The Velvet Thorn: A Novel

By Olivia Villa-Real

Asian singer-composer Bella Mariposa cant ignore the difficulties in her marriage to physician Daniel Miranda. In hopes of salvaging her union and regaining some sense of balance not only for herself, but also for her children, she flees to a spiritual retreat in Hollywood.

At the retreat, she meets Father Derek Lindenberg, who is noted for his absolute resolve to stifle his human feelings to fit the unyielding framework of his priesthood. The two form a close bond and then, the unexpected happens: they fall deeply, irrevocably in love. But how can they survive the grueling twists and turns of the machinery of life?

What follows is a gripping story of how the incessant pendulum of our daily lives can act erratically; how seemingly unshakeable principles, like those borne of tradition and religious beliefs, can suddenly be displaced and challenged; and how the forces of love and fate will test the unbending rules of society.

The Velvet Thorn uncovers the subtle shades of emotion that, though muffled by convention, forge their way to escape and express themselves in the most wonderful prism of colors that only love can see and understand.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: May 3, 2011
• ISBN: 9781450267991

Olivia Villa-Real

Olivia Villa-Real, an author, composer, singer and pianist, combines her passion for writing with her artistry in music. She infuses both genres with the sensitivity and sentimentality that permeate the Asian culture, owing from her birth, childhood, and early adult experiences in the Philippines. However, after immigrating to the United States and settling in Los Angeles, California the melting pot of different cultures, her creative canvas took on a different landscape. Like a sponge, her sensitive nature absorbed the varied prisms of artistic color that each culture had to offer. Hence, her poetry and music became an amalgamation of Asian, European, Latin, and American sentiments and rhythms. Despite all these influences, her firm internal compass remained uncompromising with respect to following the old traditional formats in poetry, which she learned in her studies of Western literature requisite to her completion of a master’s degree in English. Her sensitivity as an artist and as a composer helped her to express poignantly and effectively the very subtle nuances of emotion demanded by such a specialized art form as poetry. Furthermore, it has enabled her to write her novel, The Velvet Thorn, with clarity and precision demanded by a novel of such depth and complexity. She has performed in concert halls in the United States and abroad, including two solo concerts at the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion of the Los Angeles Music Center. Her repertoire includes operatic arias and other vocal and piano masterpieces by great masters like Puccini, Schubert, Mozart, Bach, and Chopin. Such an immersion became a thoroughfare through which she wrote, allowing her imagination to soar beyond the farthest horizon, finding physicality to words and having the acuteness of perception to describe the subtlest image borne by her senses. And her artistry is still evolving. She lives with her family in Los Angeles, California.

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The Velvet Thorn

A Novel

Copyright © 2011 by Olivia Villa-Real

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, incidents, and dialogue are products of the author’s imagination and make no reference to reality. Any resemblance to actual events, places, or people—living or deceased—are strictly coincidental.

To have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part.

Excerpt from the English translation of The Rite of Marriage © 1969, ICEL, Inc. All rights reserved.

You are a priest forever, according to the order of Melchizedek.   Ps. 110:4

iUniverse books may be ordered through booksellers or by contacting:

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

ISBN: 978-1-4502-6798-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4502-6800-4 (dj)

ISBN: 978-1-4502-6799-1 (ebk)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2010918822

