August 27th, 1995
Sunday
For Avery, sitting in the sun-drenched pews of the old church on a Sunday morning wasn't exactly how he wanted to wrap up his weekend. The faint scent of polished wood mingled with the lingering aroma of incense, creating an atmosphere that felt heavy with tradition. It was a far cry from the freedom of outdoor adventures or lazy afternoons spent with friends. Yet, for his father, this weekly ritual held a sacred significance that Avery couldn't quite grasp. While the congregation sang hymns that echoed through the stained glass, Avery's mind wandered to the adventures waiting outside, thinking about last night's plays with the Chicago Bulls, what he would eat for dinner, and he even thought about school, a rare occurrence for the weekend.
Not only was it boring, but he lacked respect for the pastor himself.
For various reasons.
Even within the sacred walls of the church, no one was immune to the piercing, opinionated glares and the pointed recitations of Bible verses that seemed to serve as weapons against the perceived otherness. Avery's family, unfortunately, found themselves in the crosshairs of this judgment. It was a well-known fact in their tight-knit neighborhood that Charlie was supernatural, so naturally, members of the church held their suspicions. After the incident, Avery and his father underwent a rigorous series of tests mandated by the state, and several different baptisms from the church. From physical examinations to an array of immunity assessments, each procedure was designed to scrutinize their dignity. Nevertheless, the stakes were high; only those who passed these evaluations were granted a coveted certificate affirming their status as "The Standard Human."
Receiving this certificate was a ticket back into the community of faith, reinstating them as official members of the church. Yet, even this validation did little to shield them from the undercurrents of prejudice thoughts that lingered in the air. The weight of suspicion was a heavy cloak that draped over them, and despite the accolades of acceptance, the harsh reality remained: they were forever marked by their differences.
A tall, stern-faced Pastor Ellis stands behind the pulpit, hand pressed firmly on a heavy, worn Bible. His eyes scan the crowd, and lingered a second too long on Avery and his father, seated in the far back pew.
He clears his throat.
"Brothers and sisters, let us turn to the Holy Word—our first reading today speaks plainly about those unnatural beings who walk among us, living in secrecy. The Scripture calls them not gifted, but cursed—abominations in the eyes of the Lord."
Avery shifted and groaned internally, glaring at his father from the corner of his eye.
"Do we gotta' sit here for this?"
Nathaniel sighed as he flipped open his well-worn leather cover of his Bible, the gold lettering catching the light. He adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses, the gentle glint of the lenses momentarily obscuring his focused gaze. "Just bear with it. We've only got a few minutes left until noon. It's the Lord's Day, after all."
"Brothers and sisters in Christ… turn with me to the Book of Leviticus, chapter twenty, verse twenty-seven."
The sound of turning pages echoed gently throughout the church.
"The man or woman who is a medium or a spiritist among you shall surely be put to death. They are to be stoned. Their blood shall be upon their own heads."
A hush fell over the church.
"Now I don't say this to scare you. I say this because the Lord is not the author of confusion. And He certainly ain't the creator of no… unnatural powers." Pastor Ellis glanced again towards Avery's pew.
"Some of us believe we can dance with demons and not smell like smoke. That we can brush shoulders with spirits and walk away whole. But the Scripture is clear! These beings—these so-called Supernatural—they hide among us like wolves in sheep's clothing! And it is our holy duty to call them by name. Not blessed or gifte. But abomination."
Amens and whistles praised Pastor Ellis, the congregation standing and clapping their hands together.
"We are not blind. We are not deaf. And God is not mocked."
Avery's foot began to tap restlessly against the plush carpet, the polished leather of his church shoes thumping softly but insistently. At that moment, the pianist commenced a tentative melody, synchronized chords weaving seamlessly into Pastor Ellis' sermon. With every outrageous proclamation, Avery's fist tightened, his knuckles bruising to a dark red.
"Now tell me, church—what fellowship can light have with darkness?"
"None!"
"What place do demons have in the house of the Lord?"
"None!"
With a dramatic flourish, Pastor Ellis slammed his Bible shut, the sound reverberating throughout the sanctuary like a clap of thunder.
"Then let us not make room! Church is dismissed."
He declared with a firm voice, signaling the conclusion of the service, yet leaving an unspoken expectation for everyone to linger a little longer.
Avery, on the other hand, had always been the type to leave before the moment lasted too long. As he watched his father rise from his seat, a warmth of paternal pride radiating from him as he greeted the bishops, Avery felt a familiar urge to escape the stifling atmosphere of the church. The towering stained-glass windows cast colorful shadows on the pews, but to him, they only highlighted the disconnect he felt with the crowd gathered around them.
