Fated Dinner Part 1:

Chapter 10

Part III: Thomas Young

Chapter 1:

Thomas young smiled with his arms spread wide to the congregation.

"Now go," he said, resisting the urge to wipe the sweat from his forehead. "Spread the love and heart of Jesus Christ."

With his final words of the sermon finished, he stepped out from behind the pulpit and off the stage, as the band began to play some light music for the people to leave to. He made his way slowly towards the door, stopped every few inches by one of the members of his church.

All of them had to have a bit of a word with him, whether it was a word of congratulations, or some issue in their personal life, or a question about the bible. He could barely stomach the lot of them. Like a fish against the tide of the ocean, he pushed and pushed his way through the crowd, just desperate to get home and have a stiff drink and enjoy his "recreation."

He always told himself that he would make it home before starting, but the past two weeks he hadn't made it out of the lot. He reached down into the glove box and pulled out a small tray and baggie of cocaine. After his line, he felt the endorphins flood his brain, sending the oh-so relaxing tingle of the drug spread down his spine, and he smiled for the first time that day.

Thomas couldn't remember exactly when he started using it again. A year, two years? Honestly he didn't really care anymore. It was clear he was damned man already, so why deny himself one of the only things that brought him pleasure? He sighed, undoing the top two buttons of his shirt and his escalade into drive, and pulling onto the service road.

The afternoon traffic had begun to show itself, and would only thicken as more and more services were let out. Thomas saw the stoplight ahead turn yellow and almost hit the gas until the pick up in front of him opted to use their brakes instead. Angry now with the elderly man in front of him, Thomas stepped firmly on his own brakes coming to a solid stop behind the truck.

As his blood pressure began to rise faster and faster, Thomas struggled to keep himself under control. He knew it was one of the many side-effects of the cocaine, short temper or at least a more extreme temper, so he forced himself to breathe, calm and slow. To pass the time he pulled out his phone and checked his balance.

$201,534.32

He smiled slightly, if nothing else at least he was keeping a decent salary. That thought struck something within him, numbing him to the core, and Thomas drove the rest of the way home in complete silence. How had that come to happen?

Ten years ago, he wasn't thinking about money. After all, he'd worked a second job and was often forced to donate some of his paycheck to keep the church going. Somewhere something had changed. Try as he might, Thomas couldn't say that there was any single incident that caused this change in his church.

Yes, he'd resumed his drug use and drinking. Yes, the church had attracted a larger congregation. Yes, it had also drawn in a few large-money men, but none of that excused his keeping the extra money for himself. For a long two hours, he felt conviction in a way he hadn't since his own coming to God.

How many had he baptized, all while living a lie?

Try as he might, he couldn't convince himself that it was ok. He wasn't ok. Somewhere along the line, he'd allowed himself to become a man of the world. Thomas poured himself a scotch and sat looking at the drink.

"Not many of you should become teachers in the church, my brothers, for those of us who teach will be judged more harshly," Thomas mumbled to himself, and laughed.

The laugh was harsh and cold, the laughter of a damned man.