Chapter 120: Faith And Fury
Sophie lounged on her cozy couch, legs tucked under her, her phone pressed to her ear as the TV’s soft glow dimmed, the Global News Tonight credits rolling out. Zoey Carter’s flirty banter with Devon still danced in her head, his cool deflections only adding to the buzz. Sophie adjusted her glasses, pushing her hair behind her ears, and let out a soft laugh as Helena’s voice crackled through the line, brimming with relief and amazement.
"Soph, can you even wrap your head around it?" Helena said, her tone a mix of awe and exhaustion, like she’d just sprinted through a storm. "We were so lucky to get out when we did. When they said Blissville was locked down with that toxin, I thought it was over. Everyone was done for. And then Devon comes in like it’s just another Tuesday."
Sophie sank deeper into the cushions, a smile tugging at her lips, her fingers playing with the frayed edge of a throw blanket. "Yeah, it’s wild. What if we hadn’t headed to FHCA we would have also been there. It’s so crazy, and Devon handled the whole situation like it wasn’t a big deal, did you see the look on his face."
Helena let out a tired but happy laugh, the sound warm and familiar through the phone. "Exactly. Creating a cure in hours, testing it on himself? That’s straight-up superhero stuff, Soph. My heart’s still racing just thinking about it."
Sophie nodded to herself, "He’s extremely talented."
"No one comes close," Helena said, her tone brightening, a playful edge creeping in. "We’re safe now, thank God. The toxin’s gone, people are breathing again, and it’s all him.
They talked for a while, their voices light with the relief of dodging a disaster. Helena spilled the details of her shift, how she’d been checking a patient’s chart when the alarms screamed, how she and Sophie had dashed for the exit just as the hospital doors locked down. "Thank God we got out," Helena said, her voice dropping. "I was praying non-stop, watching those awful videos people coughing blood, collapsing. And then Devon shows up, like a miracle dropped from the sky."
Sophie agreed, her thoughts flickering to the grainy clip of Devon marching into Blissville, nebulizer slung over his shoulder, the crowd outside chanting his name like a battle cry.
They both laughed, marveling at how he’d pulled it off, his feats leaving them floored.
Their conversation drifted to lighter things, Helena joking about her new coffee obsession, Sophie sharing a story about a coworker’s bad parking skills. But Devon kept creeping back in, his name a spark that lit up their words. "I mean, the way he just did it," Helena said, her voice almost dreamy. "Walked into that poison, no hesitation. It’s like he’s built different." Sophie hummed in agreement, her mind flashing to moments with Devon his intensity, his focus, the way he could make you feel like the only person in the room. They wrapped up after a bit, promising to grab coffee soon and catch up properly. "Night, Soph," Helena said, her voice warm.
"Goodnight Helena" Sophie said, setting her phone down on the coffee table, the house falling quiet except for the faint hum of the fridge and the distant tick of a clock in the kitchen.
The front door creaked open, and Mark burst in, his work boots thudding loud on the hardwood, his dark hair a mess, his flannel shirt half-untucked. His eyes were wide, practically glowing with excitement, like a kid who’d just seen his favorite superhero in action. He’d caught the last chunk of Devon’s interview before ducking to the bathroom, and now he was buzzing, barely able to stay still. He flopped onto the couch next to Sophie, his voice loud enough to wake the neighbors. "Babe, how the hell did you never tell me your boss was that good? You just brushed it off like it was nothing! This guy’s practically a god!"
Sophie flashed a soft smile, leaning her head back against the couch, letting him ramble. He waved his hands, his voice climbing higher with every word. "I mean, come on, Soph! He didn’t just make a cure for that poison in a few hours. He tested it on himself! Took the damn toxin to make sure it worked. That’s insanity! Peak insanity! Who does that? The man’s a legend, a straight-up genius!"
She didn’t say a word, just watched him, her smile steady, her eyes warm but holding a secret. Mark kept going, barely pausing to breathe. "And you know what? He was here! In our house! Ate dinner with us, sat right there at our table, and I was half-dead on the couch, snoring through most of it. Why didn’t I stay awake? Why’d I have to crash early that night? Shit, Soph, we had a hero in our kitchen. a guy who saves entire hospitals!" He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe his own bad luck.
"I mean, I was out cold, and there’s this guy, saving the world, eating my lasagna. Lasagna, Soph! I should’ve been awake, asking him about medicine or something!"
Sophie’s smile grew, her eyes crinkling at the corners, but she stayed quiet, her thoughts slipping back to that dinner night. Mark had been out cold, too many beers turning him into a snoring lump on the couch, his head lolling back, mouth open. And Devon... well, things had gotten heated. She remembered his hands, the way they moved with quiet confidence, his eyes locked on hers, his voice low and intense. It wasn’t just dinner that night—it was a moment that made her pulse race, her skin hum, in ways Mark could never touch. He wouldn’t want to know what happened when he was passed out, she thought.
Devon had a way of pulling you in, making you feel alive, like you were part of something bigger, something electric.
Mark grabbed his phone, already dialing one of his work buddies, his voice booming through the living room. "Yo, Mike, you see the news? Yeah, that doctor, Devon Aldridge? My wife works for him! Yeah, his secretary! He was at our house, man, ate dinner with us, the whole deal. Saved a whole hospital today, dude! Tested the poison on himself—crazy, right?"
He paced as he talked, his free hand waving like he was telling the story of the century, his flannel shirt flapping with every gesture. Sophie shook her head, her smile rougher now, a mix of amusement and exasperation. Mark was sweet, but clueless, caught up in his own excitement, oblivious to the layers she knew about Devon.
