Chapter 11: That's Not True

In the fraught silence of the church's kitchen, Sumi's voice finally broke through, gentle yet laden with sadness. "I know... You never told me to... You didn't have to. Hearing my voice hurts you, and I don't want to..." Her admission was a revelation of the sacrifices she made to spare her father pain, choosing silence as her shield.

Goh shook his head, disbelief and denial mingling in his expression as he grappled with the unintended consequences of his grief. "That's not true sweetie, I don't want that. That's not true. You don't have to—" he stammered, his voice breaking as he tried to reassure both himself and Sumi.

"I know..." Sumi responded softly, her understanding of her father's pain clear yet filled with her own resignation.

The moment grew even more emotional as Goh, overwhelmed by the situation, broke down in tears, sobbing on Sumi's shoulder. She embraced him, a gesture of comfort that spoke volumes about their complex but enduring bond.

Franklin, witnessing this tender yet tormented exchange, found it hard to reconcile with his perception of Goh. "No... wait... that can't be right. You're an evil person. Y-you deal drugs... You murder people... You hurt your family. I'm better than that," he argued, his voice filled with confusion and judgment. He clung to his belief in his own moral superiority, unable to fully grasp the nuances of Goh's actions and motivations.

Sumi's head shake and Goh's glare back at Franklin underscored the disconnect between his assumptions and their reality. "Leave us alone. We don't need you anymore. I got what I needed," Goh stated firmly, dismissing Franklin and signaling an end to their reliance on him.

Franklin, feeling betrayed and misled, countered, "Wow, so you lied about the witch doctor too? This wasn't how it was supposed to be. You were supposed to be crippled, your daughter was supposed to be mute, I needed you guys and you had the missing piece to the puzzle! It was all coming together—"

Goh, cutting him off, clarified his own intentions and the truth behind his actions, "I did not lie about the miracle worker. She is real, and I will bring my wife to her. She can bring her back. She can fix this. When my wife returns, all will be made right."

His gaze then shifted to a backpack resting on the counter. From it, an ornate teapot engraved with his wife's name peeked out, symbolizing his hope and belief in miracles, his conviction that he could somehow restore what had been lost.

Franklin's voice dripped with disdain and disbelief, "I was carrying your wife's ashes this whole time?" The gravity of his accusation hung in the air, challenging Goh's actions and intentions.

Goh remained silent, the accusation striking deeper than any physical blow could have.

"You laid your wife in a bed of poison. Are you trying to reap more souls to keep her company in her coffin?" Franklin continued, each word sharp, intended to provoke and condemn. Goh's glare intensified, his eyes burning with a mixture of pain and anger.

"All this time I've been carrying your poison and your wife, but they're one in the same. The poison you deal out to others is just as potent and lethal as your wife is to you. She's rotting your soul and deteriorating your brain. You're delusional to think that doctor will bring her back," Franklin pushed further, not holding back his bitter judgment.

Goh, infuriated by the assault on his deepest vulnerabilities, rose to confront Franklin physically. But as he prepared to strike, Sumi intervened, her hands gently but firmly holding him back. Goh's anger faltered as he looked into his daughter's eyes, seeing the pain his actions caused her. He stopped himself, the fight draining from his posture.

"I'm delusional? Last I checked, you were the manic soldier who talks to himself. Fight your own demons before you pick on mine," Goh retorted, turning Franklin's accusations back on him, pointing out his own unstable behaviors.

At that moment, Franklin's guardian angel appeared beside him, adding an unexpected and surreal twist to the confrontation. Franklin let out a gasp, embarrassed and startled by the sudden appearance.

The Guardian Angel, seemingly amused by the situation, chuckled, "How ironic. He called me your demon."

"Shut up! You always appear at the worst times!" Franklin snapped, his frustration with the angel's timing and the ongoing argument with Goh reaching a boiling point.

Goh, seizing the opportunity to mock Franklin's apparent instability, laughed loudly, "See there he goes again... talking to himself like a crazy person."

As Franklin covered his ears to escape the mocking laughter that seemed to envelop him, his mind spiraled into a vivid hallucination. He perceived Sumi, Bach, and even the angel pointing and laughing at him cruelly. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he shook with fear, his eyes darting frantically from one accuser to the next in the terrible tableau his mind had conjured.

However, when the scene cut back to reality, the room was silent—no one was laughing. Bach, with genuine concern in his voice, asked if Franklin was okay, breaking through the imagined mockery with a touch of reality.

Unable to cope with the intensity of the moment and feeling overwhelmingly isolated, Franklin fled the room. As he ran, the photo of his wife slipped from the torn pocket of his breast, fluttering to the ground like a forgotten memory. Sumi, noticing the fallen photograph, walked over and picked it up, her eyes drawn to something written on the back.

***

Back in the church, Franklin lay on a pew, his body tense as he mumbled to himself. It appeared as though he was arguing with someone fervently, yet he was utterly alone. Bach, aware of the distress but not the cause, approached and settled himself at the organ chair, his presence marked by quiet empathy rather than intrusion.

As Franklin's argument with his invisible adversary wound down, he was left with nothing but his own sobs, which echoed hauntingly through the cavernous space of the church.

Bach cleared his throat gently, breaking the silence. "Do you mind if I play?" he asked, his tone respectful yet carrying a hint of inevitability.

"Leave me alone," Franklin responded, his voice raw with emotion. Despite this, Bach began to play a heavenly tune on the organ. The music slowly replaced the sounds of Franklin's cries, filling the church with a soothing melody that seemed to offer some semblance of peace.

As Bach played, the moonlight streamed through the stained-glass windows, illuminating an image of an angel wrestling with Jacob—a symbol of struggle and eventual transformation. In a moment of defiance, Franklin flipped off the image as he wiped away his tears, perhaps rejecting the notion of wrestling with his own demons.

He then nervously glanced over at Bach, but a sigh of relief escaped him as he remembered the priest was blind. His relief quickly turned to frustration as he confronted Bach's earlier question. "Why did you ask me if you were going to play regardless of my answer?" Franklin asked, his tone a mix of resignation and mild accusation.