Okay, here's the first of the short stories I promised. This one is called "Two Sides Of The Coin" and is about a young, idealistic priest who finds there are two ways to look at every picture. Enjoy.
TWO SIDES OF THE COIN
by
Oliver Seay
The sight of the old church standing highlighted in the afternoon sun made Father Peterson stop and gasp. It was everything he had hoped it would be, well worth the nearly half-mile walk from the bus parking area. It was not nearly as ornate as some of the great cathedrals he had seen in Europe. As a matter of fact, it was rather small and in not very good repair. The various fountains and statues scattered over the large church grounds seemed rather plain. But it was reported to be the oldest church in the country and he had wanted to visit it since first seeing a picture of it in an old book as a child.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" said the priest walking beside him.
"It is, Thomas," he said, putting his hand on the older man's arm, "I'm glad I let you talk me into coming on this trip. The churches we saw were beautiful, but this one is different. Here I can truly feel the Divine presence of our Lord."
The group moved forward over the grounds, the guide showing off various points of interest. As they went into the church and the guide continued to talk Father Peterson found himself becoming increasingly annoyed with her voice. He turned to Father Larkin.
"Why can't she be quiet?" he whispered, "Doesn't she realize this is a Holy place?"
"Michael, please" the priest whispered back, "I'm trying to listen."
Father Peterson walked on in resentful silence. It's all right, he thought, Not everyone is as devout as I am.
They came to the main sanctuary and the tour guide climbed up to the pulpit. She moved to the back wall and pointed out one brick that was darker than those surrounding it.
"This was a secret tunnel leading to the catacombs," she said, "The priests would use it as a means of escape in times of danger."
She pressed the brick and there was a loud grating sound. A large section of the wall swung open, revealing a dark tunnel leading down under the church. She let them look for a few seconds then pressed the brick again. The doorway swung slowly shut.
She began pointing out other features of the room, all the while moving back toward the outer doors. Father Peterson stayed near the pulpit, letting the others go on without him. There was quite a bit of the tour left and he really couldn't stand that woman's voice another second. He would let them go on while he stayed here to commune with his God.
He walked over to the altar and stood gazing down at it. He reached out and lovingly ran his fingers over the cross carved deeply into its top. He looked around the room, enjoying the silence, as his fingers idly sank deeper into the grooves of the cross. Suddenly, near its base, his probing fingers encountered an obstruction. It felt as if the carving had been chipped and a splinter left sticking out. He frowned. What was this? Vandalism? Could such a desecration have happened even here? He pressed harder, trying to smooth the wood. Suddenly the splinter moved. There was a muted click and the altar top shifted under his hand.
He stepped back, looking to see if anyone else had noticed what happened. Satisfied that no one was in sight, he moved back to the altar and pushed the top aside. It slid smoothly, revealing a dark recess. His breathing came faster and his hands trembled as he leaned over to look inside. Surely this was a sign from God. He and he alone had been meant to make this discovery. He reached into the recess and picked up the object, holding it reverently. After examining it he wrapped it up in his jacket and hurried from the room.He made sure the rest of the group was still involved in the tour then left the church and made his way back to the bus.
The entire ride back he felt as if everyone's eyes were on him. It was as if they all knew what he held in his lap, wrapped in his jacket. Once Father Larkin's hand brushed his knee and his entire body jerked.
"What's wrong with you, Michael?" the older priest asked, "You're acting awfully nervous."
"It's nothing," he said, I guess I'm just tired."
When they reached the hotel he sat until everyone else was off the bus. Once they were gone he slowly got up and walked into the hotel, his jacket tucked carefully under his arm.
It was only after he was safely in his room that his heart began to slow and his breathing returned to normal. He sat on the bed for a long time staring at the object in his lap. The sides of the small, casket-shaped box gleamed in the dim light almost as if the rich wood had a life of its own. He ran his hands lovingly over its surface, relishing the silken texture."My God, I thank Thee for this token." he whispered, "I will do my utmost to live up to the confidence Thou has shown by giving it unto me."
He slowly lifted the lid of the box, marveling at how smoothly the hinges worked. Inside it lay the Gift he knew had come to him directly from God. The Gift meant to fulfill his destiny. He unrolled the scroll, his hands shaking so badly he could barely focus on the letters written across its ancient surface.
He still couldn't believe he had found it. The manuscript he had heard of only in whispered rumors. The scroll long believed to have never actually existed. The language was slightly different from any with which he was familiar, but the words were still recognizable. The words meant to bring about the final Glory of God. Daiam Tae Ka Drokis. Doom Of The Dragon.
A sudden knock on the door made him jump. He quickly placed the scroll back into the box and slid it under the bed. At that moment the door opened and Father Larkin stepped into the room.
"All right Michael," he said, "What's going on?"
Father Peterson looked up guiltily. "I don't know what you mean." he said.
Father Larkin crossed the room and sat down. "Come on, Michael," he said, "I've practically raised you since your parents passed away. I know when something's wrong."
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