Dorian's Destiny: Altered (2 page)

When he finally awoke, the pounding in his
head had lessened and his nausea had subsided.

Maybe it was all just a terrible dream?

Sluggishly rising from his bed of hay, he
glanced through a crack in the old barn roof and noticed the sky
was almost black. Slowly making his way down from the hayloft and
out of the barn, he headed back to the church. Worried about Father
Murphy in his absence, he ran. When he reached the doors of the
church, he was traveling so fast, he didn't have time to stop. He
barreled through the front doors and skidded to a halt just before
smashing into the rattled priest.

Father Murphy stood in
front of the now spotless altar, glaring up at his adopted son,
eyes wide with worry. “Just where have you been, young man? And
what in the world happened in this sanctuary? When I walked in this
morning, I nearly had a heart attack after seeing all the blood. I
then found your robe in the washroom with more blood. Do you
realize how worried I've been? Explain yourself.”
Father Murphy vented all his concerns and
frustrations at his son without taking a breath. Folding his arms
tightly across his chest, he waited impatiently for the
explanation.

Dorian had never seen his
father so agitated or worried. Regret over running away the
previous night permeated his mind, however at the time it seemed
like the only solution. He kept his own eyes trained on the floor,
unable to look his father in the eyes. He felt shame for leaving
such a mess. Finally caving under that questioning gaze, he looked
at the portly man in front of him. Meeting eyes, he saw such
love
–
the same
love he saw twenty years ago and every day thereafter.

When he finally spoke, it was barely above a
whisper. “Father, I am so sorry. I did not mean to worry you. I
hoped what I experienced last night was just a bad dream, but after
seeing you so worried and the mention of the destruction of the
church, I know that is not the case.” Shaking his head, he glanced
around the sanctuary, unable to comprehend the drastic, sudden
transformation. “How did you get it cleaned up so fast?”

“Never mind my methods for sanitizing my
Father's House,” Father Murphy snapped, shaking his head. “Finish
your story.”

“Yes Father,” he replied. As he replayed the
events of the following evening to the priest, the thumping
returned. “No!” He yelled, clutching the side of his head.

Father Murphy reached up and placed a hand
on his shoulder, “What's wrong? Are you ill?”

“It's nothing, Father,” Dorian blurted,
pushing his hand away and stalking off toward his room, anxious to
put some distance between himself and his father.

“Where are you going? You haven't finished
your story.” Father Murphy followed after his son.

Much younger and faster than the old man,
Dorian was in his room grabbing his satchel and filling it with
supplies before his father darkened his doorway.

“What are you doing, Dorian?”

“Something bad has happened to me, Father. I
don't know what it is, but I think it best if I leave,” he
stammered while actively working his way around the room, gathering
anything he thought he might need. He wasn't sure when or if he
would be returning.

Father Murphy remained in the doorway, his
mouth opened in shock by what he heard. “What are you saying? What
about your studies and your future in the church?”

“It will have to wait. I can't stay
here.”

The whole time they had been talking in his
room, the thumping in his head continued to get louder. So loud in
fact, he had a hard time hearing what was being said. Finally, with
his pack full of everything he thought he might need, he reached
over and grabbed his most prized possession from the bedside table.
He placed his Bible gently in the satchel. Father Murphy had given
it to him the night he had been abandoned. He had taught Dorian how
to read and understand The Book, telling him everything he would
ever need to know could be found within its divine pages. Now more
than ever, he hoped that was true. Shouldering the satchel, he
trudged out of his room past Father Murphy.

As they passed each other in the doorway,
Father Murphy reached up and touched him on the cheek, “But you're
my son.”

“Not anymore,” Dorian declared, jerking his
father's hand away. He then turned from the priest and left. He
hated himself as soon as the words exited his mouth, but the
cruelty felt necessary; with how he felt, he couldn't risk being
followed. As he walked away from his home, he turned back one last
time, tears streaming down his face.

