Down Below

I know you all were expecting Father Deacon this evening,

however, I will be filling in on his behalf.

They call me Mr. Monday,

named after the worst day of the week.

But, without Monday,

Saturday and Sunday would have no meaning.

-Can I get an amen? -Amen!

So, let us begin.

- -Before we give praise,

I'd like to share a story with y'all.

It's my favorite story,

one my son is quite familiar with.

Little Red, say hello to all these wonderful people.

If you're wondering why he doesn't look like me,

we're not related, not by blood.

What binds us together is fate.

One woman's trash

happened to be this old preacher's treasure.

- -Man was born with

everything he ever needed.

Yet still, he had wishes, had desires.

And one of those wishes came in the form of fire.

Fire gave us a lot to be thankful for.

Like what, Little Red?

A juicy charred steak.

What else, Little Red?

-Warmth on a chilly night. -

Yes, warmth on a chilly night.

Unless that fire were to spread, of course,

and decimate all in its path.

And that's how hell went from a fiery dimension below our feet

to sinners in dark alleyways

and serpents in the suburbs.

But, alas, man keeps wishing for those

flames and that wish keeps getting granted.

Ah, all right.

I hope you all were listening very carefully,

because I am going to quiz you.

Who do you think granted

-man's wish for fire? -

- -Anybody?

Who gave man fire?

Somebody must know the answer to this.

Here's a hint.

It's in this room.

- -

I guess I can let you all in on my story

about who it was who gave man fire

all those centuries back

when civilization and time weren't even a thing.

It was me.

- -

- -

- -

It's been 315 days since my life was taken from me.

What I am now is untouchable.

A leper of society.

I have been labeled a predator.

Accused of the most heinous crime there is.

Even worse than murder.

So why?

Why are you following around me, a now registered sex offender,

on the loneliest time of the year?

-Because I'm innocent. -

Framed.

By who? No idea.

The only clue I've got is an account called Fata Morgana.

The video they posted brought me to trial.

Fata Morgana.

It means mirage, and like a mirage,

whoever runs the account is nowhere to be found.

Not that anyone would believe my story.

Not the cops.

Not my job.

Not even my wife.

She wanted to believe in my wild goose chase.

But she just couldn't.

- -All right, I'm coming.

Oh, God!

Fuck.

Hey!

Get back here!

I should just let this go.

It's Christmas Eve, after all.

But he had to ruin a perfectly good pair of shoes.

Yo, yo, chill!

Dude, why would you do that?

-Yo, get off me, man. -You fucking ding-dong ditched.

You fucking left a flaming bag of shit on my fucking porch.

-You piece of-- -

I got paid to do that shit.

It wasn't me, man.

Some guy named Fata Morgana or whatever paid me

to do this shit, man.

-It's not even me, man. -What did you say?

I said Fata Morgana, man.

I don't even know the fucking name.

What, Fata Morgana?

That-- Exactly that, what you just said.

That's the name. That's the fucking name.

You know who I'm talking about.

I'm sure you know.

It's been 315 days since my life was forever changed.

But tonight is different,

because Fata Morgana is finally back.

And I have proof this time.

Now, where is that damn cop assigned to my case?

- -

There is nobody more disgraceful than those

who prey on our children.

But that doesn't mean you act on impulse.

He was a chicken hawk, Doc.

A registered sex offender.

I'd clock him in the milk aisle all over again if I could.

I can't clear you until I see some remorse.

So keep deflecting, and we'll have this little

song and dance into the new year, pal.

What's it gonna be?

I want you to look at this card again.

Allow yourself to be without judgment.

And whatever pops into your mind, no matter how

strange or unfamiliar that thought might be,

let it free.

There's a pot of gold on the other side

of the darkest of rainbows, pal.

A man.

I see a man.

You see a man.

How old is this man?

He's, uh, in his fifties, maybe?

I-- I can't put my finger on how old he really is.

He's a real person, you see?

No.

Not real.

I have this dream sometimes.

- -

It's always the same person, but I've never met him.

- -It's almost as though the dream

belongs to someone else,

but I'm there witnessing it, like it's a memory.

Does he have a name, this man?

It's Monday.

What'd you say?

I have an opening on Monday the 3rd.

I think we should meet again.

We don't need to rush this process.

Look who it is.

So, they cleared you?

Back in the blue.

911, what's your emergency?

I need you to send an officer over.

There's somebody messing with me.

He ding-dong ditched my porch and left a flaming bag of poop.

We got a 594.

It's your favorite person in the whole wide world.

Should we send the rookie?

-I'm on it. -Is that a good idea?

Don't wanna fuck up like that again.

No.

- - Come on, Seal.

I know I heard something.