Kurt did not believe in God.
He did not.
However, ever since his father's heart attack, he couldn't help but wonder if there was some higher power out there. Maybe not God, per se, but something. Something that could save his father. He had tried everything he could think of. The doctors had tried everything they could think of. But his father still would not wake up.
Kurt sat by his father's beside day after day, week after week, until almost a month had gone by with absolutely no change to his father's condition.
At night, Kurt would scour the internet looking for anything he thought would work—experimental treatments, holistic treatments, anything. He searched through site after site until he had gone through everything that was even vaguely reputable. Then, he scoured the internet for rumors; whispers of things that he thought might have the slightest chance of working.
He had almost given up hope altogether when he found it. He didn't think much of it at first—what sane person would?—but then he stumbled across a series of posts on a message board that opened his eyes to something he hadn't even thought to consider before, something that even a month ago he would have not thought possible.
Almost unbidden, the lyrics of an old blues singer his father used to listen to came to his head.
I went to the crossroad Asked the Lord above
Fell down on my knees
I went to the crossroad
Fell down on my knees
"Have mercy now, save poor Bob if you please."
Kurt's heartbeat thundered in his ears as he tried to remember the singer's name. Something like Robert Jackson, maybe, or Johnson, he thought, but he couldn't remember.
Chewing on his lower lip, Kurt moved his mouse cursor to Google's search engine box and typed in the name Robert Jackson first. He skimmed through the results briefly before erasing Jackson and typing Johnson instead.
He sucked in a harsh breath as he read through the Wikipedia entry dedicated to the late blues singer.
Robert Johnson was said to believe that he had sold his soul to the devil at the crossroads in order to create the blues that he would later be famous for.
Sold his soul.
Sold his soul.
Kurt would do anything to save his father—anything—but this seemed almost too easy. What use was a soul to a boy who did not even believe in God? To a boy who did not believe in an afterlife at all?
The answer to that question was easy as well: he had no use for his soul, but for his father… Kurt could not even contemplate a life without him, a world where he did not exist.
Without even hesitating, Kurt hit the back button on his browser and typed something else into the search engine.
crossroads in Lima, Ohio
His breath caught at the very first entry listed.
There was a church built on the only crossroads in town. While that may have been nothing but a coincidence, he couldn't help but think that it was more than that. The Christian church was known for layering their sacred sites over those of their pagan predecessors.
He copied down the address of the crossroads carefully before shutting the lid of his laptop.
He would save his father—no matter what the cost.