There were other chapels, of course—bigger, well lit, accessible from inside. The Good Shepherd Chapel was small, and cathedral gardens hid its one door. The only illumination was natural light filtering through slit windows in the cathedral’s two-foot-thick limestone-block walls. When the sky went dark, so did the chapel. Backer opened it for public worship at six-thirty A.M. and closed it at ten P.M. He might see two or three daytime visitors a week. Many Washingtonians thought the city little safer than a medieval enclave after dark, and visiting outlanders were even more nychtophobic, so no one ever ventured into the lightless chamber after sunset. That was Backer’s favorite time. At night, the chapel was his alone, and he spent hours there talking to the Lord and listening to His answers. Safe in his dank space in the bowels of the vast cathedral, Backer imagined himself a sparrow cradled in the hand of God. At eleven P.M. Backer entered the chapel and knelt before the simple granite altar to pray and meditate.
What do You think about Lethal Expedition (Short Story)?
