A solitary man slumped forward in one pew, muttering disparaging phrases to the looming shadows. He needed another drink. Expensive whisky hadn’t yielded peaceful oblivion, hadn’t even dulled his senses. And yet, if he wasn’t drunk, what the hell was he doing in a house of God? What, indeed! He chortled insanely, the inebriated laugh ending in a dizzying hiccup. He’d come to pray—pray for death. Not his own death. He wasn’t quite so noble. Not yet, anyway. Instead, he petitioned the Almighty to bring about the demise of another. Retribution—justice. His lips twisted with the delicious thought of it. Death…So simple a solution. “Put him out of his misery. Put me out of my misery,” he slurred, confronting the wooden crucifix that hung above the barren altar. “Do you hear?” His sudden movement sent the walls careening, the statues a nauseating blur of spinning specters. He grasped for the bench, attempting to right his toppling world, but his hand missed its mark. Not so his forehead.
