Chapter 8: Gloom Doom

Franklin's heart raced as the peaceful scenario of flight transformed into chaos. The missile, an unexpected harbinger of doom, collided with Armin's plane. The sudden explosion was both visually and audibly overwhelming, shaking the core of Franklin's being as he witnessed his friend's fate unfold in horror.

"Noooo! Armin!" Franklin's voice cracked over the comms, raw with emotion. Finn's voice came through, urgent and focused, "Franklin focus! We have to find out where that shot came from. Tell me what you see..."

But Franklin was paralyzed, his eyes locked on the flaming wreckage as it plummeted through the clouds, disappearing from sight. The cries over the comms, the blaring alarms, all faded into a numb silence that enveloped him, a stark contrast to the pandemonium just moments before.

***

The dream shifted, the violence of war giving way to a serene sanctuary. Franklin awoke lying in a church pew, the scene bathed in the soft, ethereal tones of heavenly organ music. A close-up shot revealed the corner of his wife's photo peeking out of his breast pocket, a poignant reminder of what he held dear.

As he sat up, the camera offered a POV shot that surveyed the colored glass windows around him, each pane casting vibrant hues that danced across the beautiful architecture. The lights refracted off a depiction of Jesus in the stained glass, creating a tapestry of light that seemed almost divine.

Franklin smiled, momentarily lost in the beauty and peace of the setting, a stark contrast to the tumultuous scenes of his dream. It was a brief respite, a moment of bliss that allowed him to breathe and find solace in the tranquility of the church.

However, as his gaze wandered, it landed on the Guardian Angel sitting atop the pulpit. Franklin's smile slowly faded into a frown, the sudden appearance of his celestial watcher stirring a mix of emotions.

"Wakey wakey sleepy head," the Guardian Angel chimed in, his tone light yet piercing the calm.

"What happened to being on vacation?" Franklin responded, his voice tinged with a mix of irritation and curiosity.

"I am on vacation. You don't see me working, do you?" the Guardian Angel retorted, floating over to sit beside Franklin on the pew, his demeanor relaxed as he gave a gentle pat on Franklin's shoulder.

The church setting, coupled with the angel's nonchalant presence, created a surreal moment, blending the boundaries between the celestial and the earthly, the peaceful and the painful. 

The Guardian Angel's words hung in the air, a mix of casual observation and pointed commentary. "I have faith that you won't leave these people and kill yourself; and if you're not going to kill yourself, I'm really just here to enjoy the show," he stated, his tone nonchalant yet probing.

"The show?" Franklin echoed, confusion knitting his brows as he tried to understand the angel's role and his cryptic words.

"Yeah, last night really was something. You should've seen what happened after you went unconscious," the Guardian Angel replied, hinting at events that Franklin had missed, stirring a mixture of curiosity and concern within him.

As the realization dawned on Franklin, he scanned the church, suddenly aware of the absence of his companions. "Where are they?" he asked urgently, his voice echoing slightly in the vast space of the church.

"Don't you mean who are they?" a new voice interjected. Franklin turned to see a middle-aged priest seated at the organ, his fingers dancing across the keys despite his blindness. The man's long, greasy hair and scruffy beard framed a face marked by faded grey eyes, sightless yet piercing.

"Typically you try to get to know someone before you readily trust them. I think you made the wrong call on trying to help these people, Franklin," the priest, who Franklin now noticed was called Bach, continued, his voice resonant with wisdom and a touch of rebuke.

Franklin moved closer, his steps slow and measured as he approached the blind priest. "How are you doing that?" he asked, curiosity piqued by the man's ability to play so beautifully without sight.

"Doing what?" Bach responded, his hands never pausing in their movements across the organ keys.

"Playing the organ," Franklin clarified, his gaze fixed on the fluid motion of Bach's hands.

"I can blindly play music because I've practiced. I'm familiar with the keys," Bach explained, then turned the conversation back to Franklin's predicament with a pointed analogy. "How can you blindly trust your new friends when you aren't familiar with them?"

The question struck a chord with Franklin, forcing him to confront the possible naivety of his actions. The church's peaceful setting contrasted sharply with the turmoil now churning within him, as he pondered the priest's words. The lesson in trust and familiarity resonated deeply, underscoring the precariousness of his situation and the decisions that had led him here. Franklin's journey, marked by conflict and now uncertainty about those he had chosen to trust, seemed to parallel the blind priest's mastery of the organ—a mastery that came not from sight, but from understanding and familiarity, elements Franklin realized he might have too hastily overlooked in his own relationships.

Franklin's gaze shifted back to the empty pew where the Guardian Angel had been, a reminder of the transient and often enigmatic guidance he had been given. With the angel gone and the church filled only with the somber notes of the organ, Franklin felt the weight of his situation. He turned back to Bach, who continued to play, the melody now tinged with a sinister undertone that seemed to reflect the darker revelations about Goh and Sumi.

"They're not my friends. You're right, I don't know them at all; but I don't have to. I only need them to lead me somewhere," Franklin confessed, his voice firm despite the uncertainty that underlay his words.

"Ahhh yes... the witch doctor. They might have betrayed your trust but they did save you last night," Bach responded, his fingers moving deftly over the organ keys, weaving a backdrop of foreboding music that mirrored the conversation's gravity.

"Yeah... They're a peculiar pair. What do you know about them?" Franklin asked, seeking more insights into the enigmatic duo who had become his unlikely companions.

"Only that they are not who they were. The old man and his wife used to attend here regularly. When Sumi came along they were the most beaming little family," Bach recounted, his voice reflecting a hint of nostalgia before shifting as the music slid into a minor key, its notes darkening.

"Then the confessions came," Bach continued, his playing intensifying, the organ's voices echoing through the church with a manic energy. "Goh started selling more than tea at his struggling shop. Japanese tea was foreign to the area, he was foreign, and to feed his family he fed the streets the eastern poison they craved."

The revelation painted a complex picture of Goh—a man driven to desperate measures, a father and husband pushed to moral boundaries by necessity. As the climax of the music waned, Bach's tone softened, but the weight of his words lingered in the air.

"When he saw the addicts pile up in the streets he felt guilty. I was his therapist," Bach disclosed, casting a glance up at Franklin, whose expression had grown increasingly uncomfortable with each revelation.

Franklin nodded awkwardly, processing the heavy truths about Goh's past and the implications for his current situation. "Well, you don't ever have to worry about being my therapist, father," he responded, trying to inject a lightness into the conversation that he didn't feel, his mind racing with the new insights into Goh's character and his own precarious position within this tangled web of past sins and present needs.