Sander had told me once, “Most of those strange birds that vanish deserve it. God put me here on Earth to get the job done. I know what my duty is. Making people disappear is my forte. It’s what I do, and well. I’m a collector of those lost souls. An angel of sorts. This is how you need to think of me. I’m an angel of death working for God in heaven. This is my duty and life.”
The rain pounded harder to the ground, draining heaven and the night’s clouds. Inches seemed to have fallen in seconds. The weather wasn’t going to stop me, though. I wouldn’t let it. My walk continued, which was dark and wet, but still pleasant.
I recalled one of Lewis’ haikus, which I liked:
Washing sins away.
Puddles of retribution.
Touched by holy hands.