The Father gave a small shake of his head.
He placed the Bible on the table and disappeared into the back room.
Three minutes later, he returned.
A glass of water was set into Messiah's hands.
Messiah struggled to steady his trembling body as he took it.
Light from the stained glass shimmered across the surface of the water.
He drank.
The liquid burned slightly as it slid down his throat.
His face tightened—then slowly relaxed.
A deep breath escaped him.
Bitterness lingered, but relief followed.
The Father pushed his glasses up with the joint of his index finger.
They never seemed to fit, always slipping down to the edge of his nose.
"Rest here until you feel better," he said, a faint smile touching his lips.
"I had a feeling this would happen."
He placed a hand on Messiah's shoulder.
Then he walked away.
Leather shoes echoed softly across the old concrete floor.
"…Thank you," Messiah murmured.