Chapter 18

The church was a phantom against the pitch sky. It seemed taller and wider, more imposing, a structure not of Jefferson’s world. A silent monument to something Jefferson barely grasped, but something he could name, if forced to. He didn’t go there to pray. He never went there to pray. He felt he was beyond asking for forgiveness and comfort from the Father. Now when he attended church, he sat in the dark pews waiting for a different sort of relief.

The door swung open before Jefferson had the chance to touch it. As though he was not only expected, but also an honored and cherished guest. He stepped into the cold building without hesitation, even though the chapel was blacker and denser than the night. The door whispered a greeting as it swung shut behind him.