And then he fell against the door. His shoulder hit the heavy wood. The jar of the collision seemed to drive a stake of pain straight down through the top of his skull. But under the pressure of his shoulder, the door was already swinging open. He was falling after it. Falling, for one wheeling second more. Then he stumbled into the church.

Dizzy, he looked around him. It was the same church. Where he had seen the men talking at the foot of the cross. Where he had witnessed the crucifixion. It was all over now, though. The place seemed deserted. A strange, false light hung behind the shapes on the stained-glass windows, but there was no light within. The aisles, the pews were dark. The altar to his right, the nave, the transept across from him: all were shadowy, dark.

Bernard snarled. “Come on. Come out,” he whispered.

He staggered a step away from the crypt door. Staggered another step, and another, into the crossing where the transepts met the aisles. He looked around everywhere, his eyes so wide with anger he felt them bulging from his face. Everywhere, undelineated figures of stained glass gazed down at him dispassionately.

“Come on!” he screamed at them, at anyone. His voice seemed to tear out of his throat, to tear through his flesh, a killing pain. But the high church ceiling swallowed his shout without an echo. And there was no answer.

“Come out and fight,” he shouted. “Come out and fight like an immortal demon!” He giggled. “You cock-sucker!”

He giggled again. Fight like an immortal demon—that was a good one. He bent over helplessly, swaying where he stood, giggling until it hurt his lungs. His head was pounding. The stained-glass figures gazed down at him from their heights.

With a roar, he suddenly threw back his head. He howled, “Come on, Daddy-o! It’s Oedipus time!”

He was laughing too hard to continue. He was crying too hard. He shook and tears poured down his cheeks. Snot dangled from one nostril, a white string. He wiped at his mouth and nose with a broad swipe of his palm. He staggered in a small circle, crying, laughing. Gripping his middle. Finally, he came to rest. Stood crouched and snarling like a wounded animal.

And it was only then that he realized he was surrounded.

Dark figures were moving in on him. Moving in stealthily from every side. From the deepest blackness against the walls, they came slowly into the grayer shadows. They converged upon him step by step.

Uh-oh, was his first thought. Me and my big mouth.

He turned to face them in one direction, then another, then another. The sturdy figures moved towards him. Down the aisles, out of the transepts. He spun again. Even from the altar, out of the penumbra of the ambulatory, they came. Tall, thick, husky figures, their arms ready at their sides.