He turned to her, still on the phone, his eyes wide with a grin that wouldn’t quit. "Yo, you think I could get him over again? Like, invite him for dinner or something? I mean, you’re his secretary, Soph, that’s gotta count for something. I can tell people I know him, right? That’s cool, yeah?" He paused, waiting for her nod, his voice loud enough to make the neighbor’s dog bark.
Sophie’s smile turned sharper, almost a smirk, as she leaned forward, resting her chin in her hand, her eyes glinting with mischief. "Sure," she said, her voice soft but teasing, a playful edge to it. "But I’m not so sure about the invite. He’s a very busy person." She leaned back, her thoughts on Devon, the way he’d always look at her, the way his presence filled the room, leaving her breathless.
Mark grinned, oblivious, still chatting with his buddy, his voice filling the house with pride. "Yeah, man, I’m telling you, my wife’s boss is the real deal. I’m gonna get him over here again, watch! I’ll grill some steaks, make it a whole thing!" Sophie let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head, her mind lingering on Devon’s intensity, the way he moved through the world like a storm no one could predict. She glanced at the TV, now dark, and wondered what he was doing now.
Meanwhile, Elias Thorne sat in his dimly lit living room, the air thick with the stench of stale coffee, warm whiskey, and the heavy weight of regrets.
The TV flickered, replaying clips of Devon’s interview, his calm voice cutting through the cheers of the crowd like a knife through silk. Elias’s grip tightened on the remote, his knuckles white, his jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached, a dull pain radiating through his skull. His dark eyes burned with a rage that felt alive, pulsing in his chest, as he stared at the screen, Zoey Carter’s flirty smile, the audience clapping like Devon was some kind of savior sent from heaven. With a guttural snarl, he hurled the remote at the TV, the plastic cracking loud as it smashed into the screen.
The image flickered, Devon’s face distorting for a split second, but it wasn’t enough to quench the fire in Elias’s chest. He grabbed a whiskey glass from the coffee table, the amber liquid sloshing over the rim, and smashed it against the TV, shards exploding across the carpet, whiskey dripping down the cracked screen like dark tears.
"How can they do this?" he roared, his voice raw, bouncing off the walls of the quiet house, shaking the dusty picture frames on the mantle. "How can the world cheer for that devil? Can’t they see what he is?" His hands shook, his face flushed red, veins bulging at his temples like they might burst. "Devon Aldridge is no hero. He’s the devil incarnate! Satan himself!"
Elias paced the room, his slippers scuffing the worn carpet, his mind spiraling into a dark maze of memories and lies that felt as real as the broken glass under his feet. Devon stepped into his shoes, taking his job, his title, his everything after a tape of him being dominated came out. But it didn’t just stop there. Devon had slept with his wife, his daughter, even his mother wasn’t spared, "He took it all!" Elias shouted, his voice cracking, hands clawing at his hair like he could rip the pain out of his skull.
"And now they call him a hero for a cure? A cure? He’s the one who should be dead!"
The living room door swung open, and Theresa rushed in, her bathrobe tied loose, her hair tangled from sleep, a few strands sticking to her flushed cheeks. She froze in the doorway, her eyes wide as she took in the wreckage, glass scattered across the carpet, the TV a shattered mess, whiskey pooling on the floor, Elias standing there, panting like a cornered beast.
She let out a heavy breath, her voice soft but steady, like she’d walked into this scene too many times before. "Elias, honey, what happened this time?" She stepped closer, her bare feet careful around the shards, her eyes searching his face with a mix of worry and exhaustion. "You can’t keep doing this. Smashing things, screaming about Devon. It’s eating you alive."
He spun to face her, his eyes wild, a storm of rage and pain twisting his features into something she barely recognized. "Eating me alive? Theresa, he ruined me! Took my job, my life, and now the world’s kissing his feet like he’s Jesus! Can’t you see it? He’s evil!" His voice broke, his hands shaking as he pointed at the broken TV, as if Devon’s face was still there, mocking him.
Theresa shook her head, her hands on her hips, her voice calm but firm, like she was talking to a child throwing a tantrum. "Elias, you’re not thinking straight. Devon didn’t do all that. You made a mistake, and the hospital made a choice. He’s not the devil. He saved people today, hundreds of them. You saw it on the news before you broke the TV." She gestured at the mess, her brow furrowing with concern, her eyes soft but pleading. "I’m worried about you, honey. I think you need help. Maybe a therapist, or come to church with me. Pastor James could pray for you, help you let this go. I know he can."
Elias stared at her, his mouth open, his eyes wide with disbelief, like she’d just suggested he jump into a fire. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, his mind a tangle of fury and confusion, the weight of his obsession pressing down on him. "A therapist? A pastor?" he said, his voice low, almost a growl, dripping with bitterness.
"You think praying’s gonna fix this? That devil’s out there, walking free, and I’m the only one who sees him for what he is!"
Theresa didn’t flinch, her eyes soft but unyielding, a quiet strength in her posture. She stepped closer, her voice steady, a warmth cutting through his anger. "Elias, you’re hurting. I see it every day, and it’s breaking my heart. I can’t watch you destroy yourself like this. Let’s try something, anything. Let me book a therapist, or we can go see Pastor James tomorrow. He’s helped people before, good people like you. We’ll figure this out together." She nodded, her lips tight with determination, then tilted her head, waiting, her eyes locked on his, searching for a crack in his rage.
"What do you say, honey? Therapist or pastor?"