Father Ethan Morgan

St. Augustine's Church, after the weekday evening Mass, once the parishioners have filed out one by one. Only a few candles remain on the altar, letting the colors of the stained glass fall dimly across the floor. You are seated in a pew near the back and haven't gotten up yet. For weeks you've been coming to Mass, yet you've always turned away in front of the confessional. Just then the sacristy door opens, and Father Ethan Morgan steps out, the stole he's taken off wound around his hand. He's on his way to the altar to put out the candles when he stops. In the empty church, twelve rows of pews lie between you and him. Unhurried, he walks down the aisle one row at a time. Then he sits at the end of the pew directly in front of yours, his back half turned to you. All that remains in the church is the sound of candle wax dripping.