In that black place on the river where even the full moon does not penetrate, Jacob stood knee deep in the current near the bank. He gripped the backpack with his thumb between his shoulder and the strap. The administration would be calling the authorities soon. He had to start moving but reflection heaped on him the importance of this moment.


​This act could never be undone. A new and inescapable beginning lay before him and he stopped for a brief respite, not hesitation but recognition. Reverence. Dr. Scott had shown him the scripture and explained the flaw in the theology, the thousands of years of misinterpreted text. Hell did not exist. Not for humanity at least. It was a fabrication run amok and the result opened for Jacob the clearest picture of reality he had ever known. If the result of sin was oblivion then he would gladly let his lust for revenge hurl him there. Destruction struck him as a weak and toothless punishment. Destruction meant rest.


A satin riot of hot color shimmered on the young eastern horizon as he kicked water from his pants and wormed deeper into the ribbons of fog marbling the floodplain. A two lane highway lay some three miles ahead. If his navigation held, a gas station and bus stop wouldn’t be much farther. The mixture of coins and cash he stole from the lockbox under the auditorium stage would get him close enough to his final destination. By the time his eventual pursuers found him, it would be too late. Too late for everyone.

He’s got nothing to lose now. He doesn’t require a splinter of approval from a single individual or organization. He has nothing to fear now. What remains to be seen is where his instincts lead him. That is the true terror.