Trigun Fan Fiction ❯ Purgatory ❯ Purgatory Chapter Four ( Chapter 4 )

Wolfwood walked down the concrete staircase and headed quickly up the road. If he was lucky, he might find an all-night café or bar where he could hole up for a few hours until dawn. Lighting up a cigarette, he walked through the darkness up the winding street.

Turning right onto the main road, the priest allowed his thoughts to wander. Where was this? What was happening to him? He inhaled deeply, glad that at least the smoke in his lungs was familiar, unlike everything else in this strange place.

Damn, maybe I shouldn’t have left. Well, what else could I do? Women like that don’t invite strangers to spend the night, he thought, and it wasn’t fair to think about her like that, when the memory of his Milly was so fresh in his mind. Their last night together had been more than he had ever hoped for. And God, well, God understood about these things, he was sure. He had needed her. And he knew she had needed him just as much. Damn, it hurt just to think about her. Where the hell was she? Was she worried about him? If Vash had left them to track Knives on some quest whose purpose he had forgotten long ago, Wolfwood would never forgive him. Dammit Vash, why? Forget Vash for a minute, why had his God ripped him away from everything he cared about, where he could make a difference, when he was ABOUT to make a difference, Wolfwood amended, because he had been infected by Needle Noggin’s philosophy. There was a better way. There would always be a solution now. He was sure of it. So why do this to me now, God? Why?

Almost as if in response to his silent query, Wolfwood found himself standing in front of a church. The cross on the steeple was the opposite of comforting. A chill Wolfwood couldn’t explain crept up his spine, and he suddenly felt the urge to run away. He couldn’t face his God after the things he had done. He also was experiencing an odd sense of déjà vu, and didn’t like the sensation.

Shaking off the feeling, he found himself wanting to enter the building regardless, needing to have a one-on-one with the Big Guy. It had been a long time. Too long, especially for someone of his vocation. Taking a final drag on his cigarette and exhaling slowly, he let it drop to the ground as he pulled open the heavy carved wooden door.

His footsteps echoed on the polished floor as he walked down the aisle in the center of the nave. He set down the punisher against a pew--it had become too heavy to carry for the second time that day. He wondered how it could be, and decided it was probably the least strange of all the strange things that had happened that day.

Walking further up, he entered an apse with an unmarked marble altar. Red candles flickered in the darkness around the white cloth covering over the rectangular edifice. A poor box with a small sign reminding the penitent to leave “50 cents per candle” glowed in the dim light along the side. Weighed down with a million unconfessed sins and a host of sorrows he could not have verbalized, Wolfwood sagged against the railing, allowing his body to land heavily on the cushioned kneeler lining the altar.

Countless transgressions against his faith filled his mind, not the least of which was his murder of Zazie the Beast, which was so recent and still tormented his thoughts. Closing his eyes, he could only see the sorrow of his friends. Please, he thought, please understand, I didn’t have a choice…please don’t judge me by that…

A sinister sensation crept into his consciousness and Wolfwood’s eyes snapped open, immediately forgetting his silent prayer. Someone was approaching. He felt it.

Damn, he had left the punisher back in the main aisle. His eyes wide to counteract the blindness of the dark church, he spun around quickly, moving instinctively to a lower vantage point in case he had already been spotted. And yes, yes he had.

Chapel the Evergreen, his Gung Ho Guns mentor, protector, sponsor, guardian, and surrogate father, walked silently down the center aisle towards him. His feet made no sound on the hard floor, the absence of an echo disconcerting in the empty house of worship.

Wolfwood clenched his hands helplessly, and stood up to face him.

Chapel looked the same as always, his red eye implants glowing menacingly in the blackness. The only thing Wolfwood thought unusual was the absence of the apple Chapel always used to test his reflexes. It was gone. Where, he wasn’t sure…he almost felt as if he should know, as if he was responsible, but couldn’t quite remember why that would be so.

Chapel leaned against the wall and crossed his arms, allowing himself a small smile at seeing his old apprentice.

Wolfwood broke the silence. “What the hell are you doing here?! Come to tell me I’m not ready yet? Come to criticize me?”

Chapel said nothing.

“Well,” Wolfwood said, his voice steadily rising in volume, “I don’t give a damn! I’m not one of you! I never was, but now I know for sure. You can tell Knives to go to hell! I’m not going to do it! I refuse! I don’t believe in him anymore, don’t believe in what you are, what you stand for, anything you taught me. It’s all BULLSHIT!”

His last word echoed obscenely in the cavernous church, ringing off the walls. Still Chapel said nothing.

Infuriated by his fellow priest’s silence, Wolfwood ran at him, not sure what he intended to do, only knowing he couldn’t follow in this man’s footsteps, no matter how much he had learned, no matter how much he owed him, he was no longer one of them.

Chapel the Evergreen stared unblinking at his pupil’s advance, and then at the last moment, stepped aside, grabbing Wolfwood by the lapels, and saying softly, “Don’t hesitate, Nicholas. How many times did I tell you not to hesitate?”

“Why are you here?” Wolfwood asked in an equally low tone, unaware that he had undergone a similar exchange only 24 hours prior.

“You really don’t know, do you?” asked Chapel, tilting his head to the side. “I’m afraid if you haven’t figured it out, this isn’t going to be easy for you.”

“Easy?!” Wolfwood almost yelled. “What the hell has ever been easy? Have you ever asked anything easy of me? Ever since you took me in, everything has been one test after another. Have I ever passed? Have I ever lived up to your expectations?”

The boy whose world had been shattered by a single bullet so many years ago was still evident in the words of the tormented man. He was still seeking validation, still unsure of himself, and still wanting to prove that he didn’t need anyone else, didn‘t need help. But he still sought acceptance, still wanted the approval of his peers, hell, his superiors. And he was petrified--had he traded in the insight and tutelage of one misguided mentor for another? Was he now following another unholy doctrine--that of Vash the Stampede? He thought he believed in Vash--in what he stood for, but in an instant he had made himself question it, unsure as always, and afraid.

“Nicholas,” Chapel said, and put a comforting hand on Wolfwood’s left shoulder. And that word, hearing his name so tenderly from his typically stoic teacher’s lips, was the verbal equivalent of an icicle in Wolfwood’s heart. Everything he had been denying to himself, every feeling he had sensed in this strange place, that he had tried ignoring, came rushing back in a tidal wave of fear that threatened to overwhelm him.

“Wha-” Wolfwood stammered.

“Nicholas,” Chapel said again, then with a pause--“I’m so very sorry.”

Images overwhelmed his senses, his brain couldn’t process them quickly enough. But all of a sudden he saw it all--facing off with Vash, fighting Chapel, fire, explosions, dodging bullets, the empty street, watching his guardian fall to his knees, lowering his gun. And at long last claiming the elusive apple, the sticky taste, the sweet juice on his fingers, his revelation, his LIFE dammit, his life…turning around, hearing the groan of the vanquished, spinning around a second too late, and a shot. Then silence.

Then Wolfwood understood. He looked up at Chapel with complete and absolute comprehension.

“I’m dead.”

It was a statement, not a question.

“Yes, Nicholas,” Chapel said, not without feeling, “you are.”

“But--” a million questions flooded Wolfwood’s mind. However he just as quickly realized the futility of asking. What could matter now? Wasn’t this the end? The end of everything?