Outside, the jungle was shrieking its way into another day, but the noise in Sherry’s mind came mostly from the people on the beach, as the acid rain fell from the mushroom, like brown globs of searing molasses. She shook her head and pulled on the boots.

When Sherry entered the common room adjacent to her sleeping quarters, Father Teuwen had already perked coffee and fried eggs for breakfast. “Good morning,” he said, beaming a smile. “I thought you might enjoy—” He saw her face and stopped. “Are you all right?”

She lifted a hand to her hair, wondering what he saw. “Yes. I think so. Why?”

“You look like you saw a ghost. You didn’t sleep well?”

“Like a baby. At least my body slept like a baby. My mind decided to revisit this crazy vision I keep having.” She plopped onto the couch and sighed.

The father brought a steaming cup to her and she thanked him. “Yes, Helen mentioned them,” he said.

She sipped at the hot coffee and nodded. “I think I might prefer a whale to this.”

Father Teuwen smiled and sat opposite her in an armchair. “Even Jonah eventually decided that speaking the truth was better than the whale.”

“And if I knew that word, I’d be all mouth. Here we are talking about messages from God and yet I don’t have a message, do I? Not even close. All I have is some dreadful vision that plagues me every night. Like a game show in the heavens, daring the guest to crack some absurd riddle.”

“Patience, my dear.” His voice was soothing and understanding. “In the end, you will see. Your path will lead to understanding.”

She leaned back and stared at him. “And maybe I don’t want to go down this path. God is love—so where’s all the love?”

He crossed his legs and spoke deliberately. “The path between the natural and the supernatural—between evil and good—is not such an easy path, Sherry. It’s usually accomplished with things like death. With tormenting. Why do you suppose Christianity waves a cross on its flag? Do you know how cruel the cross was? You would think there might be a simpler, more humane means for God to bring about the death of his Son. But before fruit can grow, a seed must die. Before a child is born, a mother must wail. I don’t see how a few sleepless nights is such an impossible price,” he said, still smiling.

Sherry set the cup down, spilling a splash of coffee on her thumb. “A few sleepless nights? No, I don’t think so, Father. I wouldn’t call being locked in a box while your parents are butchered above you and then living through eight years of nightmares a few restless nights!”