Will I ever get to return?

God wept as He witnessed Dorian abandon his
home, his father, and his church. This desperate act had Him
admitting His Failure to keep His Servant from the groping hand of
evil.

Chapter 2

Dorian entered the forest that hedged the
backside of his village while his mind wondered backward over the
last twenty-four hours of his life.

Until yesterday, his life had been simple,
straight forward, and spent studying God's Word in preparation for
the day he would take over his father's position as priest. The
events of the past day, however, had thrust him so far off his
chosen path, he wasn't sure where he would end up or who he would
be when he got there.

Who were those men? What could have
motivated them to vandalize a House of God and commit murder? Why
me? Why was I saved? Why do I feel altered? What was that thumping
sound and the hunger that followed? Why did I feel like a threat to
my own father's safety?

So many questions tugged at his
consciousness. Shaking his head, he tried desperately to free his
mind from the inquisition, but the confusion and doubt had already
taken hold; coiling themselves deep within his soul, striking
relentlessly and spreading their poison. These emotions were
foreign, unfamiliar occupants in Dorian's thoughts, and he was at a
loss over how to deal with them.

I'll stay at the cabin, meditate, and stay
away from anyone I might hurt, at least until I am able to figure
things out.

Judging by how low the sun hung in the sky,
he knew he needed to make haste to reach his destination before
darkness swallowed the forest. Redoubling his efforts, he jogged
deep into the woods, following the same worn paths he and his
father had traveled ages ago on their yearly retreats.

At an early age, Father
Murphy taught Dorian that God would provide everything he ever
needed, but that did not mean it would be handed to him on a silver
platter. This important lesson truly hit home during the first of
their expeditions to the cabin when Dorian was only ten and Father
Murphy was much more able-bodied. The memory of that first outing
crept to the surface of his mind.

“Where are we going?” Dorian chimed.

“You'll see,” replied Father Murphy, smiling
secretively.

“Couldn't you just tell me where we're
going, Father?” Dorian asked, yanking on the sleeve of his father's
shirt.

“I could, but it wouldn't be much of a
surprise if I told you, now would it?” Father Murphy retorted,
pulling his sleeve from his son's grip.

“No,” Dorian grunted, drooping his head for
a second before popping it back up and adding excitedly, “I could
act surprised?”

“Why act surprised when you can actually be
surprised?”

“Fine,” Dorian huffed, ceasing his attempt
to pry the knowledge of their destination from his father. Thirty
minutes of peaceful silence elapsed before either spoke again.

After losing sight of his son numerous times
while he darted in and out to the path in front of him, Father
Murphy pleaded. “Dorian, please stay on the path where I can see
you.”

“Yes, Father.” Dorian replied, walking
slowly beside him. “How much farther?”

“Not far,” Father Murphy smiled as they
finally entered the clearing where the cabin stood.

Dorian jumped up and down with excitement.
“Wow!” He squealed as he ran up the three small steps leading to
the front door of the cabin. He swung it open and ran inside with
Father Murphy trudging in right behind him. “Two beds on top of
each other with a ladder!”

“Those are bunk beds,” Father Murphy
informed him.

“Can I sleep on top?”

“Of course. Can you see me climbing that
little ladder?” Father Murphy chuckled.

Dorian giggled and slapped Father Murphy's
arm, “Father!” Then he investigated the rest of the cabin,
observing only a small wooden table with two mismatched chairs and
a log fireplace.

“Dorian, as I have told you many times, God
will provide you with all the tools you will need to survive in
this world. What you choose to do with these tools is up to you.
So, during this retreat, the first of many I hope, we are going to
take the tools God has provided us and learn how to survive on our
own. Now, you see those poles in the corner? Grab them and let’s go
see if we can catch our supper.”

Five years had passed
since Dorian and his father had enjoyed a retreat to the cabin.
Father Murphy's health had deteriorated greatly, making it
difficult to transverse through the wilderness. Dorian kept his
fingers crossed that at least remnants of the structure remained,
enough to protect him
from the elements.
It didn't need to be much. He was accustomed to meager
accommodations.