iUniverse rev. date: 3/14/2011

Contents

Preface

Acknowledgments

Chapter One

The World of the Mystic

Chapter Two

Struggle for Life

Chapter Three

Crushed

Chapter Four

Splinters of the Heart

Chapter Five

The Confession

Chapter Six

The Blossoming of Friendship

Chapter Seven

Mangled Hopes

Chapter Eight

The Gift of Life

Chapter Nine

The Dawning of Intimacy

Chapter Ten

Reveries

Chapter Eleven

Polarities

Chapter Twelve

A Dewdrop on the Desert

Chapter Thirteen

In Quiet Bondage

Chapter Fourteen

Mercurial Moods

Chapter Fifteen

Fingers of Fate

Chapter Sixteen

Borrowed Moments of Joy

Chapter Seventeen

Pride and Passion

Chapter Eighteen

The Twilight of Love

Chapter Nineteen

Glow Forever, Ember

Chapter Twenty

There’s No Turning Back

Chapter Twenty-One

Emotional Roller Coaster

Chapter Twenty-Two

Comfort Zone

Chapter Twenty-Three

Look Homeward, Angel

Chapter Twenty-Four

Glitters on a Faded Carpet

Chapter Twenty-Five

Vestiges of the Past

Chapter Twenty-Six

The Crossroad

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Tender Impasse

Chapter Twenty-Eight

The Last Cup

Chapter Twenty-Nine

The Untrodden Path

Chapter Thirty

The Towering Inferno

Chapter Thirty-One

The Grapes of Agony

Chapter Thirty-Two

Black Veil over Tinseled Lights

Chapter Thirty-Three

The Foreboding

Chapter Thirty-Four

Gone with the Wind

Chapter Thirty-Five

Mystic Deliverance

Chapter Thirty-Six

Sublimity and Ecstasy

Chapter Thirty-Seven

First Rainbow of Spring

Notes

Resources

Also by Olivia Villa-Real

A Critical Study of Ernest Hemingway’s Philosophy of Meaningful Existence as Revealed in His Four Major Novels

To my most cherished children—Marc, Bella, and Donna. I will always be your mom, the wind beneath your wings every step of the way.

In loving memory of my beloved parents—Osmundo and

Isidra C. Villa-Real.

And to Carl, my very own Velvet Thorn.

With unconditional love forever,

O.V.

To have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part.

Excerpt from the English translation of The Rite of Marriage © 1969, International Committee on English in the Liturgy, Inc. All rights reserved.

You are a priest forever, according to the order of Melchizedek.

Ps. 110:4

Preface

Life is a journey with peaks and valleys. All of us meet challenges during our lives. Some cope with adversity better than others. Sadly, the gentle-hearted, those abundant in love and kindness, are crushed most easily. But even the strong-hearted and indomitable can find themselves overpowered by situations that are humanly impossible to contend with. Nevertheless, adversities have some positive value. For it is in the face of adversity that we are able to feel our humanity—our capacity to feel pain. We can better relate to the word pain once we experience it. We develop a deep sense of empathy toward others who are undergoing an ordeal or misfortune. Therefore, pain has a way of enabling us to grow as individuals, becoming deeper in our sensitivities, bigger in heart, and wiser and richer in the knowledge of Truth.

As an Asian woman who spent her formative years in the Philippines and who has lived her adult life as an immigrant here in the United States, I have faced challenges of all sorts while adjusting to a very different environment. Some of these challenges proved paralyzing for me. Born with a sensitive nature that was further shaped by my Asian culture and tradition and heightened still further by the strict, unbending rules of the Catholic Church and its sometimes unforgiving environment, I found life to be a vocation with a never-ending process of fitting everything into a mold. This background has enabled me to depict the character of Bella Mariposa, the heroine in this novel, in an intimate manner. I could feel the subtleties of emotion that plagued her spirit and kept her in a bondage that seemed to last for eternity. Moreover, my church involvement has given me the insight to understand the complex psyche of the protagonist, Derek Lindenberg, as he struggled to stifle his human emotions to fit the unyielding framework of his priesthood—the most precious part of his life.

I have gone through some traumatic experiences in my life as well. I can still feel the torturous flames engulfing me when our house burned; I had experienced the pain of separation and a deep sense of loss when my first husband passed away in a car accident. It is, therefore, in a spirit born of these experiences that I have written this novel. It was written to serve as an inspiration to those who might be undergoing some kind of affliction in life, to offer them a glimmer of hope, no matter how bleak and ominous their skies might be. It was written to invite readers to peer through their darkest night, searching for a dawn that will nurse their dwindling faith back to life and reassure them that there will always be hope and happiness somewhere on the distant horizon.

O.V.

