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nickjonson

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Bishop Franque sat behind his desk. It was an old, French, office desk with lionhead drawer handles, elaborately carved designs, a smooth surface, and curving legs. On the right side were the drawers, and the rest was leg space. Franque sat in his large, red armchair with gold buttons and stitches. On his desk was a thick, old, book. The pages were tattered and aged over the years. Everything in the book was handwritten. It was a journal kept by every Bishop, since the dawn of the Church and the rise of the Scribes. He flipped through the pages, reading all the entries about the Scribes and their fall, at the hand of the ancient Aztec knife. With a deep sigh, Franque closed the heavy book, dust clouds flying around it. He opened the bottom drawer, and placed the book inside. Next to the book was the Aztec knife, wrapped in the ceremonial silk. There was a heavy knock on the hulking double doors to Franque's quarters. "Come in," he called out. "Bonjour," said Father Jacques, "There is no news on the Scribe, Bishop." Franque sighed sadly, "Keep looking. Any trace of unusual activity would be helpful." Jacques bowed, and left the room. The only light that illuminated Franque's dark chambers was the office light at his desk. Franque pulled the string, darkness engulfing the room entirely. 

Trisha and I walked through the dark streets, the night sky lighting our way. All too soon, we came to her door. Smiling, Trisha turned to me and smiled. "Well, I should be going inside," she said. I smiled softly, "Yeah," I replied. "Do you..." she began, "Would you.....like to...come with me to church tomorrow?" she asked. I was a little disappointed at first, but I tried to hide it. It was better than nothing. "Sure," I said. "Have you ever been to church?" she asked. I shook my head, Trisha looked shocked. "Never?!" she exclaimed. Smiling  even more, I shook my head. Trisha laughed slightly, "Well," she said, "Do you know where the church is?" I chuckled, "Yeah, I know," I replied. "OK, meet me there around 7 in the morning, you don't have to dress up or anything, just don't look like a slob." I laughed and nodded, "Sounds good, see you then." Trisha smiled, waved goodbye, and walked through her door. 

The next morning, I met Trisha in front of the nearby church. We went inside and took our seats in the aisle. It was hard not to always look to my side at Trisha. The early morning sun glowed brightly through the church's stain glass windows, illuminating her with a godly light. I sighed softly, a small smile crossing my lips. Towards the end of the congregation, the reverend came around with a basket for church donations. I smiled, seeing the opportunity to show Trisha how generous I could be. I closed my eyes and reached into my pocket, pulling out three 20 dollar bills. Trisha smiled, "Wow, that's awfully generous," she said. "It's for a good cause," I said, half jokingly. She smiled warmly at me.

Bishop Franque awoke suddenly from his meditation. He immediately called Jacques to his quarters. "Father Jacques," Bishop Franque said, sitting behind his desk, "I've found the Scribe."