Father Joseph awoke groggily to the sound of beeping medical equipment.
His senses slowly returned, the slight stinging from the IV drip in his arm, the antiseptic smell of the hospital room, tenderness in his chest, and a metallic dry taste in his mouth.
The room slowly came into focus, and he saw Father Abel sitting in a chair next to his bed, smiling at him.
"Welcome back to the land of the living, Joseph," said Father Abel.
Memories flashed in Father Joseph's mind: The brutal school shootout, the demolition of the gothic buildings in favor of a modernist design, the relaxation of the uniform policy, and finally, the icy blue eyes of a 13-year-old boy whom he had sacrificed to the fire of moral outrage instead of protecting.
"You should have let me die," he croaked bitterly.
"Now that's one thing I've never heard someone who survived 3 bullets to the chest say," chuckled Father Abel.
Father Joseph tired to sit up, but struggled as his torso felt like jelly.