Acknowledgments

It is with much joy and affection that I acknowledge the love and support of my entire family during the process of writing this novel: to my husband, Carl, my constant beacon in a sea of uncertainty, who has kept me anchored to this project when the turbulent waves of my other passions swept me away; to my very, very dear and wonderful children, Marc, Bella, and Donna, who have always been a source of comfort and deep happiness for me when the demands of life proved challenging; to their spouses, Kathy, Darren, and Jonathan, whose love and dedication have surpassed what I could ever pray for; to their children—Jonas, Emerson, Kayla, Patanjali, and Ethan—all of whom have swept my heart beyond my wildest dreams; to my brother, Tony, whose unwavering faith in me has never faltered; to my beloved father, Osmundo C. Villa-Real, whose impeccable honor and idealism have left an indelible imprint upon my mind and have guided me through all these years; to my sweetest mother, Isidra C. Villa-Real, the epitome of patience and gentleness—my cup runneth over with much love, affection, and gratitude; to Dr. Jonathan Gray, who helped me with the medical vernacular of the emergency room scenes; to my first editorial consultant and friend, Cliff Carle, who edited the first draft of this novel and whose encouragements have inspired me to stay on track; to my editorial consultant at iUniverse, Sarah Disbrow, and the entire team of editors and their associates, whose valued guidance and direction are heralded in every page of this novel; to my highly esteemed line editor, Pamela Hogle, whom I totally admire for her acute sensitivity and literary judgment, and whose insightful, meticulous work is second to none; to John Potts, Eric Hanselmann, and Kelly Vo, who have always given me their warm support and untiring assistance, and to all the many others who cannot be mentioned here due to space limitation; to the production and design department, the marketing team, and the entire staff at iUniverse, who have worked synchronously to make this book the best that it can possibly be; and, above all, my profound thanks to the One Great Source of all our gifts without whom I have nothing and am nothing.

O.V.

I Shouldn’t Enter Your World¹

I shouldn’t enter your world

I shouldn’t enter your world - that’s what they say

Though you love me so much

I shouldn’t enter your world, but run away

I love you too much, I could cry

I see my world crashing in pain

And, yet, I beg you not to cry

As you watch me walk away

I shouldn’t enter your world

Such forbidden world!

What a curse to love

Someone you just can’t have

I shouldn’t enter your world!

But, for tonight, come softly, love, lay by my side

Take my warm breath in a kiss

And make me deaf to the world and all its pride

I only know I love you so

Let’s share our love sweeter than wine

And, as I turn to go, I’ll die

I shouldn’t enter your world

Chapter One

The World of the Mystic

I t was a warm, spectacular day in spring. A gust of wind, cooled by the fresh waters of the San Francisco Bay, rushed inside the Regina Coeli Cathedral where eager faces awaited the beginning of an ordination ceremony. A flock of men with colorful stoles crowded the entrance of the church to commence a majestic procession toward the altar. Five seminarians in white albs headed the ceremonial march. The middle one raised a huge wooden cross reverently, though his face was steeled by a labored effort to balance it. On either side were acolytes with tall candles, followed by two others who carried religious banners of varied colors.

Ninety-seven priests followed. All robed in white with multicolored stoles, they chanted with the rest of the religious hierarchy. Their voices soared and echoed within the ornate walls of the cathedral, thickening the atmosphere with awe and with a certain mysticism that sent tingles through the spines of all present. The tail end of the procession revealed six ordinands—deacons about to be ordained priests during this momentous ceremony that would bind them in an irrevocable, lifelong commitment to a sacred calling. Derek Lindenberg, a tall Caucasian in his mid-thirties, was with this flock of sheep being herded to their destiny. With dark, wavy hair and broad shoulders lurking beneath his heavy garments, he walked serenely, his green eyes focused on the image of Christ on the cross. His firm countenance spoke volumes of unequivocal resolve.

Escorted by their parents, the ordinands marched in dalmatics of bright red, blue, and yellow. Behind them was the bishop with a miter on his head and a crosier in his hand. He was the head shepherd, herding his faithful flock toward the Lord’s sanctuary.

The ordinands continued to march onward—slowly, solemnly, and gravely. Each step was serious, carefully thought out over the past ten years. Their steps thundered in their ears as they approached the altar that patiently waited to receive them into a lifetime of consecrated service to the Lord.

As Derek drew closer, he looked straight ahead, eyes riveted upon the golden chalice of the Holy Eucharist. It beckoned him, and he responded with unparalleled awe and determination. He planted every step so resolutely that it etched upon the marble floor an indelible mark of his commitment. His eagerness escalated, matching the echoes of his footsteps that grew louder and louder, drowning out the pounding of his heart.

