aisles were lined with simple marble angels, and a few stained-glass windows lined the stone walls. As we trekked slowly through the space, I trembled; the last time I had been inside a church had been for Annie’s funeral. I had sat in the front pew next to Sarah, who sobbed quietly most of the service. When I’d tried to place my hand on hers to comfort her, she’d recoiled. It was then that I knew the end of us had begun.
    At the front of the calming sanctuary, some of the prayer candles on either side of the pulpit were lit, their soft unwavering glow dimly illuminating the church. The ceiling was high with wooden rafters, and our quiet footsteps echoed on the tiled floor.
    I listened intently as we proceeded down the length of the center aisle, but I heard nothing out of the ordinary.
    “Bear,” came Mama’s voice from behind me.
    I turned and saw her leaning against a pew, barely able to stand, staring at me with pleading eyes. I nodded to her, so she sat down to rest.
    “Mary,” she called to the little girl. “Come lay down next to Mama and get some sleep while Bear stands guard.” I saw her wink slightly at me and knew that it was her silent way of letting me know her motives: she didn’t want Mary to be awake for what might come next.
    The girl curled up on the cushioned pew and fell asleep almost immediately.
    Minutes of silence passed between us before I felt secure that we were alone in the sanctuary, and I sat down in the row in front of Deb. I looked around and remembered how comforted I used to feel coming to church as a kid. That comfort was no longer with me.
    “Candles are lit,” she said of the rows of prayer candles at the front.
    I wasn’t sure how she expected me to respond, so I said, “Yeah.”
    After some thought, she continued, “Why ya s’pose that is?”
    “Each one that’s lit represents someone’s prayer.”
    “Is that so?”
    I nodded.
    In my mind, I heard remnants of echoed hymns reverberate from the walls, ghosts of Sunday mornings haunting the air. I felt shame in losing my religion, but I had reached a point in life where I found it too difficult to trust in an all-powerful benevolence. It was easier for me to be ashamed than to put my energy into things like faith and hope.
    “Ya think God hears prayers from people that don’t go to church?” she asked after another minute had passed.
    I took a deep breath and allowed her question to ruminate in my mind. “I believe that if you take the time to pray, then God will take the time to listen.” It wasn’t a lie; that’s what I believed. I just stopped taking the time to pray, so God stopped listening to me.
    She coughed, her breathing becoming more like deep wheezes of air trying to be pushed from her throat.
    I thought about what may happen to this world in a matter of days if something weren’t done to stop this invasion. There would be no