Bernard had to stare for a long moment at the folded clothes that were being held out to him. Gray sweatpants, white sweatshirt, white socks and tennis shoes on top. Drawing in a breath, he yanked at the shirt. He struggled to get his arms into the sleeves, wrestled the rest down over him. For the sweatpants, he had to hold on to the scarred man’s shoulder. The pain pulsed in his head, as he bent down, as he went through the long, complex process of drawing his trousers on.

“All right. Here,” said the scarred man, not unkindly. Bernard rested against his sarcophagus as the other knelt before him. The scarred man tugged one sock over Bernard’s bare foot, then another over the other. He fitted on the tennis shoes as Bernard held weakly to the coffin’s wall.

Love, thought Bernard. He tried to concentrate on that, tried to bring the full force of his focus to bear on it.

Then the scarred man stood up and the two men were face to face. The scarred man clapped Bernard on the shoulder. His pinkish eyes gleamed.

“There you are, bright as a button,” he said. “And a face like an angel, haven’t you?”

Bernard nodded and straightened from the coffin, still holding on to it, still holding on to the edge. He had to work his mouth open and closed a few moments before he could speak.

“Do you know …” he said thickly. “Do you know what I kept … what I kept thinking all the while he was talking?”

The scarred man laughed once, his big body heaving up and down. “No. I give up. What was you thinking?”

Bernard licked his lips again. “Love,” he said. “I kept thinking … Love has the human form divine. No matter what he told me. I just kept thinking that.”

“Uh-huh,” said the scarred man.

“That’s what saved me,” said Bernard.

And he hit the scarred man in the throat.

It wasn’t a powerful strike. It didn’t have to be: it took the scarred man so completely by surprise. The knife hand caught the thug in the Adam’s apple. His mouth opened. His eyes widened. His tongue poked out. He gagged.

Bernard grabbed him by the testicles.

The scarred man’s body bent violently. His butt went back, his torso jerked forward. Bernard staggered away a step. He clasped his hands together. He raised his two arms high. A great wave of pain broke over his head, and he cried out. Then he dropped his hands like an axe on the back of the scarred man’s neck.

The blow drove the scarred man’s face into the edge of the sarcophagus. Bernard saw blood spray out on either side of the thug’s head.