The heavy, weathered wooden door creaked open behind him.
A man stepped into the chapel.
Middle-aged.
Calm.
Behind round glasses, his expression was gentle and familiar.
He wore black robes and carried a thick, timeworn Bible.
A priest.
Father Max Dinger noticed the man slumped at the far end of the chapel.
A soft smile crossed his face as he spoke.
"Did you drink until morning again?"
There was no scolding in his voice.
Only a tired sigh.
"…Water. Please."
Messiah weakly lifted one arm from the back of the chair, reaching toward the ceiling in silent appeal.