The house was very silent, so silent in fact that nobody visiting would have suspected a soul was there. A few lights were on, but no tv glared in the background. No games or activity were to be heard. Not even the traffic of Manhattan was dense enough that far north to add any decibels. The only inkling of life came in the soft breathing of a man and his daughter as they sat curled up together before a fireplace that cracked and popped with heat. They were not speaking. They had not yet spoken. She because there was nothing more to say, and he because there was nothing better to say.

Warrun still wore his uniform. His gun holstered and his shoes on, he sat holding his little Maria close to his chest. After finding her sitting so calmly and grimly in the graveyard a few hours before, he'd taken her in his arms and brought her home. After calling in to say in no uncertain terms that he was done for the day, the pain stricken man had brought his daughter to his bed and taken a nap with her in his arms. They’d both been exhausted from a chaotic, eventful day. There was nothing more Warrun wanted than to be alone with his daughter, to comfort her sorrow so that she might also comfort him.

From the bed to the large reclining chair they had gone, leaving no words in their wake. Now it was almost dark, and Warrun felt that he had to speak. With all the time he’d given himself, he’d hoped to have found the right words, but his search had come to nothing. The truth of the matter was that his daughter’s words had been so painful to him, they’d stunned him into a crisis he was having great difficulty overcoming. Despite his pain however, he knew better than to withhold the comfort he must give as a father.

Taking a very long and deep breath, the loudest noise the house had heard in hours, Warrun whispered, “Sweetie belle?”

Her ear pressed to his chest, Maria answered, “Yes?”

With concern, “How are you feeling?”

“I don’t know.”

The sadness, uncertainty, and fear that touched her voice stung Warrun. He squeezed her tighter and pressed, “Are you feeling better?”

“I don’t know.”

Again, her words stung. Still, Warrun did not stop his gentle interrogation, though it pained him far more than the one he’d given that morning. “What are you thinking about?”

A small silence ruled the following moment before she answered, “What happens to people when they die.”

Mustering all of the courage and conviction Warrun could find, he gave her an answer, “They are taken into the hands of their angels and brought up to God in Heaven. That’s where Mommy is. That’s where I’ll go someday. And someday, when you’re very old and grey and not a moment before, you will die and go to Heaven too. Then you and me and Mommy will live together forever. And we will be so happy there that anything sad or terrible that happened here on Earth will mean nothing to us because we will be with God and He will be with us. Do you understand, sweetie belle?”

Another small silence ensued. Instead of answering yes or no, Maria pressed on with an even more difficult question, one that Warrun had feared she might ask and had hoped that her young mind would lack the logic to conjure up. Such is the nature of traumatic experiences however that they wisen the minds of the young who have to endure them, tearing them away from the blissful ignorance of youth and into the painful reality of adulthood. Warrun’s eyes teared slightly when he heard her ask such a concise question to which he and no other man, woman, or child alive had a good answer, “How do you know that?”

His Catholicism was almost a distant memory to him. His impressionable young mind was gone, leaving him only with mantras from a past age. Having never worked out answers of his own, Warrun resorted to one such mantra in hopes that her mind might prove as impressionable as his had been, “I know because I have faith.”

It sometimes did not dawn on him how far removed from any religious upbringing his daughter was. While his Catholicism was at least a distant dream, her’s was nonexistent. She’d been to no divine services. She’d received only one Sacrament, and she was not yet old enough to understand what that Sacrament was called. The extent of her knowledge of the Word was limited to three prayers every good Catholic needed to know and even those she could barely speak without stumbling over the words. She was born in the cradle and was being raised in the cradle. All of these factors tied with her youth and her father’s own lack of religious initiative caused her to ask as seriously as a child can ask, “What’s faith?”

Bewildered by the question, Warrun struggled to answer, “Faith is being able to believe something even if you have no proof to show that it is real.”

Frowning at his answer, Maria asked, “So there’s no proof that God is real? Or Heaven?”

Fearing the logic of her question, Warrun answered, “No. I don’t have any proof. But it wouldn’t be faith if I had proof. If I had proof, then God wouldn’t be God. He’d just be something else. You will understand someday that He is simply too complex for us to understand Him. If we understood him, then He would not be God.”

Maria pushed away from her father, yet remained seated in his lap. She turned her crystal blue eyes towards his and stated with confusion, “I don’t understand.”