With a sigh, Avery slipped out of the sanctuary, seeking the fresh air that awaited him outside the towering wooden doors. He leaned against the cool stone wall, gathering his thoughts as the echoes of friendly greetings and hollow laughter drifted away. He couldn't grasp his father's unwavering faith or the comfortable ease with which he interacted with the clergy. To Avery, it was bewildering how those around him could be so enveloped in a ritual that felt mechanical and devoid of genuine care.
He'd observe the faces of the congregants, their expressions a mix of reverence and fear, as they listened intently to the Pastor's morning sermon. They seemed more concerned about appeasing a relentless cycle of judgment than truly connecting with one another or with the divine. In that moment, Avery felt a palpable sense of isolation—not just from his father, but from the entire community that surrounded them. How could they trust in a place that seemed more invested in instilling fear than in fostering love or understanding?
It didn't feel right.
Breaking his focus, the heavy church doors creaked open, and a small figure stepped out into the sunlight. It was Lola, the Pastor's daughter, her petite frame almost engulfed by the soft afternoon light. Approaching Avery with a gentle hesitation, she clasped her hands behind her back, a gesture that revealed her timid nature. Maintaining a respectful distance, she seemed uncertain about how to initiate a conversation, her eyes flickering downwards before briefly meeting his gaze.
Though they were the same age, there was an unmistakable innocence about her, heightened by her low, curly pigtails that framed her face in a playful, yet sweet manner. She wore her Sunday best, a flowing white sundress that gracefully fell to her knees, its modest cut revealing only her skinny arms. The dress was adorned with charming pink embroidered flowers that danced along the hem, adding a youthful vibrancy to her appearance. Her face, radiating with youth, was further highlighted by her striking emerald green eyes, an extraordinary feature that stood in bold contrast to her deep brown skin.
This unique combination was something the community marveled at; they considered it a mark of beauty, especially her father, the Pastor. As the head of the choir, he often showcased her like a precious gem, proud of her presence and the purity she emanated, almost as if she were a divine embodiment of grace. Avery couldn't help but agree; among all the congregation, Lola was the only one he truly felt drawn to.
When he thought too hard, he wondered if her eye color was simply a blessing or something more profound. In the back of his mind, he entertained the notion that Lola might possess a touch of the supernatural; after all, who could say for certain? Perhaps, in her quiet, unassuming way, she held secrets that only she was aware of, mysteries hidden behind her constant smile.
Avery made the first effort to speak, because if he didn't, she'd stare at him with those big eyes all day.
"Wassup, Lola?"
"H-Hey, Avery! I um…I just wanted to say sorry. My dad's sermons aren't the most helpful all the time."
"That's not on you. How come you ain't inside?"
Lola gave a soft shrug, her fingers curling around the leather woven bracelet around her wrist. "I just needed air, I guess. All the singing, the praying… sometimes I feel like I'm not even a part of it. Just something they dress up and stare at."
Avery squinted, leaning against the brick wall of the church. "You sound tired."
"I am," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I don't really hang out. Ever. Not like you or the others. Too much to do—choir rehearsals, school, helping out with the younger kids. Daddy don't let me go nowhere that ain't church-related." She paused, eyes drifting toward the cloudy sky. "I guess I got responsibilities."
He watched her for a beat, something quiet settling between them. Then he smirked. "I got a friend who'd hate to hear that."
Lola looked over, curious. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," he said, nodding slightly. "Tito, his wild ass. He'd love the challenge of sneakin' you out. He'll probably call it a mission from God or some dumb shit."
She laughed softly, covering her mouth with her hand, eyes twinkling. "Tito… I think I've seen him around. Real loud?"
"That's him," Avery said, grin widening. "But he means well. Might be just the kinda trouble you need."
Lola tilted her head, considering. "Maybe. I think I'd like that kinda trouble. Just once."
Then, almost as an afterthought, she glanced at Avery again, her voice softer. "Do you ever feel like… like pressure? To be what everyone makes you out to be?"
Avery's expression shifted, like her words hit a nerve. "Yeah," he said finally. "All the time."
And for a moment, they stood there, two kids dressed in their Sunday best, carrying secrets that stretched far beyond their years.
The Church doors creaked open again, and out came the Pastor with his bible still in hand,
"Lola, come and help Sister Cathy with her bags—what in the world?!" Lola yelped as Pastor Ellis grabbed her by the arm and yanked her away from Avery. His eyes found Avery and burned with disapproval, like he'd caught his daughter whispering with the devil himself.