When he arrived at the
cabin, he was pleasantly surprised. The one-hundred-year old cabin
appeared no worse for wear than it had five years ago.

The front steps creaked under his weight as
he opened the door. Dust billowed out around him as it swung in.
Coughing, he propped open the door with a chair and unlatched the
shutters, hoping to clear away some of the dust. He deposited his
satchel on the bottom bunk after acquiring his Bible and withdrew
back outside.

Having already wasted most of the day
asleep, he chose to immediately delve into The Word of God in
search of knowledge that had so far eluded him. Sitting Indian
style on the soft cool grass in front of the cabin, a gentle breeze
tousling his chocolate brown hair, he searched for answers. As he
read, God's Words wrapped around him like a warm blanket.

One passage in particular called out to him
and he spoke the words aloud.

“Proverbs 3:13-18;
Blessed is the one who finds wisdom, and the one
who gets understanding, for the gain from her is better than gain
from silver and her profit better than gold. She is more precious
than jewels, and nothing you desire can compare with her. Long life
is in her right hand; in her left hand are riches and honor. Her
ways are ways of pleasantness, and all her paths are
peace.
”

Hours passed as Dorian read and reread those
scriptures, analyzing each word, hungry for the peace it promised.
Not tired, he decided to explore. He had never observed the forest
at night, at least not like this. It was as if he was truly seeing
it for the first time, with newborn eyes.

The moon cloaked the forest in a silver blue
glow. He weaved through the trees with ease, escaping their groping
limbs. From their hollows, dozens of eyes stared at him, but none
approached. He could hear their agitated calls to one another;
warnings of something new in their forest. The wind slipping
through the leaves carried a strange scent mixed in with the rich
musty decay.

Is that fear?
Maybe the creatures are not familiar with seeing
a human out here at night.

Pine needles were embedded in his sandals as
he wandered farther away from the cabin. On his right, he heard the
flutter of an unseen wing. He turned to see an owl swooping with
its talons grasping at a field mouse. The cry of the doomed
creature pierced his ears. Off to the left, he heard the bubbling
of water running over stone. Eager to discover if the sounds
originated from the stream where he learned to fish, Dorian hurried
in the direction of the water.

Traveling only a short distance, he came
upon the site of his first fishing trip. He regarded the tiny
stream which, ages ago, had appeared almost a river. Scanning the
stream, he found the same sweet spot he had fished so long ago.
Sitting by the edge of the stream, he slipped off his sandals and
submerged his feet in the crystal clear water. Shortly, his
wiggling toes attracted a group of curious fish.

I wish I had my
pole.

He spent several minutes enjoying the
refreshing water and the fond memories it induced.

He continued to explore the forest until
dawn. He had never seen so many shadows. Forging his way back to
the cabin, he collapsed on the bottom bunk and slept the day
away.

Over the next three days,
he repeated the same routine of reading The Bible, wondering the
forest at night, and resting in the daytime. Slowly, he shifted to
a nocturnal way of life. The more he craved the night, the more he
shunned the day. The night offered peace and solitude and the never
ending mystery of the forest. The day offered the blaring sun with
its burning rays. He viewed his heightened senses as a
blessing
–
a side
effect of his Salvation
–
but it made the daytime nearly
unbearable.

On the third day of his pilgrimage, Dorian
determined the time had come to return home, to check on Father
Murphy. He felt he had accomplished all he could and it would be
selfish of him to remain at the cabin when Father Murphy needed
him. Besides, he was at peace, even though most of his questions
remained unanswered.

He exited the cabin as the crimson sun
finished its descent beneath the horizon, painting the sky in an
array of colors, some of which he couldn't name. As he walked down
the front steps of the cabin, a tuft of brown fur darted in and out
of the lush underbrush invading his peripheral vision.