Warrun brushed some of her golden brown hair out of her face and cupped her cheek. He whispered, “I know. You want to know everything. And when you’re young, it can seem like there’s no reason why you can’t know everything. As you grow older though, you will come to understand that the more you learn, the less you know because all you’re really learning is how much you don’t know. Once you realize that, then you will understand that there is too much of the world for a single man or woman to grasp. But if we left it at that, then there would be chaos. There isn’t though. Everybody in the world that is alive right now is alive because there is order. That desire for order is given to us by God because he is all knowing and all powerful. He knows all of human history and every person who has been born, every person who has died, and every person who has yet to be. God knows you, Maria. He loves you completely. And because he loves you, you are alive and I am here to take care of you. And because he loves me, you are alive for me to take care of you.

“I have no proof that God or Heaven is real, sweetie belle. All I know is that they must be real. You will understand someday that the world simply does not make sense unless God exists. Without God, there is no real answer to where we came from or why we exist. More importantly, there is no reason for what purpose our lives have. Only God could understand the purpose of every life. Everybody is precious to Him. You’re precious to Him. I’m precious to Him. Auntie Alexis is precious to Him. Your cousin Samantha is precious to Him. And most importantly, you need to understand that Mommy is precious to him. That’s why I have faith Heaven exists. If Mommy is precious to Him, then He would make sure she could see us when we die and we could see her.”

Paying careful attention to the words her father spoke, Maria asked, “Is Fr. Allen precious to God?”

Warrun winced at the question and corrected her, “That man was not Fr. Allen. He is a very bad man, and I am so, so sorry that you met him. What he did to Owlowiscious was terrible, and I promise that I will get him fixed as soon as I can. I promise you that he will be punished for what he did.” Under his breath, Warrun sneered, “For everything he’s done.”

Frowning at his answer, his daughter clasped her two tiny hands around his and went on, “Does that mean he’s not precious to God? Does God hate him like you do, Daddy?”

It was with great difficulty that the First Officer wiped the angry look off his face and spit out more Dogma, “God loves everybody unconditionally, sweetie belle. He doesn’t hate anybody. Only people can hate each other. That man, even as mean as he was, was still made by God and exists because God loves him.”

With a touch of anger creeping into her voice, she demanded, “But why would God love him if he’s so mean? That doesn’t make any sense.”

Again, Warrun spoke only what he had been told, not what he’d accepted for himself, “Because God understands him. He knows everything that’s happened in that man’s life. Only he knows exactly why he behaved the way he did. As evil and mean as he is, God lets him live because He has a plan for him. It is by understanding him completely that He loves him completely.” Gritting his teeth to force the words from his mouth, Warrun acquiesced to a silent fear of his own, one that he wanted to be true but that he could find no real explanation for, “The only reason I hate him is because I don’t understand him like God understands him. I don’t know why he does what he does. All I know is that he tried to hurt you and I’m never going to let him hurt you again. Do you understand that?”

Instead of subduing her, the answer only seemed to make her angrier. Warrun could not believe that his own daughter’s eyes could flash with such passion as she demanded even more forcefully, “But why would God let him be mean?! If God loves everybody, then why would he let people hurt each other? If God is all powerful, why would he just let him be mean to me? It doesn’t make sense, Daddy. I hate Him!”

Pulling his daughter back into his grasp, Warrun conceded, “I know, sweetie belle, I know. I hate that man too.”

Pushing roughly away, tears began streaming down her face as she explained with small, feminine fury, “I’m not talking about the man, Daddy. I’m talking about God. I hate Him. If He’s real, Daddy, then it means He’s the one who took Mommy away. It means He’s the one who made that man so mean. Are you sure He’s real, Daddy?”

Shocked, Warrun tried to speak but stuttered, “I, uh, I, it’s more . . . complicated than that. It’s, God is . . .”

Perceptive as she was, Maria could see the stutter, could hear the uncertainty. With the conviction of a child who believes they understand everything, she declared, “You’re not sure! He’s not real, Daddy. God’s not real. Mommy’s not in Heaven. She’s just dead.” On saying the words, the anger in her face violently contorted into despairing agony. She cried, “And I’m never going to see her again.”

