Tension and anticipation rocked me on the edge of the bed, fingers running through my short brown hair, massaging the back of my neck when he arrived.
“You seemed troubled, William.” John stood in front of me.
“There's this pressure I can't shake. I don't think I'm this Resurrectionist person you think I am.”
“You’re doubting again, William.”
“I'm still not sure my purpose in all this.”
“The Resurrectionist's are a group of united souls dedicated to honoring the tradition of the, Harrowing of Hell.”
“Sounds delightful, John, but I'm guessing that's not a festival of fun with a ticker tape parade at the end.”
“After his death, the Son of God descended into the dead … hell. The Son ministered to the lost and forgotten, showing them the path to redemption, God's love filling the soul
