3:55 p.m. Passion Ministry

“The man they call the Apostle?” Mrs. Manuel snapped. “You’ve got a nerve—”

“They do,” John interrupted, “call me the Apostle. I’m sorry to trouble you at this difficult time, Mrs. Manuel, but I wanted to call on behalf of my Ministry and myself to express our deepest sympathies for your tragic loss.”

“Your sympathies!” Ms. Manuel shrieked. “It’s your fault. You call yourself a Christian, but you’re nothing but evil! You and your despicable music, telling people lies, encouraging them to—” She moaned. Finished with a squeak. “Murder.”

“Don’t admit responsibility,” Phil whispered.

Brendan hissed, “Hang up!”

“Please, Mrs. Manuel,” John said. “I had nothing, nothing to do with your poor husband’s death.”

“Liar!”

Anguished sobs filled his ear. “I resent that!” He pushed down his anger. “Look, I’m so sorry. I didn’t call to upset you. Perhaps I should phone later.”

“Don’t bother. My lawyer’ll be calling you!” She slammed down the phone.

John winced. Hung up. “See what I mean? And you think I’m over-exaggerating?”
Philip and Brendan froze.

“That woman blames me for her husband’s murder.” He jabbed his chest. “Me. The blessed one. It’s over. Finished!” He heaved his chair aside.

“You know what? I thank the Almighty.”