Morgan looked his father in the eye for three seconds before looking down at the floor. But he does it not too fast, or it would look like guilt. And of course, he couldn't look down too slowly, because that would appear to be defiance. A teenager who was about to reach young adulthood had a natural reaction to something he didn't understand.
"My eyes?" He let his voice sound confused and tilted his head a little. "What do you mean?"
Murphy didn't respond right away. The silence between them was like a wire pulled taut, and Morgan could feel his mother's humming stop as she sensed something was wrong. But Murphy's face had already changed back to warmth. This change in Murphy's demeanor made the coldness disappear so quickly that it felt as if it had never occurred.
"Nothing, son." Murphy stood up to get his coffee cup.
"Maybe I'm just worn out. Too many late nights getting ready to preach." He reached over and messed up Morgan's hair, which seemed rude even though it was a casual gesture. "You should get ready to go to church. We're leaving in an hour."
Morgan forced himself to stay still. "Of course, Dad."
Morgan let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding the moment Murphy left the kitchen. His hands were shaking a little, and adrenaline was rushing through his body like he had just barely made it through a fight.
In a way, he had. Murphy had seen something, a small detail that didn't match what he remembered about his son from yesterday. No matter how good the mask, you couldn't hide the eyes of someone who had seen the world end. He would need to be more careful.
...
Morgan was sitting in the third row of the church an hour later. It was a small building that could hold about two hundred people on a good Sunday.
The pews were only half full, with mostly older couples and families going through the motions of going to church every week, it's not that much. There was nothing about this ordinary church that made it seem like it would be the place where the faith that killed humanity began.
But Morgan knew better. He saw Murphy take the pulpit and noticed how his father's body language changed as soon as he stood in front of the crowd.
The humble pastor was gone, and something more powerful took his place. Just enough of a presence to make everyone in the room lean forward without thinking about it, ready to listen.
Murphy's voice carried easily through the small space as he said, "Today I want to talk about change."
"Not the big changes we see in movies, but the small ones that happen inside us when we choose to believe."
Morgan's jaw got tight. Murphy was already laying the groundwork, even though it would be months before the Syndrome gave the word "transformation" a terrifying new meaning by putting ideas in people's heads that would later grow into fanaticism.
Murphy went on, "This book is full of people who changed because they met God." He walked slowly back and forth in front of the church.
"There's a human who became a leader. Human, who became a missionary. Human, who turned into a rock. He stopped for a moment to let the words sink in. But none of them were perfect."
"They all fell, and everyone had doubts. They weren't great because they never fell, the reason why they were great is because they got back up and kept going down the path God had set for them."
Morgan had to admit that it was excellent rhetoric. The kind that made people feel seen and forgiven for their flaws while also bringing them closer to the faith. Murphy excelled in instilling a sense of autonomy in people, even when they were actually under guidance.
After the sermon, Murphy stood by the church doors and shook hands with people who were leaving. Morgan stayed back and watched the interactions with the eyes of someone who knew what to look for. Most of the conversations were shallow, like the usual "lovely sermon, pastor" exchanges that didn't mean anything.
But some of them lasted longer. Murphy talked to a middle-aged woman with tired eyes in a low voice, with one hand on her shoulder. A man in his twenties who nodded eagerly at something Murphy said.
His face was full of the kind of desperate hope that made people easy to control. Murphy promised to visit an old couple later that week.
These were the first seeds. The people who would make up the core of Murphy's prayer group, which would be the basis for his doomsday church.
Morgan knew some of them from the first timeline. The woman would become Sister Margaret, one of Murphy's most loyal followers, and then David Chen was the young man who would eventually lead the purges against the non-believers in the eastern territories. They looked like normal people until now..
"Hey, Morgan." Murphy's voice broke his focus on what he was doing. "Say hello to Mrs. Richardson."
"She was asking about your applications to college."
Morgan put on a smile and moved on, playing the part of the exemplary son. He shook hands, made small talk, and answered questions about his plans for the future with the vague hope that people his age usually have. All the while, Murphy was working the crowd like a pro who had been doing it for years.
Murphy locked the church doors and put out the candles when the last person left. Morgan began to collect the unused books, something he had done many times before in his real life.
Murphy said, without looking at him, "You were quiet during the sermon."
"You're usually more involved."
There's another test that made Morgan speak in a relaxed way. "I was just thinking about what you said about change and getting back up after falling."
"And what did you think?"
Morgan carefully put the books on the shelf in a neat pile. "I guess I'm curious about what happens to people who fall and can't get back up."