The liturgy went on amid the awe-inspiring music. At this point, the ordinands lay themselves face-down before the altar with outstretched arms—a symbol of sacrifice and total submission to God. They remained there for several minutes. Derek felt the cold, marble floor underneath his belly; his weight upon the hard floor made it extremely uncomfortable. But such discomfort dissipated in the hypnotic exchange of chants between a cantor and the holy men, led by the chorus. They were alternately chanting a litany.

God, the Holy Spirit, the cantor chanted.

Have mercy on us, the priests responded with the chorus.

Holy Trinity, One God.

Have mercy on us.

We pray to you, Lord Jesus Christ.

Lord, hear our prayer.

The chanting continued, drawing Derek’s spirit into a different realm of reality that felt soothing, ethereal, and filled with joyful peace. He felt the mystical presence of God, which was pervasive, taking full control of his being.

Time slipped away unnoticed because of the solemnity of the moment. Surrounded by the ordinands, the bishop laid his hands over the bread and wine, which he proceeded to transform into the body and blood of Christ. At this moment of reflection, a voice from the choir loft came with such power and intensity that no one would ever imagine it belonged to someone with a tiny, feminine frame. Bella Mariposa, a Filipino woman of delicate beauty in her early thirties, was singing with an angelic presence that matched the sweetness of her voice. Five feet in height, she stood as though her head touched the skies as she sang with all the fervor of her soul. Lost in the mystical experience of the music, she closed the brown, tantalizing eyes that dominated her face.

Derek looked at her and felt a quiver in his heart, touched by the ardor of her singing. When Bella opened her eyes, she found a man she did not know gazing at her with such power as to defy the distance between them. Their eyes engaged with pristine innocence and wonder. A current of bewilderment ran down Bella’s spine. An enigmatic, powerful force seemed to draw them together. Derek withdrew his eyes and pinned them once again on the holy crucifix hanging on the wall of the sanctuary. His forehead contorted with painfully apparent effort.

As the Holy Mass concluded, the now Reverend Father Derek Lindenberg and the other newly ordained priests made the sign of the cross to bless the entire congregation.

May Almighty God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, descend upon you and remain with you forever.

Amen, the congregation responded in unison.

Sounds of revelry erupted as the joyous voices of the choir filled the air.

The cathedral was a paragon of beauty. Close to the altar, a set of tubular crystalline lights hung from the ceiling, radiating a soft glitter that made the altar look like a huge jewel at the center of the church. Toward one side was a massive network of pipes for the grand organ, impressively ornamenting the large corner where it stood.

The pompous sound of trumpets emanated from the huge organ, signaling the recessional march. The drums from an ensemble pounded and stirred great jubilation in the congregation. The emotional and spiritual excitement was uncontainable, requiring everyone to heave a loaded breath every so often to release the tension that had been building up inside. Soon, the recessional ended, and the congregation flowed out of the church. The last sound of revelry faded away as the organ exuded its final note.

An hour had elapsed. The cathedral that had been brimming with exuberance now looked deserted except for the presence of Bella, who was kneeling in a dark, quiet corner of the church, alone, a rosary interwoven among her fingers. She seized each bead with explosive aggression that dissipated in a prayer. Each bead awakened another pain, stashed away in the inner recesses of her mind, locked by a prayer that was supposed to melt away the enduring rebellion that churned inside of her. Nevertheless, try as she might, the thoughts that plagued her mind proved overwhelming. In an effort to subdue her inner turmoil, she clutched and pulled at her rosary, etching upon the back of her left hand a bleeding reminder of a haunting past.

Chapter Two

Struggle for Life

I t was twilight of the following day. The dying sun peeked through the gray clouds, tingeing some with a curious lining of golden orange, red, blue, and purple. The sun continued to sink behind the hills, and the skies became increasingly dark and the clouds, heavier.

Beneath these gloomy skies, an airplane was treading its path along the vast take-off lanes of the San Francisco International Airport. It moved slowly, hugging every bit of the runway. The plane emitted a sound that grew faster, stronger, and more deafening as the carrier prepared to depart.

Seconds later, the bulky bird detached itself complainingly from the ground. It folded its claws shortly after take-off and cut through space, disappearing in the clouds that loomed over the horizon.