She broke down. The truth as she’d found it hit her harder than anything had ever hit her in her entire life. She lashed out and started striking her father’s chest with her clenched fists. She was furious at him for lying to her. She was furious at that man for lying to her. Most especially, she was furious at God for not existing. Even when her mother had first died, she had not been so torn. She’d taken comfort in promises made by her father that her mother was not really dead, rather she was living eternally in an eternal paradise. Now she felt she knew the truth. She felt that there was no afterlife, that the cruelty she’d witnessed would go reprimanded and the kindness unrewarded. Since she could not attack God or that wicked man, she chose her father instead.

Warrun took the attacks with his own tears stinging his eyes. The attacks were far more emotionally painful than physical. He wanted to stop her, but he could not immediately bring himself to do so. His daughter had torn down his facade and found uncertainty, something he’d never wished to show her. If he could not be her rock, then who could be? His value both as a father and as a man crumbled before his eight year old daughter. What security could he guarantee her when he had no security to guarantee himself? How could he appear immobile to her if his own faith in God wavered before her?

Unable to gaze at those shining, wet, hate filled eyes a moment longer, Warrun grabbed her and pulled her tightly to his chest, not allowing any room for escape. Once caught, her muscles slackened until she was little more than dead weight in his arms. And Warrun knew what dead weight felt like. She was not the first Maria who’d fallen so limply in his arms. Her emotions poured out in an unrelenting torrent. There was nothing left to stop them. There was no pretense left. there was only the cold, bitter truth. There was only chaos.

Warrun could not say how much time had passed in that recliner. They had cried together so hard and for so long that they both felt like withered corn husks burning in a late summer sun. There was no life or moisture left in them. They felt empty and had once again exhausted themselves. This time however, a nap would not cure them. For a while, Warrun felt nothing could sure them. Then he remembered something his best friend and confidante had told him, had begged him to do. With these questions rattling around in his head, these fears and uncertainties, the First Officer felt there was only one thing left for him to do. There was only one place left to turn. There was only one person left in the entire world he felt comfortable turning to.

So Warrun had stood from the recliner and carried his daughter to his squad car. Normally, he would have placed her in the back, but he did not want her away from his side. So Maria rode shotgun for the very first time in her life. For both of them, it was a symbol, and neither had to say a word to understand it. Maria’s childhood ended right then. The comfort and security of the back seat was gone. Now there was to be an open and uncertain road before her, one that she would travel to the end of her days.

It might have been better for him to call ahead, but his mind wasn’t exactly following protocol at that moment. All he knew is that he had to go, and she would have to be there. He would have to be there. He couldn’t afford for either of them to be absent from where they should be. He could not stomach that sort of deviation from the norm right then. All his mind could do was hope that everything would go just as he hoped it would, that the tragedy of this night could be solved with a single discussion.

The two of them wove through the streets of Manhattan. It was slow going. It was always slow going when he didn’t use the sirens. His presence signaled the vehicles around him to behave, to follow the letter of the law. So it was that Warrun brought order simply by being without having to exert any energy whatsoever. He did not feel that order right then though. There was no sonata rolling through the car to calm his nerves. They were way past the point of a rich melody or a deep harmony. He needed food that was more satisfying for his soul.

By the time the two of them drove into the parking garage of a large apartment building in downtown, the sky was nearing total darkness. The city was lit up of course. It was always lit up. It would always be lit up. After spending much of the day in grim depression and tears, Maria’s eyes lit up like the city when she realized where they were. It brought relief beyond measure to Warrun as he saw her lips turn up in a small, excited smile. She hopped out of the car and ran to her father’s side so that he may lead her up the large building to their destination. Warrun was all too happy to take her hand and walk her along, noting to himself how small and beautiful that hand was and how it should never again be balled up with hatred.

They came to an elevator that brought them skyward. Higher and higher they went until the box came to a stop and opened into a warm hallway. Holding hands, they followed down the hall laid with shallow, red carpet until the stopped before a sturdy wood door. Out of an odd and very old habit from his days in Catholicism, Warrun picked up his hand and rapped on the door with his knuckles seven times.

