49 Chapter 49: Fishers of Men, Part 7

Time slows down in hospitals, the same way it does in football. One hour can turn into four, especially in penny-pinching shitholes where - on top of your already astronomical bill - you have to pay extra just to watch TV. I glanced at Father Roger. He sat, unmoving, just outside of my door.

"Hey," I called, "can you get me a newspaper, or at least a crossword puzzle? Anything?"

He turned his head to stare at me. At least I thought he was staring at me. His sunglasses were so black, I couldn't see through them. Then he turned his attention back to the hallway.

I sighed and lay back, staring at the tiles in the ceiling. I didn't have a roommate, that was a plus at least. Maybe the Church had seen to that.

I did not have my beads with me, but I began to pray the rosary for the woman and boy who had been killed by the flying fishhooks. Unless it really had just been me. Unless I had killed them with my car, but somehow couldn't face the facts.