He thought about Damien's odd behaviour in the past few months, and his performance in history class that bewildering day not long ago. He thought about his prowess on the athletic field and the way he apparently could do no wrong.

He also remembered how everyone but Damien had been affected by the gas that day at the plant. He thought of Pasarian, and Atherton, and Aunt Marion, and all the other people who were dying, suddenly and inexplicably, around them.

And finally he thought of his cousin whom he loved, whom he practically worshipped. Was it possible that other people—terrible, loathesome people—worshipped his cousin too, but in a much different way?

Mark got up and put the Bible back where he had found it. Then he tiptoed softly into the front hall, pulled his heavy winter overcoat off the rack, and put it on, slipping quietly out the front door. He wanted to get away for a while, to think about what to do...

***

'Damien is what?' asked Ann, turning around from the stove where she was fixing scrambled eggs. You can't believe that, Richard—'

'I didn't say I believed it, Ann,' said Richard, standing in the doorway to the kitchen with Bugenhagen's letter in his hands. ‘I'm only telling you what Charles said, and what's written in this letter.'

'But you're thinking of going to New York, for Christ's sake!' Ann threw down the spatula and went over to the cupboard to get some dishes. She couldn't believe she was having this conversation. 'Doesn't that mean-'

'No!' Richard shouted. He was so tired from having stayed up the night before that he didn't have the energy to be reasonable. 'It's disgusting nonsense, and of course I don't believe it. But Robert was shot in a church trying to stab Damien, and-'

'Warren's gotten to you, hasn't he?' Ann went over to the table and put the dishes down. 'He's planted his craziness in you.' She walked over to him, took Bugenhagen's letter from his hands and laid it on the counter, and then took both his hands in her own. 'Well, I'm not going to let you be poisoned by it,' she said firmly. 'You're tired and you're not thinking straight. You're not going anywhere. You're going to forget you ever spoke to-'

'Ann-'

'No. It's over. You heard a stupid, filthy story and it's over.' Suddenly she burst into tears. 'Oh, Richard!' she cried, 'what's happening to us? Have we all gone mad?'

Richard took her in his arms and held her close. 'Don't cry,' he said compassionately. 'You're right. I'm tired and overworked. I'm sorry, so sorry...'

'Oh God, please,' Ann murmured, burying her face in his shoulder.

'Shh... it's all right. I'm not going anywhere.’

'And Damien—you're not to look at him any differently, or treat him any-'

'No, no, of course not.'

'Promise me.'