Some steps were heard. Then a gasp. Three different locks were undone in quick succession and the door flung wide to reveal a beautiful blonde haired woman clad in a velvet robe holding a glass of wine. Her smile was wide, teeth shining. She clamored with excitement, “Oh my God! Warrun! I didn’t know you’d be coming tonight. And you brought Maria.” She dropped to her knees, spilling a bit of her drink as she did. In her excitement, she could not even begin to care. She hugged her niece, kissing her several times until Maria was laughing. “You should have called ahead! I’d have started making a nice big dinner for us.”

Warrun moved his lips to speak, but another figure appeared behind the woman before him. The little girl gasped and came forward, pushing past her mother so she could hug her cousin. Maria spoke instead, saying happily, “Hey, Sammie! Daddy didn’t tell me we were coming here either. We just got in the car and came. I got to ride in the front seat.”

As Samantha gave her cousin a look of wonder and awe, Alexis gave her brother a look of confusion. She asked, “You didn’t tell her you were coming here either? Was it a surprise?”

Again, Warrun moved his lips to speak, but his sister stopped him, grabbing his hand and pulling him into her home. She lead him to a sofa in her living room and sat him down. Going to grab a glass of wine for him as well, she stated, “It’s not like you to drop in twice in one day, each time without mentioning.” She came back and handed him the glass. He took it with a half mechanical smile. He was very happy to see her, but the grim cloud hanging over him kept his smile from being entirely genuine. His sister being even more perceptive than his daughter, Alexis caught the subtle twitch of a frown and her expression suddenly became grim. Taking a seat next to him, she narrowed her eyes seriously and begged softly so the girls across the room would not hear them, “Is something wrong?”

Not ready or willing to let his smile falter again that day, Warrun nodded wordlessly, taking a sip of the dry wine.

His silence spoke volumes about the seriousness of whatever was happening. A fat, white cat jumped into her lap. Alexis pushed it away, grunting, “Shoo, Opal.” The unintentionally harsh action caught the attention of the two girls who’d been admiring the cat. Not wanting them to worry, she quickly dismissed them, “Sammie, why don’t you two take Opal to your room and play with your pony dolls. We’d like some alone time.”

Neither of them argued, both being very eager to play. Maria especially was privy to the atmosphere around her father and had seen enough of his tears for one day. They both immediately disappeared behind a closed door down the hall, leaving their parents to talk.

Alexis turned a hesitant look towards her brother after they’d gone. She searched his face, for the first time noting the redness of his eyes. They were puffy and tired. His hair was messy from his midday nap, something he otherwise never did. And the odd smile on his face that he seemed unable to stop giving bothered her more than she would say. Instead, she asked, “What’s going on, Warrun?”

The tired man sat back on the couch, the black leather covering creaking a bit under his weight. Before answering, he tooks a long draw from his glass, emptying it entirely. He reached a hand to his breast pocket and pulled out his cigarettes. He took one out, offering another to his sister who accepted silently. He lit them both and took another long draw off the stick. Almost half of it disappeared. Tapping the ash into a tray on the table, he gave a long exhale with eyes closed. It soothed him, comforted him. His heart which had been quivering slowed to a regular beat and he felt he had the strength to begin. At least, he hoped. “You remember why I came into the hospital earlier today?”

Nodding slowly, Alexis took a small sip of wine and answered, “Of course. You were getting a statement from Mr. DeCosta. How did it go?”

Taking a less pronounced draw of his cigarette, Warrun explained, “It was informative. I learned that the crash was a complete accident. Mr. DeCosta was terrified while he was driving because he believed his mother had died, that his whole home town in Jamaica was up in flames. He was rushing to call home and missed a red light.”

“That’s a terrible shame,” his sister noted with sadness, fully able to empathize with the man’s loss. “How did his mother die?”

“She didn’t. There was no fire in his hometown.”

“But then,” she asked in confusion, “why did he think she had died?”

With neither a smile nor a frown, Warrun explained with an indifference that comes from defeat, “A man who had ridden in his cab lied to him. The man had made up the story purely for the sake of causing Mr. DeCosta the stress that caused him to crash. There was never an ounce of truth in the statement.”

Unable to contain her look of astonished horror, Alexis demanded, “Who would do that to him? Did he have somebody who hated him?”

Warrun shook his head. “The man who did it had no connection to Mr. DeCosta whatsoever. They’d never met. The only thing they had in common is that they both happened to be in a taxi together. The reason Mr. DeCosta is in the hospital is because he was in proximity to someone whom he meant no ill will.”