In the dimly lit cabin of the plane, Derek looked pensively out the window. Next to him was a little Filipino girl, Elaine. Quite timid and seemingly withdrawn at age five, she sat as close as possible to her mother, Lily, whose olive complexion hid the pallor of her skin that would have betrayed her malnourished condition. Deep in thought, Derek was oblivious to their presence. He wondered about his future, the new life he was facing. A shaggy-haired boy, Bob, barely seven, called to his mother from across the aisle, distracting Derek’s quiet reflection.

Mommy, I want to sit next to you, Bob complained. He looked tiny for his age.

No, little Elaine retorted as her slanting eyes squinted under uneven bangs. Then, snuggling closer to her mother, she purred, I want to be next to Mommy! She wrapped her long pigtail around Lily’s skinny arm to ensure she wouldn’t be separated from her.

C’mon, sweethearts, don’t be that way, Lily reproved her children. You’re a brave boy, Bob. You can handle sitting by yourself.

Hearing this, Derek responded promptly, smiling at Bob. Well, I guess someone would be mighty happy if I traded places with him. Right, son?

Bob gasped. He looked at his mother for a sign of approval. Lily looked at Derek who was getting up from his seat.

Are you sure you don’t mind? Lily asked, appreciating the offer, yet somewhat hesitant.

Oh, no, not at all. It’s my pleasure! Now, if you two ladies would excuse me … he squeezed past Lily and Elaine and stepped out into the aisle. Then, gesturing to Bob, he said, Grab it, my boy, before I change my mind! Bob instantly flew to the empty seat.

Just then, John Simmons, one of the stewards, walked by on his way to the back of the plane. In white uniform, he looked amazingly fit for a man in his fifties, his gray hair hidden beneath his flat-top aviation cap.

Hi, there, Father Derek! Simmons greeted Derek.

Hi, Uncle John! Derek responded and, as John got closer, leaned forward to engage him in conversation. Did you know that I have known your chief of airline security, Paul Myers, for the past seven years?

How did that happen? John inquired, surprised.

Well, they belong to the Holy Trinity Parish, where his boys attended school. In fact, they were members of the youth group that I directed for five years as a seminarian.

Really? John replied.

Yes. I was so surprised when I ran into him during his break. He invited me into his office, and I managed to visit with him before I boarded the plane.

Great! So, did you tell him about your ordination?

I sure did, and he was very happy, Derek concluded. John drew closer to him in an aside.

Still can’t get used to calling you ‘Father,’ John whispered and then moved on, laughing. Derek smiled.

Lily overheard the conversation. Unable to resist, she inquired, You’re a Catholic priest, Father …?

Derek. Derek Lindenberg. I was just ordained yesterday.

Oh, is that right! Lily replied. A big smile lit up her face.

Yes, and now I’m going to the Holy Savior Church in Hollywood where I’ve been assigned.

The Holy Savior Church! Lily exclaimed. That’s our parish. We live on the same block as the church!

You’re kidding. What a coincidence! What’s your name? Derek inquired.

Lily … Lily Pineda, Father, and these are my children, Bob and Elaine.

I’m so glad to meet you all. I really lucked out today, didn’t I? Derek said, delighted. So, you can tell me a lot about the parish then?

Of course, Father. But I hope you will not regret your first assignment as a priest, Lily said. There is nothing beautiful about our neighborhood. Most of the people are poor, and the area is overwhelmed by drugs and prostitution.

It looks like I will have plenty of challenges, Derek responded.

Absorbed in the conversation, he was not aware that Bella was sitting next to him. Wearing a scarf that covered her face, she managed to obscure a troubled spirit. Immersed in her lonely thoughts, she leaned despondently against the window, her lifeless gaze cast outside as tears stealthily welled from behind her dark glasses. As her thoughts rode on the clouds, she was transported back to a painful reality. Images took shape from the inner recesses of her mind. She saw her wedding, ten years ago, to a young man, Daniel Miranda.

This beautiful image did not stay long enough for her to recapture its sweetness; it was abruptly changed to that of Daniel with another woman. Teardrops punctuated the taunting flashes of her past that emerged intermittently between the clouds. Then, the image of her son Anthony appeared. His frail body was trembling as he cried and pleaded with his father, Daniel, who was whipping him with a belt. This image was so vivid in Bella’s recollection that Anthony’s voice echoed in the chambers of her mind. This was too difficult for her to contain.

No! she almost screamed, squirming from her seat.

That interrupted Derek’s conversation with Lily. He noticed her for the first time.

