12:47 a.m. Passion Ministry

Andrew groaned. A foul odor filled his nose. Rotten eggs? Despite his semi-conscious condition, his body tensed. He struggled to rise. “No, no!” Helpless, he watched Brendan handling a rubber propane hose.

Brendan fumbled in his pocket, then dropped the hose. It twisted wildly across a table, gushing a gaseous blue stream. “And God saw that it was good,” he whispered.
Andrew heard the hiss of a match strike. Instinctively, he hunched.

The propane stream turned to fire, blackening the table. Water poured from the overhead sprinklers.

Revived by the spray, Andrew rolled over.

Brendan howled as spiraling pillars of smoke rose around him. Again released his hold on the rubber tongue of fire. The rubber tubing snaked across the floor, flames thrusting at Brendan’s legs. He cursed violently. Stumbled back, slipping on the debris. The hose gyrated over the table, its tongue touching papers, creating bursts of flame.

Brendan grabbed beakers. Slammed them, one after the other, into the wall.

Andrew yanked himself up. Ignored the blood streaming down his cheeks. The throbbing in his back. Retching violently, he elbow-walked towards the exit.

“Not so fast,” Brendan snarled, firing off another bottle.

It smashed in front of Andrew’s nose, kicking up glass. Releasing its deadly contents.

Brendan threw a beaker into the safe. Caustic vapors devoured the inside then crept into the air.

Coughing, Brendan raced past Andrew.

Andrew was choking on the fumes. Tried not to breathe. Though he couldn’t see, he imagined the blackened mess as the corrosive goop ate through the fibers and plastic, right through the steel shelving. It’s over.

The lab was still.

Andrew hauled himself forward. Inch by inch. Near the door, he collapsed, jaw moving soundlessly.

There was a gasp, as though the room inhaled. For the final time.