Alexis’ lips began to tremble. Her eyes left her brother and fell on her glass. She took another sip, a much heavier one this time. Then her hands began to tremble as she tried to find the courage to ask the next question on her mind. Courage was needed as she already feared the answer. Still, she had to ask, “Who was it?”

In a chilling confirmation, her brother said simply, “The Devil.”

A shiver ran up her spine. She set down her glass and stood up, walking away from the couch to stand silently before a painting on the wall depicting the Tower of Babel. It was a small replica of a very well known piece. The structure was massive, taking up the whole of the painting. The people working on it were so small in comparison that they had no detail. They were only the tiniest slivers of black ink, as small as a brush could make them. She stood looking at the painting, her face very grim as she contemplated her brother’s words. She could not say she was surprised. Indeed, this was not the first time she’d heard of that evil man. There was silent terror though. There was fear that such a person could even exist, let alone keep existing. That man, the Devil, was the reason she’d gotten locks for her door. He was to her a symbol of all that she had to protect her daughter from in the world. Her mind was touched with even more anxiety at another sobering thought that ran through her.

Still looking at the painting, Alexis whispered, “That’s not the only reason you wanted to talk to me, is it.”

Warrun flinched at the comment, very much wishing he’d made more time over the years to visit her. Seeing his sister shouldn’t be motivated by such dire happenings. He acquiesced, “No. It isn’t.” He stood and walked to her. He gazed on the picture by her side for a moment. The girls giggled in the other room, but the noise was not enough to cheer him. He continued, “I interrogated a man this morning named Jack Vinetti. He was brought in for murdering his wife, Isabella Vinetti. I questioned him on exactly why he’d done it. He claimed innocence.”

“But he wasn’t?”

“No.” Closing his eyes, he folded his hands before him and explained, “He continued to claim innocence until he made a phonecall to a friend of his. I was listening at the time.” There was the temptation to allow shakiness into his words, but he ignored it. He spoke firmly, “Jack Vinetti killed his wife in cold blood because he believed she’d cheated on him with another man. During that phone call, he learned from his friend that she had done no such thing. I watched as he realized that he’d his wife over nothing.”

Alexis couldn’t remember ever having heard a more sobering story. Even learning about the Holocaust in high school had not been as grim or real to her as the words her brother spoke. She did not understand. “Why are you telling me this?”

Warrun stated simply, “Mr. Vinetti believed his wife had cheated on him because a man had told him so. He had been lied to, and he believed it. That is why he acted the way he did. The reason I’m telling you this is because you know of the man who lied to him. You know who it was that caused Mrs. Vinetti to be murdered.”

His sister turned her head sharply, her golden hair whipping around. Her blue eyes were wide with horror as she demanded, “It wasn’t him! Was it?”

Keeping his eyes closed, Warrun nodded. “After Mr. Vinetti learned the news, he told me. He confessed to the murder. When I realized who had caused him to do it, I was overcome with despair. I made a mistake I never would have made otherwise. I tried to console him. In doing so, I let my guard down. Mr. Vinetti grabbed the gun right out of my holster and shot himself in the head while my face was only inches from his.”

Alexis backed away from her brother then. She wanted to comfort him. She tried desperately to do so. Try as she might, she found herself faltering backwards first one step, then another. She steadied herself on a bookcase and whispered, “I’m so sorry, Warrun. I’m so, so sorry. I don’t know. I can’t.”

He opened his eyes then. He turned and looked at his sister leaning heavily on the bookcase. He would have liked to comfort her, but he had no comfort left to give. He had only the truth. Looking into her eyes, he continued to say what he’d come to say, “Yesterday, I allowed Maria to go to her mother’s grave. I told her that Maria liked having her visit. I always thought it was good that she went to visit. I don’t want her to forget her mother. I dropped her off and waited in the car until she came back.”

Warrun turned away from his sister and looked at the painting again, not quite having the strength to look her in the eyes. “She seemed so happy when she got back to the car. You can imagine how happy that made me. She wouldn’t tell me why she was so happy, so I assumed it was because she’d confided in her mother’s spirit and God had taken it upon Himself to lighten her mood. It wasn’t until this afternoon when Maria’s school called me to say that she was missing that I learned why she’d actually been smiling.”

