Separations of Church and Soul
Steve Crow
The Mission House loomed before him.
The Coalition was forming, but the man variously known as "The Ghost" and "Andrew Lane"
needed more support. His own Sister Jebediah was on the critical list, crippled. Karl's Rangers,
despite their versatility, lacked a priest.
That left few who could call upon the miracles of the Lord God Almighty in the battle against
evil. The Law Dogs and the Collegium were cozying up on their own, and the Ghost wouldn't
trust Elijah's "Flock" on a bet. That left only one established "independent" miracle-worker at
large: Father Juan Navarro.
The Ghost had heard little of him, but that which he had was favorable. Despite being a member
of a supposedly "outlaw" band, and his relationship to one such member, Navarro had apparently
never strayed from ministering to the people of Gomorra. In short, was the kind of man the
Ghost needed. And it was that need that brought him here.
But as the Ghost approached the Mission House, it felt as if a strong gale wind rose up to oppose
him. Each step became harder and harder, as if slogging through a bog.
And back in the dim recesses of his skull, the Ghost fell something...stir.
It was not something he had sensed in a while, although he had felt a dim sense of it when he and
Karl had come to their arrangement at the Fat Chance several days ago. He was a strong-willed
man, as he had to be during the most turbulent times America had faced since its inception. He
had sent tens of thousands to their deaths, and ignored the advice of generals and politicians alike
to follow his own path.
Because of that, beating down the creature that shared his soul had not been a great difficulty in
the past. In fact, the Ghost often managed to forget about it entirely. Only in the dark hours of
the night when he waited for his undead body to shut down for a few hours of what could only
loosely be called "sleep," did he remember his unwanted intruder. Or when it did its work to
heal his body of the damage he often took because of the cause he followed.
But now, as the Ghost approached the Mission, the spirit rose up within him once more. He
could feel it clawing at his soul, attempting to gain a handhold. Nightmare visions flashed
through his mind...
...visions of his son Eddie's death at the age of three. The boy's months of suffering that he and
Mary had been forced to witness before his passing.
...his third son, Willie, passing away in the White House.
...the shock to Mary, who had never fully recovered from her sons' deaths.
...leaving his bed and wandering through the White House, and seeing his enshrouded body
laying in the East Room.
...feeling Mary's hand in his, looking down on a stage, and feeling the bite of a bullet into the
back of his skull while hearing the words Sic semper tyrannis! ringing in his ears.
...looking up into the startled faces of Barnes, Woodward, and the others as he clawed his way
back to "life" several hours later. The hurried conversations with Johnson and Grant, the
preparations for the body that would substitute for his on the train back to Springfield.
...standing in the shadows, watching his beloved son die in 1871 and seeing Mary sobbing at his
bedside, and hoping against hope the boy would rise as he had risen.
With one final great effort, the Ghost strove hard and deep, and...cast the spirit back into the
depths of his soul. Its screams echoed in his skull, but it was back where it belonged once more.
Looking up through eyes incapable of tears, he saw a warm, commanding face looking down into
his. The man held a Bible in one hand, and a pistol at the other. He looked ready to use either.
Or both.
"Are you well, Senor Lane?"
The Ghost realized he had sagged down onto his knees in the dirt. Wearily, he rose to his feet.
He was still a good thirty feet away from the Mission House, and could feel the resistance of its
holy nature striving to push him back. The demon within him screamed its own defiance, and he
knew that another step would unleash it for a battle of dominion again. And again. And again.
The Ghost could sense that even the presence of Father Navarro acted as an additional spur to the
manitou. The Father's presence made him uncomfortable, an affront to the creature within him.
"You are a true man of God, aren't you, Father?"
"I try as best I can. And you...you are not, are you?"
The Ghost sighed. "Maybe I was, once. But now...it's something else lost to me, I reckon. I just
never realized it, and didn't expect to in this town, at this time. I haven't ever encountered a
spirit as strong as yours, or your church's. My apologies for taking your time, Father. It seems
that my...'nature' will deny me the allies I need most."
"I suspect you and I strive towards the same goals, Mr. Lane."
"I do too," the Ghost replied, turning to return to town. "I just hope we meet at the end of this
thing."
And with that, the Ghost returned to the path he had taken.
© Stephen Crow, 1999