He whacked Lola lightly upside the head. "Girl, what did I tell you about takin' to this boy?"
Avery straightened up, trying to keep his voice even. "Sir, with all due respect—she wasn't doing anything wrong. We were just talkin'."
Pastor Ellis scoffed. "Don't you start. I've seen where that kind of talk leads. You think I don't know your type?"
Before Avery could speak again, another voice rang out from just inside the doorway.
"Ellis."
Pastor Ellis turned. Avery's father stepped outside, calm but firm, still rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt. His presence carried quiet authority, the kind that made people think twice without raising a voice.
"Let go of the girl," he said. "It's church, not boot camp."
The Pastor frowned. "Brother Nathaniel, this is between me and my daughter."
"And Avery's my son," Nathaniel replied. "If they're out here talkin', I doubt it's cause for correction."
Pastor Ellis released Lola's arm reluctantly, eyes narrowing. "You don't know the influence your boy has."
"I know my son," Nathaniel said, then looked at Avery. "And I know he can speak for himself when needed—but sometimes grown men need to remember who they were before they had a pulpit."
The tension thinned just enough. Pastor Ellis looked between them, jaw working.
Lola stood still, rubbing her arm, eyes cast downward.
Nathaniel gave her a gentle nod. "Why don't you go help Sister Cathy, sweetheart? We'll be on our way now."
Lola nodded quietly and slipped away, casting one last look at Avery.
Pastor Ellis, chest puffed and pride wounded, turned on his heel and followed after her.
Avery exhaled, tension leaving his shoulders.
His father placed a hand on his back. "You alright?"
"Yeah," Avery muttered. "I just figured she needed some sticking up for."
Nathaniel gave Avery a look of understanding. "Well then, it looks like I raised you right."
They ambled down the tree-lined sidewalk, the warm afternoon sun casting a golden hue on their path, just as they had done every Sunday after the service at the temple. With their home conveniently just a few blocks away, they preferred this tranquil walk, relishing the fresh air. As they strolled, they shared thoughts about the day's sermon, their voices mingling with the rustling leaves overhead and the distant laughter of children playing nearby. Avery cherished these conversations; they didn't happen often enough.
"Dad."
He called out, quickly grasping the attention of his father. Typically, he opted for the more casual "Pops," because it rolled off his tongue with ease and familiarity. But in moments like this, when the weight of something serious rested on his shoulders (or when he was hoping for a couple of bucks) "Dad" slipped out, carrying with it a gravity and urgency that he seldom used.
"What do you need?"
Avery chuckled, half nervous, "I don't need nothin'. I was just wondering…do you believe in Pastor?"
A soft grunt escaped from his father's mouth, "That half-wit man? I believe in God, not him."
"Well, yeah. I guess what I mean to ask is, do you believe supernatural people are evil? Are you…scared of me and Charlie?"
Nathaniel paused, then let out a bellied laugh, hearty and raspy, "Scared? How can I be scared of someone whose shitty diapers I used to change?"
A flash of heat crawled up Avery's neck. "Aren't you kinda loud?"
"These folks out here hardly pay attention anyway. Well, what made you go and think that nonsense?" His father questioned.
Avery shrugged, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his dress pants, "I dunno, he called us all sorts of things in there. But you go to church every Sunday, regardless. Kinda makes me think you believe in what he's sayin'."
Nathaniels smile faded, "No, not at all." They slowly continued their walk, "I go to church for the lord, not Pastor Ellis. I believe that God makes no mistakes, and everything is intentional. Therefore, you and your brother are gifted, and so was your mother. Everything happens for a reason. Now, the exact reason may be unclear, but as people, we're not meant to have everything figured out. We're only human."
"No, you're only human. Charlie and I are only pretending to be."
Averys gaze focused on the ground below him, kicking away pebbles that stood firm in his path. It sounded weird to say that aloud, to not be human. But what exactly is human? Is it a biological difference, or is it a state of mind?
He couldn't say for sure.
"Well, if I knew my son, I'd say you're more human than half the heartless bastards in this city. You have emotions and you're capable of love. Seems about right to me." Said Nathaniel, a knowing smile rested upon his face.
Avery glanced at his father, uncertainty sketched on his face. As much as he wanted to believe him, society had spent his entire life telling him otherwise. Even when he tried to fit in, he felt like an outsider.
Still, it was comforting to hear that he was just like everyone else.