He heard her gasp, “She was missing?!”

Still not looking at her, he nodded. “She’d ditched school and walked halfway across Manhattan on her own, so she could get back to her mother’s grave. She arrived there fully believing that her mother would be alive, sitting there, waiting for her.”

“Why would she think that?”

Now turning away from both her and the picture, he clenched his jaw and stated, “A man met here in the graveyard while she was there yesterday. He walked up to her and told her that he was a priest. He told her that her mother would come back to life if she gave that man her stuffed animal, the very one her mother’d gotten for her. He made her believe, really made her believe that my dear Maria would come back to life and all it would cost her was a little faith and a toy.”

Warrun felt and soft hand come to rest on his shoulder. He did not answer it. He said, “When I found her, she was sitting over Owlowiscious. That man had taken it and torn it to shreds and ground it into her mother’s grave. With just one brief exchange with my daughter, that man has convinced her that God isn’t real. He’s convinced her that there is no such thing as Heaven. He’s convinced her that her mother is dead and gone and that we’ll never see her again.”

Whipping around suddenly, Warrun said with a husky voice laboring under the weight of heavy words, “And again, you know the man. He’s everywhere, Alexis. Every tragedy for the past twenty years has had some connection to him. He is literally evil. There is nothing redeeming about him. It was bad enough when I thought he was behind crimes committed to people I knew, but now it has gone too far. He has found my daughter and hurt her more emotionally than I believe any other man possibly could. He has destroyed her faith in God!” His voice tapered to a whisper as he hung his head and looked at the floor and concluded, “And he has destroyed mine.”

She had no words. She embraced him. She pulled him back to the couch and sat him down, clutching his head to her breast. In her mind she tried to piece together some sanity out of all she had just heard. Her eyes drifted to a religious icon hung on the wall across the room, one which no home professing to be Christian should be without. It represented a device used for extreme torture and humiliation. Though it was a very macabre icon, it represented so much more than torture. It represented humility and compassion, of giving everything one can possibly give with a willing heart for the sake of others. As she looked at the icon, Alexis could not help but consider her brother. He had given everything he possibly could in his life. She’d never met or even heard of a greater man than him, save one. She’d also never met or even heard of a man more tortured than he was right at that moment, save one.

After several minutes of silence and her running her fingers through his blonde hair, Warrun pulled his head away from her grasp. She let him go, letting him have any space he desired. She looked at him and found him staring at the same icon she’d been staring at.Giving him silence, she looked with him and they both contemplated.

It was a long moment before Warrun asked, “How strong is your faith in God?”

“He is.”

Warrun nodded his head, the answer sounding far less cryptic to him than it might to a non Christian. Her faith was such that she did not say that she believed in God. Instead, she knew God existed. Beliefs can be powerful and tenable, but they can be proven wrong. To Alexis, God was more of a certainty than her own existence. The universe would make sense in any form. Anything could be added. Anything could be subtracted. It would still be in some form or another. The only thing that had to be was God. He came before all else. In order for anything to exist, it first has to be conceived or conceived of. By definition, if anyone accepts the fact that the universe exists, then they must also except the fact that it was conceived, that it had a beginning, that it may one day have an end. In this was the conviction of her submission. This was the only truth that had to be true. Nothing in the entire universe was infallible. Everything could be misunderstood. People can lie. Animal actions can be misinterpreted. The cosmos can be improperly scaled. Even the very laws of nature that have never once been proven wrong since their discovery could potentially be wrong. That is not to say that they are wrong. It is to say that people are fallible and always will be fallible. Despite that fact however, people are able to rely on certainties. Despite being perpetually uncertain, there are certainties. In fact, everything in the universe exists on the principles of certainties. Everything is the way it is because that is the way it had to be. If the whole universe was reborn in the exact same manner, given the exact same spark, then the laws it was born with would eventually guide it right back to that moment in which Alexis contemplated God. In this way, the universe is not chaos. It is order! Every piece of matter and energy and everything in between was meticulously organized by a force that understood every single piece of it. The universe is infallible because an infallible mind is behind it. Chaos is not the nature of the universe. Chaos is ignorance. Order is called chaos when fallible minds attempt to explain what they do not, what they cannot ever fully understand. The only absolute truth the mind can ever grasp is the mere fact that the universe is ordered, that it exists. If it was not ordered, then there would be no laws and nothing would be. The universe is order and order is God. The only way a third person could be privy to just how much information those two words exchanged between them is to have had it explained to them. So you were, and so you understand.

