Trigun Fan Fiction ❯ Purgatory ❯ Chapter 5 ( Chapter 5 )

Wolfwood stood speechless in the dark church. He was dead. Somehow he had known, and although the shock was there, he found himself unsurprised. The memories that had come rushing back were more than enough evidence, even before Chapel the Evergreen had confirmed the fact plainly.

Although Chapel had never been particularly kind to him, Wolfwood sensed an empathy and looked to the older man for an explanation, for answers that he wasn’t sure existed.

Seeing his student’s confusion, and unsure how to begin, Chapel said “I’m just like you.”

Misinterpreting the statement, Wolfwood growled back at him, “You are NOTHING like me.” He glared fiercely into the two red eyes. Then it hit him-- “You mean, you…also?”

“Yes.”

Wolfwood knew the penalty for failure was death for a Gung Ho Gun. Hadn’t he himself been responsible for serving out that punishment more than once? But Chapel hadn’t gone up against Vash, he had gone up against him. And succeeded. So what was he doing here?

“You shot me,” Wolfwood said, somehow unable to use the word “killed.” “You’re the reason I’m here.” No emotion showed in the young priest’s voice.

“Let me explain, at least what I know,” Chapel said, sitting down in a pew. “First of all, I know it does not change anything, but…“ he struggled to make the words come. “I did not mean…it was not my intention at that time…”

“It was Legato,” Wolfwood interrupted. “That blue haired bastard. I know. I could tell. But don’t look to me for absolution. You were trying to kill me. Murder me. Up until that point. I remember that,” he finished coldly.

“Yes,” said Chapel, trying to match Wolfwood’s tone but unable to sound as detached. He admired his pupil, thinking that even now Wolfwood was able to stay calm and composed, distant and calculating, even when contemplating his own death.

“I went after Legato. I waited for him to return to Knives. It was not the smartest thing perhaps, but it was what I felt I had to do. I owed it to you. Hate me if you want, but I never hated you, Nicholas. Legato knew that and he meant to make me suffer through your murder. I wanted to make him suffer also.”

“It’s not my fault you went to your death,” Wolfwood said incredulously. “Only a fool would confront Legato, especially with Knives around. You’re no match for them.”

“You are right. In fact, Knives said almost the same thing. He claimed I was seeking death. To escape further pain. I guess he was right…although that was not my thinking at the time, he was right.”

“He tortured you?” Wolfwood asked, some of the impassiveness seeping out of his voice.

“He sent me here,” Chapel said, not wishing to explain the circumstances surrounding his own murder. “I do not know much more than you about this place, but I have learned a little. That is what I meant when I said I was just like you…” Chapel’s voice trailed off.

“So what’s next? Are we in limbo? Lost souls wandering eternally in search of salvation?” Wolfwood was unable to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

“I do not think we are special in this sense. I think everyone spends some time here before moving on,” said Chapel. “This is Purgatory.”

“Purgatory?” Wolfwood almost laughed. “Do you honestly believe people like us get to expiate our sins?”

“Yes I do, boy,” said Chapel angrily. “And you should count yourself lucky to be here and not in Hell. It means there is still hope for you.”

“And you?” Wolfwood inquired, smiling at the absurdity of the exchange.

Chapel was silent and Wolfwood looked up at him. Finally, he sat down in the pew across the aisle from his old mentor. Both of them rested in the quiet, staring forward at the tall crucifix above the pristine altar.

The tormented man whose public murder was immortalized in this sanctified place was hanging nakedly in violent and graphic detail. He had died for the souls of those who killed him. He redeemed through his death. This was the God Wolfwood believed in. He believed in redemption through blood. This was the savior he had turned his back on, believing it was the right thing to do, making excuses and justifying his transgressions always with the reasoning that there was no other way. Twisting his religious knowledge to suit his own purposes--delivering his own kind of justice with tainted hands and carrying out works of mercy with a corrupt heart. Was this God going to allow a sinner such as him a chance at Paradise? And now, Wolfwood thought, I’ve died for my sins. Just when I had thought that there really was another way--everyone could be saved.