Are you all right? he asked Bella.

Bella’s thoughts instantly receded into the dim corners of her mind.

I’m okay, she responded, looking away.

Just then, a chime rang, followed by an announcement from the cabin.

We are now approaching the Los Angeles International Airport. It is 8:15 P.M. Pacific Daylight Time. The temperature is seventy-one degrees. We’ll be landing in approximately fifteen minutes. Despite some dark clouds, it’s still a beautiful spring evening. Enjoy your stay in Los Angeles, and thank you for flying National Airways.

The Fasten Seatbelts sign lit up.

Bella looked out the window as the plane began to descend. The aerial view of Los Angeles was magnificent at nighttime. The lights glittered like precious jewels against a dark background, forming a mosaic of sparkling colors. Streets were mapped out by chains of lights that divided many areas into square blocks, delicately rimmed with brilliant beads of bright yellow and neon blue.

The metal eagle continued to descend until it finally lowered its claws to touch the ground. The ride grew rough for everyone—quite a change from being cuddled in mid-air.

The momentum of the landing allowed but a swift greeting to the first stretch of runway; however, as the inertia died down, the big bird was gradually able to greet every inch of the remaining runway. The engine snorted heavily, engaging the brakes for a slower speed. Then, it made its turn toward its usual arrival gate.

At this point, Lily felt a severe, sharp pain in her stomach. Overwhelmed by discomfort, she promptly got up, disregarding the Fasten Seatbelts sign. Fighting a nausea she hardly could contain, she briefly instructed her son in broken speech, I have to go. Take care of your sister, Bob. I’ll be right back! She rushed toward the restroom in back of the plane, large droplets of sweat breaking on her forehead.

As the plane was scaling the familiar grounds, its pilot, Harry Fleischman, noticed another plane that had popped out of the darkness. His eyes bolted out of their sockets as he realized that it was moving toward them at takeoff speed!

We’re still on the runway. What’s he doing? He’ll kill us all! Fleischman yelled out in horror.

Get off! Get off! shouted his copilot. With trained reflexes, Fleischman cranked his clutches, floored the accelerator, and veered toward the green shoulder of the runway. A desperate race to safety! But before he could clear the path, the other plane, a Dutch aircraft, whipped through the short distance and struck with a crashing blow. Bang! One of its wheels zipped through the tail tip of the National Airways jetliner, igniting sparks that lingered on the belly of the newly refueled Dutch liner, until it erupted in a meteoric blaze in the dark, shooting straight down in a thundering explosion. Fragments of burning metal boomeranged in all directions, and red-orange flames crackled in the midst of volumes of black smoke. Soon, the smell of melting metal, mixed with that of burning flesh, filled the air.

An ominous ember sizzled on the tail end of the National Airways jetliner as well, threatening to erupt soon. Havoc broke out inside the plane. The passengers not buckled up at the time of the impact were tossed around, while others, who were secured by seatbelts, remained pinned to their seats despite the powerful jolt. As the temperature rose inside the plane, the panic-stricken passengers unbuckled themselves and flew to the exits in the middle and front parts of the plane. Events had transpired so quickly that Derek himself was momentarily paralyzed. However, he soon recovered with remarkable presence of mind. He noticed Bella frozen to her seat, horrified. He quickly unbuckled her.

We’ve got to get out of here! Go out that way! Hurry! he urged her, pointing toward the nearest emergency exit. She bolted out of her seat and skinned through the crowd. Derek turned to Bob and Elaine who were screaming for their mother in horror. He snapped their seatbelts open.

Let’s get out of here! Quick! he ordered the children.

Mommy! Mommy! Elaine cried piteously, absolutely terrified.

She’s coming, honey, Derek assured her as he grabbed them both by the hand and headed for the exit. He scanned the surroundings briefly, trying to spot Lily, but it was impossible amid the pandemonium. We have to go this way! I’m sure she’ll exit here too, he urged the confused children.

As they approached the exit, Derek saw an old woman caught under a broken seat. He tried to free her, but as he did, she vomited a mouthful of blood that shot out to besmear his suit. The blood carried her soul with it, and her wide, empty eyes heralded the loss. Derek shuddered at the sight, but prompted by a sacred calling, he managed to bless the woman. May your sins be forgiven, he