A Latent Dark Read Online Free PDF

it—such truth and beauty in those paintings of oil and canvas. Mother Mary looked down upon him with her eyes of mercy. Sweat from the heat of the lamps stung at his self-flagellation, the pain sweet and freeing.
    He felt himself back on the stage, under the lights, back where he had been whole. He felt his healing hands on the congregation, his palms on their foreheads as he had yelled, “Be gone. Be gone! Here is your meat. Take my flesh. Take my blood! Be gone! I have given you your lamb!”
    And was that a knock at his door? How long had they been there?
    He stared at nothing with red-rimmed eyes. Memories slid back into his mind at a crawl. He looked down at his stained hands, scarlet paws, his chest screaming red, burning pain. It was better now, quieter now. Lyle breathed deeply, eyes closed for a moment.
    The blood washes away all sin .
    Another knock at the door shocked him into reality. A muted, wavering voice came from the hallway.
    “Reverend?”
    He cleared his throat. His throat was so dry. Had he been screaming again?
    “Reverend, your luggage has arrived. You… um… is everything alright?”
    “Yes,” he said, struggling with the words. “Yes, everything is just fine.”
    His gaze fell on the pile of white clothes, so foreign now.
    “One of the guests said they heard screaming. I-I wanted to make sure you were alright. I’ve brought your things from the station… are you sure you’re okay?”
    Lyle blinked again. Sweat was beginning to work its way into the trenches on his bare chest. He welcomed the burning, closing his eyes and taking another long, ragged breath. A stream of saliva connected the corner of his lip to the white bloodstained hairs on his bosom. He wiped it away, surprised.
    “I’m sorry about that,” he said to the closed door.
    He pulled open the closet and grabbed a gray bathrobe, shuddering as he put it on.
    “I was rehearsing a sermon,” he said through the door. “It’s important that you rehearse how you perform, I always say.”
    He opened the door, smiling to see a nervous looking bellhop in a red and black uniform with a matching pillbox hat. There was a trickle of sweat on the bellhop’s brow.
    Lyle watched the bead as it crawled down the boy’s forehead and fought back the urge to strike him. A wardrobe chest, as tall as The Reverend, stood behind the young man.
    “Bring it inside.” He opened the door wider, his voice pleasant. “Please give my apologies to the other guests. I sometimes get a little passionate when I rehearse. I guess I must have overdone things a tad.”
    The bellhop rolled the trunk into the room, taking special notice of the paintings, the lanterns illuminating every corner… the red stains.
    “Is that—”
    “Red wine. I apologize for my clumsy hands.”
    “I can have that cleaned—”
    “No need.”
    Lyle stood patiently, hands in his robe pockets while the bellhop continued to roll the chest through the suite. He stopped at the pile of clothing on the floor.
    “Would you like me to take these?” he asked.
    “That would be splendid.” Now get the hell out .
    “I can have them dry cleaned for you overnight—”
    “No,” shouted Lyle. The boy winced as if struck. Idiot.
    Lyle paused for an awkward moment before continuing. “Go ahead and take them but I don’t need them back.”
    The boy gathered the pile of clothing as Lyle winced.
    “What should I do with them?” said the bellhop, clutching the mass of clothing like some beggar; Lyle felt bile rise in his throat.
    “I would appreciate it if you could burn those, son.”
    “B-burn—”
    Lyle’s eyes ground the boy into fine powder. He spoke in succinct, buzzing syllables. “I said, I would appreciate it, if you... Would. Burn. Them. Do I have to say it twice?”
    “Yes sir… I mean… no sir... I’ll burn them,” said the bellhop. He found himself staring at a dark stain forming on the center of the bathrobe. “Sir, are you—”
    “I’m fine,” snapped