NO THIRD SEASON

By SANDEFUR

"And when he walked by me, smirking that smug smile, and with the wind suddenly blowing hard, I just knew what I had to do. I know where my Dad stores his spare gun, and where he hides the key. I have to stop this monster before he can do any more harm. Call it a pre-emptive strike that will save lives in the long run. So, if I go through with this…will I end up in hell?"

From the other side of the confessional, Joan heard an extended chuckle from the elderly priest.

"That's not quite the reaction I was expecting."

"Sorry young lady, but I've been a priest for nearly fifty years, and yours is the longest, weirdest and most dramatic confession I've ever heard."

"You don't believe me."

"No, I don't. Face-to-face, almost daily conversations with God? Not bloody likely. And to answer your question, yes, a premeditated, cold-blooded murder will rerserve you a seat in the hot place, even if you think it is God's will."

"Didn't I make that clear? God never told me to kill, uh, R.H. I'm suppose to be a…"

Counter-balance. Yes, I was paying attention, even though you took over two hours to tell your tale. But even in this bizarre fantasy of yours, you have your answer. You know God doesn't want you to murder this man, and acting in disobedience to God's will is the very definition of sin."

"This would be so much easier if I could find a priest who would believe me."

"So you've told this tale before?"

"A couple of times, but always when I'm out of town to help maintain my anonymity. And don't hand me that line about the seal of the confessional. People find all sorts of ways to justify their actions."

"Aye, such as having a teenage girl admit she is thinking of murder. If I truly believed it, I would find myself in quite a moral dilemma. But you don't strike me as the dangerous sort—at least not yet. I would urge you to recontact your psychiatrist, and inform him your God delusion has returned. He apparently helped you before—let him do so again."

Joan snorted derisively. "Doctor D…, I mean, my shrink, never helped me. He took a girl who was recovering from Lyme disease and convinced her she was insane. I'm not crazy. My experiences with God are real, no matter how 'dramatic' you think they are."

"I believe you believe what you are saying, but consider your story. It sounds like the plot of some strange TV series, not real life."

Joan laughed. "It's odd you should say that. When I was in crazy camp, and my shrink had convinced me I had made it all up, I was really impressed with my own imagination. I even thought, when I got older, I would pitch the idea to some Hollywood producers. My experiences from the day I met Cute Boy God until I contracted Lyme disease would constitute season one."

"And this last school year would be season two?"

"Well, yeah—although I'm not sure where the cut off point for the season would be. That is, if all of this wasn't true."

"Of course. Well, I think if you were producing a TV show based on your experiences of the last two years, you would have had an enormous hit the first season, and a sharp decline in viewership during the second. I seriously doubt you would have had a third."

"I can't believe I'm indulging in this wild tangent, but okay, I'll bite. Why no third season?"

"Your imaginary experiences with God in your 'first season' were uplifting and productive. Although you experienced annoyance and embarrassment, you were consistently blessed by your God relationship—as was your family, friends, school and community. However, this year—this season if you will—life became much harsher for yourself and those around you. Your imaginary God has become inconsistent in failing to bring blessings into your lives. Frankly, who would want to watch a show where God's direct presence in your life made no positive difference? To use the modern language, what a bummer."

Joan became silent as she contemplated the old priest's words. Her trip to Baltimore to visit Uncle Richard had included this planned visit to a Catholic church where she was unknown. These confessional visits were the only way Joan could unburden her soul while still keeping her secret. But this was an unexpected twist…

"Still there?"

"Yeah, and I'm trying to wrap my mind around what you're saying. To use your term, maybe my second season seems poorly blessed compared to the first, but I've learned you don't always get to see the good ripples. Sure, this year was rough, but we survived."

"Now there's an inspirational slogan. 'I spent the year close to God and I survived.' People expect more than that from the Almighty. After hearing of the lawsuit, the strain on your parent's marriage, your boyfriend cheating and your good friend's death, most people would run the other way from a God who stood by indifferently in the face of such pain."

"All those were the result of the free will choices by others. Like my friend dying in that alley. It was her bad choice, and God doesn't interfere."

"No? What about the artist boyfriend you spoke of? In your first season, God warned you in time to prevent his suicide. And the Gun Nut you dated on God's instruction. That prevented a slaughter at your school. Those were free will choices that were altered by divine intervention. Don't you see what changed between seasons one and two?"

"I don't want to hear this…"

"When you were diagnosed with Lyme disease, you faced the truth that the special relationship you had with God was a fantasy. You briefly managed to overcome that, but you still yearned for those blessed days, and so you returned to the fantasy. Only this time, you had the knowledge that none of it was real. Happy, fairy tale endings just wouldn't come so easily any more. Harsh reality kept intruding, and you became more and more miserable. Miss, I guarantee you if you don't turn back from this path, your life will just get worse. Your 'third season' will be a slide into darkness, and at some point you may actually pick up a gun and hurt someone. Please, please I urge you to return to your psychiatrist and be honest with him. Let him help you before it is too late."

Joan wept. The tears flowed heavily as she nodded her head. The priest was right. Why had she ever returned to this fantasy? Her life had been a miserable shambles ever since she had listened to… Or rather, thought she was listening to Cute Boy tell her to "only connect." What the hell did that mean? And "keep your eyes open?" Oh please…

"Thank you, Father. I'll do it. I'll go back to my doctor and get the help I need. I promise."

"I am so relieved my child. Be well."

Joan started to leave the confessional, but hesitated. Something was wrong. "Father, you forgot the blessing. You know, in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit…"

"I'm old and tired. Sometimes I forget. Don't let my problems disturb you, child."

"Alright…,as long as you can do one thing for me. As a Catholic priest, you should have no problem saying: Jesus Christ is my Lord and Savior."

Dead silence.

"How about it, priest—if that's what you are…"

Suddenly the confessional booth shook wildly while a hateful roar filled the other side. It ended as suddenly as it began. The curtain gently slid back, and there stood a smiling Cute Boy God. Joan rudely brushed by him and slid open the curtain on the other side. There was no one there, but a slight foul odor lingered in the air.

"He usually doesn't hang around when I show up." Cute Boy God said.

"Then the real priest was never here?"

"Demand for confessional services has declined, and Father Kelly is only here every other day. Today isn't one of those days."

"How…how could I do that? How could I lose faith so easily?"

"The adversary's ability to lie is his greatest skill. He has deceived many with far weaker material."

"Then my, for the lack of a better term, third season…?"

"This year was hard Joan, but it had to be to prepare you for the 'third season.' You've grown strong, and that's why the other side has tried to trick you. I won't reveal what's ahead, but trust me, you are ready."

Cute Boy God walked away, paused and looked back. "And Joan, I didn't call you to be an assassin."

"Just as well, I'm probably a lousy shot."

He smiled and gave the backhanded wave.

THE END. PLEASE REVIEW.

In the second season, JoA viewership dropped from an average of 10 million to 8 million. This story suggests the reason why. (And the DVD commentary hints the show would have gone even darker, which most fans didn't seem to want.) What do you think?