12:32 a.m. Passion Ministry

“John sent you? At this time of night?” Andrew said, while searching through a desk drawer. He needed a couple of phone numbers for two asthma specialists he was relying on to help him understand Jimmy’s latest attack.

Brendan grinned and tipped his hat. “That’s just it. He’s in a real sweat over security, says the Ministry’s been compromised, no longer safe.” He patted the box filled with silver canisters which he held under one arm. “Asked me to protect the masters. With all the crap going down, haven’t got the time to take ‘em off the premises. Figured this place’s as secure as you can get.”

“You want to put that in the safe? Sorry. No room.”

Brendan smiled. “Won’t know ‘til we try.” He fingered a canister. “So, you created Jimmy from dead cells. Brilliant. Absofrigginglutely brilliant.”

“It’s been an exciting time, yes.” Andrew replied, moving to open the safe. Inside, the shelves were packed with binders and papers.

Andrew heard a thump. He was wrenched violently, cheek slammed against the safe’s door. “Hey!”

“You’re the devil!” Brendan snarled. He shoved a thick knife into Andrew’s throat. “Creating life,” he spat. “You disgust me.”

Andrew held his breath against the pressure of the switchblade, then said softly, “What do you want?”

“Want?” Brendan glanced at the open safe. “You’ve already given me what I need. But what I really want, you prissy old man, is to know is why you think you’re God?”

“I...I’m a scientist, not God.”

“No? Lying piece of crap!” Brendan shoved him to the floor. His hat tumbled down beside Andrew.

Brendan stepped in. Slammed his boot into the older man’s kidneys.

“Aaaooww!” Andrew sucked air. “No,” he whispered. “God graced me—”           

Brendan punched him.

Andrew gasped, pain reverberating in his torso.

Brendan grabbed at Andrew’s jersey. Yanked. “Before I kill you...” He cracked the back of a fist across Andrew’s face. “Yeah, I’m going to kill you...but before I do, you’re gonna explain.”

He hauled the bleeding man up onto a lab stool. Stroked the knife along his cheek. “Talk, you pig.”

Andrew looked up into the sweaty face of death. Found, to his everlasting surprise, joyous relief. Thank the Lord! No more lies, secrets and guilt. How he welcomed eternal forgiveness and sleep! “Tell John I’m sorry,” he said. “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. My last confess—”

“Arrogant sonofabitch!” Brendan shrieked. He retracted the knife, then jammed its handle into Andrew’s temple.

Andrew sprawled to the floor, his mind filled with a spiraling explosion.