Work Text:
Many false profits will appear and deceive many people. Because of the increase of wickedness, the love of most will grow cold - Matthew 24:11-12.
“My friends! These past few months have shaken our community to its core, have shaken our very faith!” the booming words of the white-clothed Pastor, his hands raised in grand gesture.
“My friends, I shudder to say these words, but in truth I almost wish I could tell you that the Devil had come upon our community, that he dove his clawed hands into the minds of our youth! That it was he who drove them to such despair, to such violence!”
He paused, and from behind the pulpit hidden just out of sight, Veronica Sawyer surveyed the crowd. Heather Chandler had once said that she was “birdfaced” with eyes too big for her face, but in this moment, she was watching like a hawk.
Many in the crowd were still donned in black; Veronica’s chest tightened as she saw that many still wore the pink ribbons that had been passed around at Heather’s funeral, ribbons of mourning. Her eyes scanned over the faceless parishioners; after so many funerals everyone’s faces had begun to blend together, all into one endless mesh of teary-eyed faces all of them looking to the Pastor like lambs to their shepherd, all of them begging him to tell them ‘why? why?’ had this happened.
Absentmindedly, Veronica wondered she’d been to this church so many times (Dad insisted on dragging them every Sunday, said it was ‘good family bonding’), the fact that she could barely recognize anyone probably didn’t make her a very good Christian.
- She suppressed a mirthless laugh, if that was the only thing that disqualified her from being a good Chrisitan she’d probably be on the deluxe flight straight to heaven with extra leg room.
Slowly her eyes came upon a girl, she was young, probably less than 10 years old with blonde hair and round cheeks – Veronica’s breath hitched; she recognized this one, Ram’s little sister. Veronica took a step back, her breath short and her chest tight, in her hands she clutched a rosary, an old family heirloom her mother had given to her to “ward off the devil”. She clutched it tight, it’s sharp edges pricking into her palms, what a mockery she’d made of those words.
“I wish I could tell you that it was the work of the Devil that took these 3 beautiful promising young men and women” – 4 people actually, Veronica mentally corrected, J.D had been taken all the same, but this little town was already trying to bury his memory.
-“ That it was the Devil who plucked them from us” The clothed man took a dramatic pause, the crowd seemed to lean forward a bit more enraptured. “But the truth is that it was all of US!” – “As a community we neglected the spiritual health of our children! We left a spiritual hole in their chests, and what did they do? They filled it with sins of the flesh, with sex, alcohol, drugs, and sexual deviancy!” – at that Ram’s family seemed to flinch.
It was a pretty story, but Veronica knew the truth was much simpler, yes all of that had happened, but it wasn’t a lack of Jesus that had left a hole in their hearts, it was a pair of pistols packing “Ich Luge” bullets, and two cynical wannabe revolutionaries to wield them.
“They filled their hearts with lust and opiates, but as we all know such things do nothing but leave the soul empty and aching!”
Veronica didn’t know – personally, she thought there was something to be said for lust and opiates; God knows she’d indulged in plenty of both, she gripped the rosary just a bit tighter.
“But my friends, all is not lost! For in our darkest hour a champion stepped forward!” – her grip tightened yet still – “A hero! An example not just to our youth, but to all of our community! An example of what to do when confronted with evil in these troubled times”
Lights…
Camera…
Action…
“Veronica Sawyer!”
Like a dead girl walking, she shuffled from the alcove into the light, one foot in front of the other, nice and easy, they were clapping; oh god they were actually clapping.
//
Mary Sweeney watched as the young girl staggered up to the pulpit, she looked so thin, with sweet doe-like features. She looked so uncertain, but Mary could see the courage in her, the bravery that had protected her.
If only her son had had the same strength…
The last few weeks had been so hard on their family, losing Ram so horribly, only to discover his…..deviancy.
Her husband Jack, had been willing to look the other way, to embrace as loudly as he did that he “Loved my dead gay son”, but Mary looked the other way – that lifestyle had killed her boy, had taken him from her, his little sister, his whole family.
The Pastor’s voice boomed over the crowds applause. “I present to you, Veronica Sawyer, the hero who faced down a crazed maniac and saved Westerberg High, a beloved friend to our 3 dearly departed children, who instead of falling to despondency and sin, filled her heart with strength! And carried on!”
The girl, Veronica, took her place at the pulpit – Mary had seen her before, not just in the papers after she became a hero, she’d seen at her parties with Ram, yes! The two of them had been friends, she’d seen them talking.
“My name is Veronica, and I am sorry, but I am no hero”.
Oh she was so humble, so sweet – it pained her knowing that Ram had been such good friends with this girl, maybe she could’ve saved him? Maybe she would’ve been just the right girl to save him from that …..lifestyle, that had taken him from her.
Mary tuned out the world as she stared at Veronica and imagined what could’ve been, she was so strong, so beautiful, everything a good Christian mother could want. Her parents must be so proud of their girl.
The words of Veronica’s speech washed over her in a beautiful malaise, the manic look in her eyes, surely nothing but a trick of the light.
//
Veronica gripped the pulpit with enough strength to turn her knuckles white; the rosary clutched bit into the skin with a burning sensation.
….Nobody was listening.
“Did anyone here what I said? I said I. Am. Not. A. Hero! – I don’t deserve any of this”. She felt like she was on the verge of tears.
The crowd nodded passively, all those sweet passive understanding looks unmoved. To her right the Pastor spoke “You are so right my child, you didn’t deserve any of this; but as know the Lord often calls upon us when we least expect it”.
Veronica rounded an incredulous look upon her face but was met once again with nothing but passivity.
She wanted to scream, ‘I AM A KILLER! I AM A BISEXUAL WHORE; I DEFILED MYSELF WITH MEN AND WOMEN BOTH!’
She locked eyes with Ram’s mother, who was nodding her head emptily, her eyes looking half glazed over – she wanted to yell, “I KILLED YOUR SON! I KILLED HIM AND I LAUGHED AT HIS FUNERAL!”
She gripped the rosary so hard she felt her hand shaking.
She wanted to scream so loud the heavens themselves would hear her …..but she couldn’t. Expectations that old curse that she had spent her entire life fighting, wrapped itself around her once again in a grip stronger than iron.
They expected a good little girl, a brave hero who had saved her school, a good little Christian girl who obeyed her parents, went to school every day, and saved her soul from the ‘deviancy’ that had consumed Heather, Kurt, Ram…..JD.
They expected that, and they would accept nothing but that – It didn’t matter that what stood before them was a degenerate, a shambling mess of a girl dependant on cigarettes and alcohol just to get through the day, a queer whore who’d indulged in the sins of the flesh on both sides…..a killer, who’d taken lives.
They would not accept that – and there was nothing Veronica could do to stop them, to save herself.
In the dark recesses of her mind, she could almost hear Heather’s cackling laugh – is this how she had felt? A life on parade, a slave to expectations at all times, she was gone now and Sherwood needed another mascot.
Nobody was listening…
On shaking feet she stumbled away from the pulpit, nearly tripping over herself as she reached the door, they were clapping again, cheering on their brave hero.
She opened her palm, she’d gripped so tight her skin had been pierced – the rosary was coated in blood.
//
Mary Sweeney watched as Veronica Sawyer strode out of the Church, her face the very picture of confidence and strength.
She turned to her daughter, her youngest child, her last child.
She whispered in her ear.
“I want you to be just like her”.