TWENTY-SIXTypically, if someone was knocking on the door at two in the morning, Mike assumed that it was either police or pranksters. Not that people often knocked at his door at two in the morning; people who needed a priest asap were usually somewhere else and would call to have him meet them.
So he was surprised to see John on the doorstep, glowing weirdly white in the dark. And alone. He peered around, to one side and the other, but Sandie was nowhere in sight. No cops or pranksters either, which was sort of a relief.
“What happened?” he asked nervously as he flipped on the porch light.
The black eyes drifted aimlessly, the way they had at first, before snapping into focus on Mike’s face. “You tell people what to do.”
For a moment, Mike wasn’t sure whether that was a statement abou
