24
Father Miguel counted the toll of the last evening bell under his breath. It was his habit, an end of day ritual that brought another day of service to the Lord to a close.
“Nueve…..diez…..” he whispered to himself as he walked the path at the perimeter of the chapel, the moonlight leading the way.
He knew the path by heart and didn’t need the cool silver light to guide him. He padded softly with his tired eyes half closed, hands tucked in his robes anticipating the rest that awaited him as he had many times before. The grounds were still and peaceful.
He heard the quick movement in the dark, but never saw who administered the blow that sent him reeling off the path, unconscious. The Father’s robes twirled around his body as he rolled slowly down an embankment, coming to rest with
