It was Sunday morning, and all students were required to attend the eight o’clock Locklear service. I heard Charles groan, much to my satisfaction. I felt no pity for him. He’d rolled into the room around three, looking rather disheveled before collapsing to sleep on his bed. From the smell of him, I figured he’d been making love to some whiskey. I hopped into the shower, got dressed, and was ready to leave, and still Charles lay there unmoving. “Charles,” I whispered. “You better get up or you’ll miss the morning service.” He rolled over. “Oh, bug off. There’s no way I’m going to church. Just leave me alone.” “Whatever you say, but don’t blame me if you get in trouble,” I taunted as I tiptoed out to his groaning. I arrived a few minutes before the service, which apparently was not a popular thing to do. The place was nearly empty. The chapel was as breathtaking inside as it was from the exterior. The huge stained glass windows stretched from floor to ceiling, depicting all sorts of biblical scenes in vivid color, while giant pillars seemed to rise into the heavens, exploding into flying buttresses.
