When finally they were able to leave Cambodia for America in the late eighties, they chose Philadelphia because the name meant “City of Brotherly Love.” They soon learned that the name didn’t jibe with reality, but even with the violence that sometimes plagued the city, Philadelphia was better than what they’d left. That was why the two women had saved a portion of the money they earned at menial jobs and used it to send for their last surviving family member—their younger cousin, Boran.

For the last five years, the young man had lived in America with his cousins, and he’d joined them in their conversion to Catholicism. Since then, the church and the welcoming atmosphere created by the priest had helped them to endure life in the city.

That’s why they stayed to talk with the priest at the end of every mass. He always gave them a measure of comfort.

But tonight, when they finished talking and the priest left to go to his office, the Sengs noticed a man in a pew near the door. His head was bowed as if he was praying. Something about him didn’t fit, though. With the sanctuary empty and the homily a distant memory, the faith they’d felt just minutes before was quickly trumped by fear.

Though the brim of his hat obscured his entire face, they were certain of the stranger’s identity. This was the man they’d seen on each of the last three days. This was the man who’d been following them.

Boran turned to his cousins and silently nodded at the door. Then he led them toward the exit. When the stranger didn’t move, the three of them walked faster. The aisle of the church was long, however, and there was no way for them to run past him. He was too close to the door.

Boran considered turning around and running toward the front of the church, but by the time he moved from thought to action, the man was on his feet with a sawed-off shotgun in hand.

Chavy and Kannitha tried to run, but they stumbled over each other and fell. They managed to get up and run again, while Boran made a stand in the middle of the aisle, blocking off the gunman from the women.

The killer pushed the man aside and walked up to the women, who were cowering between the altar and the first row of pews. He aimed the gun and was about to fire, but Boran jumped on his back.

Enraged, the gunman flung him off. Then he swung the butt of the gun with both hands, knocking Boran to the floor. The two women screamed and ran to shield their cousin with their bodies. Then, as the killer walked slowly toward them, the women began to pray.