“Jonathan? Hellooo?” The seminarian gave a jolt and returned to his senses. He stared around the cafeteria for a few seconds, then to the tray of peas and mashed potatoes now sitting cold in front of him. Turning he saw the familiar face of his roommate, Greg, eyebrow crooked and glasses tilted askew. “You alive?”

The pair sat in the car, Alistair’s hand resting on the ignition. He turned to his pupil. Jonathan seemed distant, lost. Of everything the young man had experienced that evening, his mind dwelt mostly on the feeling that had churned through his chest and bit at his heart. A burning, a stinging almost, a sensation of something tugging at his very soul. It was all-encompassing, and yet when he tried to focus on it, to find the words to name it, it was absent, every beyond the grasp of his comprehension.

The corridors of Ann Bayley Hall glimmered in the light of the midday sun. Students milled from building to building just outside, the ebbing days of summer clinging to the campus as Jonathan moved through the halls. In his black shirt and white clerical collar, he dodged between other young men and women, a smile on his lips, approaching Father Alistair’s office with purpose. He paused at the door, closing his eyes. He leaned against the wall outside Alistair’s office, hearing his mentor’s voice echoing from within, apparently advising another student on some matter.

The sun sank low, casting a web of broken shadows through the treetops that danced across the little house. It was older, showing significant wear as well as a severe lack of maintenance. The lawn was overgrown and filled with weeds. There were a few cars parked in the drive that seemed as if they hadn't run in years. The paint peeled from the outside, flaking off with every gust of wind and tonight the wind seemed to blow harder than usual causing the house to shake and creak loudly.