Death had come for this man. As Norberto's eyes adjusted to the dark, he could see what a miracle it was that the man still lived. The monsters who had imprisoned him in this room had shot, beaten, and burned him without mercy or restraint.

For what? Norberto wondered with bitter indignation. For information? For vengeance? For amusement?

Whatever the reason, it couldn't justify this. And in a Catholic nation, a nation that purportedly lived by the Decalogue and by the teachings of Jesus Christ, what his captors had done was a mortal sin. For their crimes they would live outside of God's grace for eternity.

Not that that would help this poor man. Father Norberto lowered himself to his knees beside the dying prisoner. He pushed the man's sweat-dampened hair from his forehead and touched his bloody cheek.

The prisoner opened his eyes. There was no sparkle in them; only confusion and pain. They drifted down the priest's robe and then returned to his eyes. He tried to lift his arm. Father Norberto caught his trembling hand and held it between his own hands.

"My son," said Norberto. "I am Father Norberto."

The man looked up. " 'Father-what… is happening?"

"You've been hurt," Norberto said. "Just rest quietly."

"Hurt? How badly?"

"Be still," Norberto said softly. He squeezed the man's hand and smiled down at him. "What is your name?"

"I am Juan… Martinez."

"I am Father Norberto. Do you wish to make a confession?"

Juan looked around. His eyes were darting and afraid. "Father… am I… dying?"

Norberto did not reply. He only held Juan's hand tighter.

"But how can this… be?" Juan asked. "There is no pain."

"God is merciful," Norberto said.

Juan clutched the priest's fingers. His eyes shut slowly. "Father-if God is merciful, then I pray… He will forgive my sins."

"He will forgive only if you repent sincerely," Norberto replied. In the distance he heard guns popping with less frequency. There would be many others who needed God's comfort-and His forgiveness. Pressing his cross to the lips of the wounded man, Norberto asked, "Are you truly sorry for having offended God with all the sins of your past life?"

Juan kissed the cross. "I am truly sorry," he said contritely and with great effort. "I have killed… many men. Some at a radio station. Another in a room-a fisherman."

Norberto felt Death turn and laugh at him. He had never experienced anything so cruel or punishing as this moment-the realization that the hand nestled in his was the hand that had slain his brother.

Norberto's eyes were points of rage in a sea of ice. They burned into the man before him as though he were the Devil himself. Father Norberto wanted desperately to throw the man's hand aside and watch him slide into eternal damnation, unconfessed and unsaved.

This man murdered my brother-