Slanted light filtered through the opaque windows of a small church in Northern Georgia. The trees that once shaded it during sunny days now seemed as if they were covering it with perpetual gloom. The clouds outside, the result of an evening rain shower, clung to the church walls like moss would to an old oak tree. Could someone have spoken just a moment ago? It seemed so to David, as if an echo reverberated through his mind. But that could not be possible. All was silent in the chapel. Dark silhouettes rested in the pews in front of him, but no one was speaking. Shouldn’t there be children running around, squealing and giggling? Shouldn’t the lights be on? Usually, it was sister Frances who would turn on the lights because she was the first to arrive. Now, the darkness was such that David took a moment to distinguish the forms sitting in the pews. He took a step inside of the chapel, into the stillness, breathing in a lungful of the summer humidity. He flipped on the light and gasped, taking an involuntary step backward.