“In fact,” Chapel said finally, breaking the silence, “I am leaving. That I think is why I am being allowed to speak with you. To help, if I can.”

Wolfwood wanted to tell him to fuck off, he didn’t need or want his help, but he had never felt so alone in his life. The idea that someone could provide some guidance, anything, made him bite back the words.

“As far as I can tell, this place is like our world,” Chapel started. “These people seem to be alive, and the only ones we recognize are already dead and probably have been here longer than you. Some are lost forever. Some still may find redemption. It would not surprise me if our planet acted as a purgatory for this one. Where people can atone and do penance for mortal transgressions. Where your faults in your old life are left behind, and where forgiveness is asked for and absolution granted.”

“I know I have no right to your forgiveness,” Chapel continued, looking over at Wolfwood. “But I hope you will find peace.” He paused. “The quickest way to Paradise, Nicholas, is leave behind your sins. Your ties to your old life. Start with a blank slate.”

“It seems a little late for that now,” Wolfwood retorted, turning his head to meet Chapel’s gaze. “I think the “starting over” part happens while you’re still alive. It’s not something God lets you do after you’ve screwed everything up, just so you can make it to Heaven.”

“God is merciful,” Chapel said quietly. “Man is not.”

“I don’t…” Wolfwood started a sentence that he didn’t know how to finish. There were so many questions…but he still couldn’t admit to himself that this was happening. Part of him knew it without a doubt, but his guts were screaming that it was wrong, he must be in a coma, dreaming, anything but this as his new reality. What he wanted to say, to scream at the top of his lungs, was complete denial. He didn’t want to believe any of this, and yet he knew it was the truth, or close to it.

Chapel said nothing and waited for Wolfwood to finish his thought.

“What did you have to do?” asked Wolfwood, “I mean, how can a bastard like you be done? When I’ve already been here longer and you get to be the enlightened one?”

“I said I was leaving,” said Chapel calmly. “I did not say I had found salvation.”

Stunned, Wolfwood felt a bolt of fear in his chest. “But then…what? What do I do?” the words spilled out and an anguished cry came from his mouth. His panicked thoughts were so convoluted he couldn’t voice them.

Chapel stood up and walked over to the Punisher. “I believe it is not too late for you. The ending of my story was written long ago and filled with unforgivable deeds and inexcusable actions. Among the demons I have courted throughout my wasted life have been rage, despair, violence, and…corruption of the innocent.” He looked meaningfully at Wolfwood and smiled his cryptic smile, the one that looked so alien because it never extended to his robotic eyes.

“Ask for help, Nicholas--you always try to go it alone,” Chapel said at last. “And I will be taking this,” he indicated the Punisher. “You do not need it anymore, but someone else does. And you must let go of the past. The ending is not yet written for you.”

Chapel slung the Punisher on his back and began silently walking up the aisle.

“Wait,” Wolfwood said, jogging up to meet him. Chapel turned around and stopped.

“How do you know?” he pleaded, desperation finally present in his voice. “That your eternity will be…?” he paused. “Hell,” he finished in a low breath. “Why were you here?”

“I had a guide,” Chapel said, “as I am sure you do as well.”

“Some guide, if you wind up on the road to perdition,” Wolfwood said sadly, suddenly sorry for the old man.

Chapel shook his head slightly, and said, “They are psychopomps--guides for our souls into the afterlife. It eases the transition…Something familiar to make it a bit less scary, or a bit more real. That is all. They do not absolve or save you…” He turned around again to leave and Wolfwood put a hand on his shoulder.

“Chapel,” he said…meaning to thank him, or forgive him, something, but nothing came out.

“Thank you,” Chapel responded gravely to the unspoken pardon, and he exited the church into the pale sky of early dawn. Wolfwood saw his Punisher swinging slightly against Chapel’s back before the heavy wooden door solidly shut, leaving him once more alone in the house of worship.