"Does that mean they weren't supposed to change in the first place?"
Murphy stopped putting out the candles and finally turned to Morgan with what looked like real interest. "That's a surprisingly cynical question for someone your age."
"Is it cynical? Or is it just real?" This time, Morgan looked his father in the eye on purpose, letting a hint of challenge show. Just enough to look like a teen pushing the limits. "Not everyone who tries will win. That's just how life is."
"Yes." Murphy moved in closer, looking deep in thought. "But faith isn't about doing well in the world. It's about giving up."
"That's about accepting that we're part of something bigger than ourselves and having faith in its purpose, even when we can't see the whole picture."
"So, in other words, give up control and hope for the best?"
"Yes, but I'd say it differently." Murphy smiled, and there was something in it that made Morgan's skin crawl. "Most people your age are too proud to say that they are scared of not being in control. You are more honest than I thought you would be."
It was like a group of animals circling their prey, each one testing the other's defenses without actually attacking. Morgan knew what Murphy was up to, but Murphy had the upper hand because he had been reading people for decades. It was a dangerous balance.
Morgan said, "I used to have a friend," making it up. "He used to say that giving up control was just another way to let someone else make your decisions for you."
"That was real strength by being able to own up to your mistakes, even if they were wrong."
Murphy's face changed for a second. "Had? Past tense?"
"He left." The lie was easy to tell.
The friend was made up, but the feelings were real. Morgan had thought this before, but the world taught him that sometimes the only choice was how you died.
"I'd like to meet this friend of yours one day." Murphy's voice was light, but his eyes were sharp. "Someone so young shouldn't have such strong opinions."
"Maybe if he ever comes back." Morgan put another book away and walked to the door. "Are we going home now? Mother said something about cooking pot roast for lunch."
"In a minute." Murphy didn't go along. Instead, he stood in the middle of the church and looked up at the plain cross that was hanging over the altar. "That dream you had this morning, Morgan."
"The one you didn't want to talk about. What was it about?"
Morgan stopped with his hand on the door handle. He could tell Murphy was watching him without having to look back.
This was the real test, the question Murphy had been working toward all morning. Morgan's father would see him differently depending on what he said.
Morgan said, "I don't really remember," in a calm voice. "Just pieces."
"Fire and people yelling. It could be the end of the world, just normal nightmare stuff that's not important…"
The silence that came after felt heavy. Morgan made himself wait and not talk nervously like a real young adult would. After a long time, he heard Murphy's footsteps getting closer.
"The end of the world." Murphy's voice was quiet, like he was thinking. "Revelation" talks about things like this. Fire and judgment, the good people rising and the bad people falling. It makes a strong impression.
"I guess so." Morgan finally turned around. Murphy was standing closer than expected, and it was difficult to tell what he was thinking. "But it was only a dream. Don't worry about anything."
"Dreams can be messages, Morgan. There are many examples in the book of God."
"A man once told a pharaoh what his dreams meant." Murphy reached out and put a firm hand on Morgan's shoulder. "Please let me know if you have another dream like that."
"Promise me that."
The request sounded fair, even like a father. But Morgan could hear the order below it. Murphy thought his son was acting strangely and wanted to keep an eye on him to see what had changed. If he says no, he'll just get more suspicious.
Morgan lied when he said, "I promise."
Murphy's smile came back. "Okay. Let's go home now so your mother doesn't think we've left her."
They walked to the car together, and Morgan appeared to be a typical teenage son this time, as he felt the need to abandon his young adult persona while his mind raced with calculations. Murphy was more aware than he thought he would be.
The remarks about the eyes, the pointed questions, and the sudden interest in dreams. His father was gathering information to figure out what had changed in Morgan overnight.
Morgan had just given him another piece of information by talking about the end of the world. Murphy hummed along to a song on the radio as they drove home.
Morgan looked out the window and watched the normal world go by. Most of these buildings would be empty or gone in four months. People walking on the sidewalks would be dead, changed, or hiding. Normalcy was a lie, a short period of calm before the storm that would change reality itself.
He saw Murphy looking at him in the rearview mirror. The same calculating look that had been on his father's face before faded behind a mask of fatherly concern.
...
Murphy went back to the church alone later that night, after Morgan had gone to bed. He stood in the dark, with only the streetlights outside shining through the stained glass windows. He looked up at the statue of God with a blank look on his face.
He said, "My son," to the empty room, his voice barely above a whisper. "What did you dream about?"
The question was still there, but no one answered it. But Murphy smiled in the dark.