True evil festers in those possessed of absolute belief.
Mary Lou Barebone has absolute belief.
It drives her out of the cold church every morning and casts her into the filthy street, where the stench of human excrement will be thick enough to paint her clothes. It demands that she stride on cobblestone streets until blisters swell, pop, and chafe in her shoes.
"Witches live among us!"
Desperate, passionate, these are the wails of a soul who despairs to see her fellow humans walking the streets like sheep beneath the command of wolves. "Witches live among us! Please, you sir – I mean only to save you from their wickedness, to expose their sinfulness for all to see-"
Foul lies pervade their city, plotted and executed by witches who keep watch on all corners, who are always there, operating in quiet and in the background. Would no one listen?
Mary Lou's manic eyes rove the street, desperately seeking a soul to save.
Me.
The thought roars in his head, screams for release.
She found me.
Me.
Me.
Me.
If only his family lived just one street over. But they didn't.
Every morning, as Mary Lou polished her street-side preaching, Jessamine Quinn took her prodigious four year old's pudgy hand in hers and walked with him along the street, inciting his imagination by describing all the fun things he could learn once she returned from MACUSA that evening.
Most children liked card or board games: he, however, had an insatiable curiosity and passion for magic, matched only by his undeniable aptitude for it.
"Patronus, patronus!" he crowed once, and she giggled.
"Patronus? Now, where'd you hear about that?"
"Michaela told me aaall about them! Like silvery little animals, I wanna know what mine is!"
Jessamine smiled fondly. "That spell may be beyond even you, sweetie."
Mary Lou watched.
She heard.
She heard a lot.
If only they had lived one street over.
But.
They.
Didn't.
'L-lemme go! You're not my ma! Where's my ma? Where's –'
Crack!
Screaming. Screaming. The cold concrete floor bruising his knees, dust billowing up and pinching his eyes, snot dangling from the edge of his nose. His shirt all bunched up at the nape of his neck while he feels blood drip down his sides. Screaming, until he doesn't any more.
"There now," Mary Lou soothes. "You are saved from your abhorrent ways. I have saved you."
How saintly she is, belt in hand, with a cowering boy of five at her feet. Oh, she is God's chosen daughter, suffering here on earth to deliver salvation to the poor, the weak, the orphaned. She will do as He asks. "I have saved you." Her voice trembles in powerful emotion, tears of the righteous in her eyes.
She is a perfect agent of God.
"Witches live among us."
Witches.
Blasphemy.
Evil.
Punishments.
Hell.
Suddenly, these things are everything.
Our Father who art in Heaven,
"You wicked, wicked boy! Belt, now!"
Hallowed be Your name.
"Credence… it would be easier if you would only obey her. Listen to me, Credence. Say your prayers, be a good boy. Accept the truth."
Your kingdom come
"I hate you. You aren't my ma!"
Your will be done,
"Belt, Credence."
On earth as it is in Heaven.
"It hurts me to do this, Credence. I want you to be happy with the truth of God. Why must you do this to yourself?"
Give us this day our daily bread,
"No dinner! You can come out when you're ready to listen!"
And forgive us our trespasses,
"Show Modesty how to pray, now. On your knees. Ask for his forgiveness."
As we forgive those that trespass against us
"Witch number one, drown in a river!"
And lead us not into temptation
"I think you're a very special young man or I wouldn't have asked you to help me, now would I?"
But deliver us from evil.
"I want those things, too, Credence. I want them for you. So find the child. Find the child and we'll all be free."
We'll.
All.
Be.
Free.
There is no hatred on the earth to match his. It leaks from every single cut, every bruise, every lash on his marred flesh and even all that isn't enough.
"I owe you an apology," Graves says.
That is all. An apology.
"I trusted you. I thought you were my friend. That you were different."
Not one word reaches Graves. Not one word.
Because Graves is in awe. The wicked mind behind those eyes is devouring Credence. Tearing him up and seeing where the parts fit in his grand plan.
Credence can't begin to contain the fury wracking his body.
Graves does not even care what he's done. He can't be bothered one whit by it. How trivial Credence's feelings are. They matter to no one. No. One.
"You can control it, Credence," Graves says and halleluiah, praise the Lord, because Credence can control it and that means he can be used.
No. No more.
Credence meets Graves' eyes.
"But I don't think I want to, Mr. Graves."
Dust specks hang, captured in one moment of time. All is still.
This
Is
Where
It
Ends.
His soul rips from his body.