Delroy shrugged out of his jacket and looked up at the ceiling—and beyond it. “You gotta help me, Lord, because I know I can’t help myself. I’ve gone the distance You asked me to, but I’ve come up short here.” He hung his jacket on the paper towel holder. “I don’t know what else You want me to do. You’re gonna have to show me what You want me to do now.”
He looked at his face in the mirror, wishing there were more of Josiah Harte’s features in his. His father’s face had been hard and fierce, the face of an avenging angel, Delroy’s mother had always said.
Delroy had the face of a boxer. Scar tissue showed under both eyes under close inspection even after all these years. His father had loved watching him box. He’d stood in the corner and worked as cut-man while Delroy had battled in Golden Gloves boxing matches. He’d come to the gym, worked out on the ropes, the speed bag, and the heavy bag with Delroy.
“You’re a good fighter, Delroy,” his father had told him occasionally, though only when he’d fought in the ring and not in the schoolyard. “You got a head for it. Always looking for an opponent, always looking. If you ever get your heart wrapped around the Word of the Lord, why, you’re gonna be a champion, boy. But you got a mighty hard head. Mighty hard. Can I get an Amen on that?”
Amen, Delroy thought, and he was surprised to see a smile tug at his lips.
“You not done, boy. You not done till I throw in the towel or you can’t get up no more. And I ain’t throwin’ in no towel.”
Delroy remembered the times his father had told him that, times that he’d been certain he’d been too broken up, too bloodied and battered to go one more round. He’d always gotten up, gone one more round and sometimes another as long as his father had kept at him.
“I’m not done,” Delroy told his reflection. He turned on the cold faucet, shoved both hands under the stream, and splashed cold water into his face. The sensation woke him, alleviating some of the nausea and fatigue he felt. Between that and the memories of his father, he felt almost human again.
He raised his head and blinked the water from his eyes.
Then he saw the young blond pilot from the C-9 Skytrain standing behind him. As his vision cleared, Delroy saw that the man wasn’t quite human. Scales covered his flesh, and his amber eyes were set in elongated slits that ran up on the sides of his head, giving him a snakelike appearance. His nose was a brief nub above a mouth that held serrated teeth. A black, forked tongue flicked out when he smiled.
“Oh, yeah,” the creature said, “you’re done. Just stupid, is all.” With blinding speed, the man-creature grabbed the back of Delroy’s head and smashed him forward into the mirror.
Shards of the mirror tumbled into the sink and broke again. Dazed, Delroy slumped against the sink.
The creature shoved a hand against Delroy’s back and straddled his hips, leaning into him to keep him pinned against the sink. Its other hand scrabbled in the sink and grabbed a mirror shard from the rushing water in the basin. Hard black talons gleamed at the ends of the thing’s fingers.
“You came into this men’s room,” the thing said. “You were despondent. You were right to feel that way. And right to do something about it. After all, nobody believes in you or your God. Everyone will understand how you felt compelled to come in here and cut your own throat.”
Delroy stared down at the gleaming shard in the creature’s hand. He stared at the inhuman features reflected in the mirror. The black, forked tongue danced in unholy anticipation.
“You won’t be waking up, Delroy, but I’m your nightmare.”
Twisting quickly, Delroy brought his left elbow back into the thing’s face. It seemed stunned by the blow but didn’t release him. Delroy brought his elbow again, feeling the dense bone of the thing’s head.
With an angry squall, the creature fell backward. Delroy pushed himself up to his feet, bringing his fists up in front of him automatically.
“Give up, Chaplain,” the thing snarled, raking its empty hand across its features. “Give up and I’ll kill you fast.”
“No,” Delroy replied.
“You want to give up.” The thing swiped at him with the mirror shard. Light splintered from the gleaming surface. “It’s too hard for you to believe.”
“I struggle with my belief,” Delroy said. “I strive to be stronger in my belief. It’s what every good Christian does.”
“Really?” the thing mocked. “I got a news flash for you, ace. All the good Christians have done left the planet. You people that are left here, you’re prey.” The creature uncoiled, almost like a snake uncoiling in a strike.
Delroy caught the creature’s shard-wielding hand by the wrist with his left hand. He jammed his right forearm up under the thing’s jaw, catching it so fast that the serrated teeth closed and chopped off part of the black tongue.
The creature head-butted him.
Dazed, Delroy went backward and slammed against the wall. The creature was at his throat immediately. With raw, savage strength, the thing shoved him down to the cold tile floor. Pieces of the broken mirror scraped against the floor and cut into Delroy’s back.
The thing straddled Delroy. It grinned. “You’re going to die, chaplain. Ersatz faith never protected anybody.”
Delroy struggled, but every time he got set and pushed, the creature moved fluidly and countered his strength, keeping him pinned to the floor.
“You’re nothing, chaplain.” The creature smiled and the slitted eyes gleamed. “Your son was nothing. He’s gone and you’ll never see him again.”
“God took my son,” Delroy said.
“Bullets blew your son’s heart out,