Warrun nodded his head slowly at her answer. Her faith gave him strength. The certainty in her eyes and in her voice gave him courage. He’d come so close to faltering. His own daughter had almost convinced him. His own fear had almost gotten the best of him. The Devil himself had almost destroyed his faith. Warrun did not have the words to express just how grateful he was to know that angels and saints like his sister existed. After so many unspoken words, the almost destroyed man was able to give a very small smile. He whispered, “I’m sorry. Thank you, Alexis. I needed to hear you say that. I needed someone else to say that He was real. After today, I almost believed He wasn’t.”

Alexis gave a smile of her own and embraced her brother for the third time that evening. She whispered into his ear, “Don’t be sorry. We all stumble in the faith. If we didn’t, we wouldn’t be human. We would be God himself, and there would be no point in being.” Acknowledging the hesitence she’d seen in his smile, she pressed, “There’s still something bothering you.”

Their embrace parted again, and Warrun looked at her with worry that was present but not nearly as severe as before. He asked her, “Why would God make a man like the Devil? God knows all because he loves all. His understanding of all things enables him to guide the world as He sees fit. So why does he see fit to bring suffering? Why does he see fit to allow men and women to harm each other as they do? What is the purpose of violence and death? Of hate? It is obvious that He made things so, but why would he make them so? I don’t understand.”

His sister nodded her understanding to the heavy, timeless question her brother was asking. All who believe in God ask it at some point or another. It is inevitable. The search for an answer always does one of two things. It either strengthens faith, or it destroys it. There is no middle ground to be had. Unfortunately for Warrun, even his sister, devout as she was, had not gone on the search. She did not know where to begin. So she answered him apologetically, “I’m afraid I don’t have an answer for you, Warrun. I remind you that God gave mankind free choice, but you already know that. Every man and woman from Adam and Eve to you and me has had the choice to be kind or to be cruel, to be generous or to be greedy, to be honest or to lie, to be loyal or to retreat, to be happy or to be sad, to be more than they currently are or to be less than they possibly could be. Finding the answer is part of why we exist. It is a test born out of who we are because we are. It is a test from God.”

Warrun nodded slowly and gazed down at his hands folded in his lap. He had not really expected her to have an answer. She was a member of the faith, but she was not one of the few who had devoted their entire lives to answering the very question he was asking. He whispered, “I need an answer. I don’t think I can do my job without knowing the truth. I am full of hesitence, Alexis. That hesitence lead to the death of a man today. I cannot allow that to happen again.”

His sister already suspected what he was thinking, so she answered his question before he asked it, “Uncle Allen is still watching over the cathedral during nights. The evening mass is over. If you go now, you should find him there. You remember the knock, right? Of course you do. Even after twenty years, you still knock on my door the same way.”

Warrun’s lips parted slightly at the statement. “Has it really been twenty years?”

His sister nodded her head. She expounded, “Twenty years almost to the day since you left the novitiate. I remember riding with mom and dad to pick you up. That was a beautiful campus, especially during Autumn when the leaves would change color and their would be reds and yellows and oranges blowing everywhere. You were so quick into the Academy, I thought you’d turned into a whole new person overnight. I know now that you never changed. You just found your own way of being with God, whether you believed in him or not.”

A genuine smile slid across Warrun’s face, making it seem like the world was so much brighter than it had been only a moment before. He asked with wonder, already knowing the answer, “You never once lost faith in me, did you?”

Alexis took his hand in hers and brought it up to her face, kissing it tenderly. Not bothering to answer, she instead said, “You go on now. Talk to Uncle Allen and find your answers. Go and be the warrior God wants you to be.”

Warrun nodded, vowing in silence not to disappoint her. He stood from the couch and walked to the door. He opened it to leave, pausing only to turn his head and say, “Tell Maria that I love her, and I’ll be back soon.”

She watched as he closed the door behind him. It was not often that she was so happy. It’s not every day after all that a man comes back to the faith. “Then again,” she thought to herself, “he never really left.” Going up to the icon on the wall, she got down on her knees and clasped her hands, giving words to Him for the sake of her brother.