Salvation?

Left with nothing else to hope for, Randolph began walking along the city's sidewalk. As it was one of the main parts of the city, in the center between the shopping and residential districts, the atmosphere was bustling and active.

The young man couldn't feel it though. He felt as if the ground was magnet and his head was made of metal. His gaze remained on the ground as he walked, his breathing unsteady.

Depression was a difficult thing to describe for those who haven't experienced it. It was not as simple or shocking as sadness, but it was also, in a manner of speaking, much more powerful. It was heavy, very heavy, almost like wearing clothing made of metal.

It wasn't an exaggeration to say that the world around you would dim, even despite the bustling atmosphere, and all you were able to think of is yourself.

Following the sidewalk, Randolph absentmindedly turned into a large park square. Finding a bench at the side, he sat down uncaring of its wetness or coldness.

This can't continue on… But just five more minutes won't hurt…

Letting out a deep sigh from the bottom of his lungs, the young man shut his eyes as he leaned back into the park bench.

Feeling the cold air blowing across his cheeks, and hearing the cars zoom by, he relaxed like that for five minutes before finally feeling slightly better.

Opening his eyes back up, Randolph looked towards the sky. While breaks were good, he refused to let himself rest for more than five minutes. Self-pity was an emotion he considered weak. He had seen what had happened to people who dwelled in it, and it was especially worse for the ones at the bottom, like the homeless.

As he looked towards the sky, a large white cross appeared at the bottom of his vision. Turning his head down, his gaze came face-to-face with a large church, stationed at the edge of the large park. It seemed like the park was merely the front yard of the church, with dirt steps leading up to the building.

Upon seeing the church, a familiar smile flashed through Randolph's memory.

The smile was the smile of his father, a man who had vanished when Randolph was young, leaving him to fend for himself in the city. He was a true father, one that Randolph remembered. He had taught Randolph about morality and love, and was a true believer in the church. He was one of the reasons that Randolph stubbornly insisted on keeping the apartment, believing that the man would one day return.

That hope had kept him going for years, but now, he could barely even remember his father's face anymore. But that smile of his, full of love and warmth, remained vivid in Randolph's mind.

The church had reignited his memory of his father as he had been a rigorous believer. He was full of faith and had often taken Randolph to the church on his weekends off. It was indoctrination, but it had taught Randolph to differentiate clearly between right and wrong. They were morals that Randolph had stuck with to this very day, being a line he wouldn't cross.

"May as well go and check it out, for old time's sake." Smiling half-heartedly, the young man stood up, walking towards the church.

The church was considerably large, covered with glass windows between criss-crossing beams of wood, allowing those outside to view the interior. The doors were wide open, indicating that it was available to worshippers. The open entrance allowed Randolph to see the large interior chapel, filled with pews and small wooden carvings.

A few people could be seen within the church. They were either praying or consulting the pastor about some problem. A few more could be seen wandering outside, walking and enjoying the park's views. As it was a weekday there was no mass held, so people could peruse the main facilities of the church freely.

Several candles stood beside the double-doors, unlit. They were likely for decoration or held some symbolic purpose. Directly inside the chapel, near the entrance, there was a small basin of blessed water. It was meant for the purposes of cleansing one's soul before entering hallowed grounds.

Without hesitation, the young man walked up the stone steps to the church. He didn't mind praying to God for help, it would give him a sense of relief at the very least.

"Gah!" But contrary to his expectations, before he could even manage to enter open entrance, a force blew him back, knocking him to the floor.

While he didn't fall off the stairs to the church, he was quite close to doing so.

"What the fuck?!"

A curse slipped out of Randolph's mouth as his eyes widened in shock and surprise. Due to the commotion, a few people looked over from inside the church.

The young man was dumbfounded, staring at the open double-doors of the church.

He swiveled his head around, looking for any assailants, but there was nobody within ten meters of him.

"Wha…?" Tilting his head in absolute confusion, Randolph slowly stood up.

He was more confused than afraid, inspecting the doors closely. They were engraved with small carvings with two large bronze push-bars attached to them. While they were more opulent1 than usual, there was nothing abnormal about them.

"Excuse me mister, but what's wrong? Has something happened?"

As he was expecting the door, a light voice called out to him from inside the church.

Looking up, Randolph's eyes met with a man dressed in an almost all-black clerical attire. He wore a simple robe that reached down to his knees, almost like a cape that surrounded his entire body. It was the pastor of the Church, the one that Randolph had seen earlier attending to its visitors.

"Well…" Slightly stumped on what to say, he considered his words carefully. "I can't seem to get into the church."

"Err, excuse me?" As expected, the man's brows furrowed in confusion.

"It'd be faster if I showed you."

 Sticking his hand out towards the double doors, he suddenly stopped. At the exact line of the double doors – at what seemed to be purely open air – Randolph met with what seemed to be a pocket of resistance. It was like an invisible forcefield made out of plastic wrap, rebounding his hand even though he couldn't feel anything.

It wasn't as harsh as earlier, merely pushing his hand back to the very entrance of the chapel. Randolph had felt it before, consciously realizing that it didn't have anything to do with any attackers, but he found it difficult to believe.

"I don't see the problem, mister. Is this some sort of joke?" His brows still furrowed, the man stared at Randolph questioningly.

From his point of view, it looked like the young man had just stopped on purpose. It was as if he was putting on some sort of mime act.

"I'm not joking, pastor. Please help me in and see for yourself." Giving him an equally incredulous look, Randolph only shrugged.

Taking his plea, the man reached in from the church to grab hold of Randolph's hand.

"STOP!"

But before he could, a loud shout interrupted him.

Both men turned their heads to the source of the commotion, where a large man was heading directly towards them from deeper in the church. The man was burly and buff but wore clerical robes similar to the pastor. The only difference was that he had a stole2 around his neck that reached down to his knees, embroidered with two large crosses on each side. 

"WHAT ON EARTH DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?!"

The man's voice was thunderous and loud, attracting attention from both inside the church and out.

"F-father3 Allen? What's wrong?" Flustered, the pastor quickly backed up.

A look of surprise was on his face as he stared at the angry priest. He had never seen the man so aggravated before. The difference between him now and his usual attitude was worlds apart.

"Ha… Ha…"

The priest stopped before the entrance of the church, his breathing rough and uneven. His gaze turned between Randolph and the pastor as he panted, his expression one of panic to the point of anger.

"What's wrong with you?! Are you trying to invite the devil into our home?!"