“No.” Micah ventured further into the church, until he stood at the end of the aisle. It was then that he realized he’d been mistaken. The church wasn’t cold. It was as hot as an August day at noon, and he had to unbutton his coat in order to relieve the sudden discomfort. “Why don’t you tell me, Jefferson? Why did you flee this morning?”
“Because if I stayed, it would only get worse.” He walked to the front of the church, putting the length of the building between them. “There’s a spirit here, Micah, and I don’t understand how, but he…he responds to me.”
“A spirit?” More than one theory that day had posited such an option, but Micah had dismissed it as foolhardy. It was inexplicable that Jefferson would subscribe to the same theory. “Surely, you jest.”
“Do I look like I’m laughing?”