Chapter 4

Father Sabella was in a small room adjoined to the back of the chapel writing notes for an upcoming sermon. Glen knocked on the door as politely as he could. “Ah, come in, my son!” Father Sabella said. “Have a seat.”

There was only one other chair in the room, a spindly wood and wicker stool that looked older than Father Sabella himself. Glen eased himself into it, worried it may collapse under his six-foot-one, 180-pound frame. “You said you wanted to give me something?”