Page 73 of The Honor Society

Anoint it.

Pray over whatever remains and hope whatever God you believe in, recognizes what you are blessing and sending back to Him.

I stand naked in front of the mirror and begin with the first. Water. I splash it on my face. It’s cold. It stings. I take in a soothing breath and continue.

Black shirt. Black pants. Long black jacket.

Each piece goes on slowly, deliberately, with gentle care, until Axel Mercer disappears completely beneath the fabric and The Proctor is reborn over it. A mask that is no longer separate from the person, but the true identity of them instead. The knife comes next. Obsidian, sharp, clean, hungry for more blood. Ready to strike. I turn it in my palm once before snapping it in place at my wrist.

Next comes The Ledger. I open the bedside drawer.

Empty.

A sense of loss so severe slams into my chest. Charlie’s gone. So is The Ledger. I look again, as if a second look might change what I already know to be gospel.

The Ledger is gone. And she has it. Suddenly, Jude’s phone call last night goes from suspicious to evidence.

Til death do us part?

I close the door carefully. No anger. No surprise. Just this strange feeling of emptiness that I gave her every dark part of me, every truth, and it wasn’t enough, she still found one more thing worth taking.

So be it.

I let out a sigh and keep going.

Every office at the Convocation carries a symbol.

War wears his.

Death wears hers.

Conquest wears his.

Famine.

Stop.

I almost break. Almost. Axel’s prying through with reasons why she would betray The Proctor. Why she would steal. Why she would lie and give her body over and over again but cut with her words of love with the knowledge that what she did is unforgivable, unfathomable.

My jaw clenches.

Tonight, Famine, makes her choice.

Tonight, Proctor will too.

I have no crown, no crest, no badge of honor. My symbol is anonymity, my burden the mask. For years I’ve put it on pretending to be someone else. Today feels different.

Today feels like a funeral.

I stare at Axel Mercer one last time in the mirror.

And then I cover his face.

And fucking bury him.

I check my watch, I tap it three times, slowly, so I’m easily seen. In ten seconds, ten men stand behind me. A personal guard if you will, one that’s more for show than anything. Every single one of them wear a simple black mask over their face with the five tally marks slashed across the center. Nothing special about them, it’s more ceremonial than anything. It’s midnight. I stand at the entrance at 804 Ninth Avenue. St. James Cathedral stands above the darkness like God forgot to tear it down. Two massive towers stretch towards the Seattle skyline. Pale stone washed in Seattle rain practically glows under the lights. A cross suspends between them, daunting, threatening, promising. Tonight, I’m leaning towards daunting. The Cathedral sits above the street forcing everyone who enters to reach towards it, to climb, to earn. Nothing screams humility more than making sinners climb a fucking staircase towards forgiveness. My shoes hit the first wet step as more rain starts to accumulate and baptize us. I take another, then another. The bronze doors wait atop beneath an enormous arch, biblical figures are carved into the metal, I always want to believe it’s to remember the saints and on a day like today I can only pray they remember me.

Judgement.