Sacred Trust

Snuggled into a blanket and practicing endearing names like Baby and Precious, Ronnie and I were falling in love, under the boardwalk, down by the sea. Happy sounds, though, were disrupted by the shuffling of people walking above. Running, actually.

“Brigg,” A man pleaded. “Come back. Please. Let me explain.”

“Never, Joseph.” Another man responded. “You broke our sacred trust.”

Sacred trust? With dialogue now more intriguing than Ronnie’s sweet nothings, I sat up. The two pairs of feet were now directly above us.

“Please, Brigg. Let me explain.”

“Explain? You stole the money and used me, me, as your alibi.”

I wriggled out of Ronnie’s embrace and crept across the sand to the edge of the boardwalk to get a look at the unfolding drama. Drifters, I suspected. But the blur of a well-dressed man—Brigg, I presumed—contradicted that. On his heels was a second man, identically dressed in khakis, light blue shirt, navy necktie, and deck shoes. That had to be Joseph.

Mere feet from where I hid, Joseph caught up with Brigg and grabbed his look-alike by his tie. From my protected shadows, I saw spittle spewing from Joseph’s mouth and blood pulsing into Brigg’s face. Identically red faces, though for different reasons. Brigg’s hands mauled the noose around his neck.

“Let go, man, you’re choking me.”

Was I witnessing a murder? Could I, should I intervene? Suddenly, a hand slipped over my mouth stifling a scream. It was Ronnie. With the index finger of his other hand, he motioned me to silence and released his hand. We stared at each other, then the two men, our mouths agape.

“They’re Mormons,” Ronnie whispered, pointing to the men and then his own chest. They were wearing name tags that read, Elder Joseph and Elder Brigg. “I don’t think they want to convert us—not now, anyway.”

We watched as Joseph yanked Brigg nose to nose. Then he released him. Neighing like a horse, Joseph tossed his head to the full moon–lit sky and punched the air with clenched fists.

“I didn’t steal the money from the food aid fund, Brigg. I borrowed it.”

“Borrowed it? So why’d you say you gave it to me? Now I’m the one being expelled in disgrace.”

“Hear me out. I know this sound preposterous, but…” Joseph looked around. “I need to buy a gun …”

“A gun? Joseph, what the hell…?”

“…And a silver bullet. Brigg, listen to me. You’re not going to believe this, but last month, during the full moon, I saw Mission President Benson transform himself into a … a … a … thing. A dog, a wolf, a … werewolf.”

Brigg’s mouth hung open, as did mine and Ronnie’s. Afraid to be seen, afraid to run, and afraid of a potential werewolf, we ducked further into the shadows.

“You’ve gotta believe me, man.” Joseph went on about missions, scriptures, and worthiness, then pointed to the moon. “I saw him change. And I believe it will happen again. Tonight. So, I took the money. Said I needed it for soup kitchen supplies. I had no idea how much a gun and bullets would cost. Silver bullets. So I said I asked you to hold it for safekeeping, but that you lost it.”

Brigg suddenly composed himself.

“There are dangerous things in our world, Joseph. You know the Twilight Series? Some people say it was about Mormon vampires and werewolves. And that the Angel Moroni was a zombie of sorts, a resurrected being of flesh and bone. Maybe it wasn’t fiction. Maybe our true mission is to save the world from this monster. If he is indeed a…werewolf, then he—not you or I—broke a sacred trust.”

Joseph nodded while Brigg continued.

“Remember the part of our endowment where we pantomime the penalties of death for revealing our secrets—slitting our own throats, ripping open our chests, disemboweling ourselves. Perhaps we would be doing God’s work to end Benson’s life—not by bullet, but by making it look like suicide. For revealing the Mormon sacred trusts. We need a silver knife.”

Joseph nodded. “Come on. I saw one at the pawn shop.”

They ran down the remaining stretch of boardwalk and out of sight.

Ronnie and I got the hell out of there. The next day there was an item in the news about a Mormon Bishop who had died from a self-inflicted knife wound. He left a note apologizing for betraying his sacred trust.