Roland didn't know or even care to know if "Damien" was screaming as he sicked the larger body with a dose of holy electricity. He was currently too focused on just getting rid of Damien as soon as possible. The lack of any counter-offensive from Dan somehow told him it was working...and Dan's collapse told Roland it was working all too well.
Roland could feel Dan's collapsing mass push his taser arm out of the way, and slowly recoiled accordingly. He watched as "Damien" seemed to fall in slow motion, eventually culminating with a sickening crack and lack of bodily movement. Small puddles of blood formed around Dan's head as well as the part of the leg where he'd jabbed that syringe earlier.
Dan was dead. As Roland knelt down before the body, he was sure Damien was still alive. He let that thought play over and over in his head as he too fell forward from the burden of his own physical anguish, falling across Dan's bulk just above the tailbone to form a rather coincidential cross of flesh on the floor.
And it was while his body weight lay cross-wise across Dan Johnson's that Roland Thomas Kelly sobbed and moaned. He knew that God knew that he knew that he was crying like an infant through all the pain (and even more "painful" lack thereof.) He knew that Damien wouldn't have died until God told him, and even then he didn't know if that was all he really needed to do to attain redemption anymore, since he had just "killed" Damien out of blind, instinctual rage and not faith. He'd always been educated that faith was the way to get to salvation but always felt there was something more to that.
Maybe killing Damien over and over again was really his eternal punishment.
It was a revelation he would have preferred left to John as the world seemed to turn white around him.
"You...can't be..." Roland looked up to find what appeared to be the pitch-black silhouette of what appeared to be a man in a suit.
"I might be...I might not be..."
"I know who you are...you'r- ARRRAAAAGH!" Roland tried to get up and face the shadowy silhouette before him, but he could only manage to prop himself just above prone with his uninjured arm. He was still slumped over an equally-black shadowy mass.
"Please! Relax. You'll be here a while, better not make yourself uncomfortable."
"Why not? I'm in hell, aren't I?" Roland choked through tears.
The figure laughed softly. "Not quite."
Words Roland was half-thankful to hear, whether or not the shadowy figure before him was Lucifer.
"Then what am I..."
"You already had the answer, you just lost it."
"So I was...and all this was..."
"Bingo. I'll be checking back on you soon."
"Wait! Who are you?!" Roland begged as the silhouette turned and started to walk away. "Wait! Get back here! AAAARGH!"
But the figure was gone.
And the black shadowy mass seemed to rumble to life.
Roland was thankful to wake up. Alive. Unharmed (at least in comparison to when he passed out.) On top of a confirmedly lifeless manifestation of his greatest evil. In a state of relative comfort. His cheek appeared to have scabbed over, so it was in no mood for motion for a while. And after his initial gasp, in silence, without his collar beeping or steps creeping up to exploit him.
He basked in the silence for several more minutes, interrupted by the occasional groan and moan as he tried to get himself back into a one-armed crawl, toward the clinic shelves. His left hand tingled as it was dragged across the ground. He could still move it, but only barely. It would need splinting ASAP in order to get even substantial motion back.
At least there were what appeared to be a few thin "planks" of sorts to work as a splint...and his "first aid" kit - somewhere else along the floor - probably had some bandages to hold it together.
Again, like always, the sun seemed to be setting just as he finally managed to get himself on his way. But this time, Roland really felt like he was on his last legs (Or maybe Christ as he approached Golgotha...no offense...), depending more and more on the tall brass scepter for support. He found that even with his one good arm and all his faith he could barely lift it from the ground and manage a turtle's pace, let alone carry his lightened daypack, which had but one canister left and Damien's tazer mixed in with whatever supplies were left.
The rays emitted by the sun as it finished its daily tour felt warming and somewhat healing...but the comfort was hollow even as night fell.
"God...grant that I..."
Roland was at a loss for words as he left the hospital...but he did hope that God would know the rest.