Chapter 1: St. Elmer's Church, 1966

It was better that no one would ever know what had happened inside the church. As the fire roared through the huge building, a brown-haired man knelt before the altar and prayed. Not far from where he was kneeling was another man, with blood running from a huge hole in his chest. He was dead. The brown haired man finished his prayer and opened his eyes. All around him, the church was burning- and he accepted it. As the wooden ceiling rails creaked and shifted from the fire, the unknown man slowly looked up and smiled. This was what he had hoped for. The fire would soon erase all traces of him and the other. The Will had been served. Now it was time to return. Above him, the ceiling rails gave way. As he closed his eyes for the last time, a broad smile appeared on his face and he spread his arms. Amid the rumbling of the ceiling breaking up, the man whispered to himself as calmly as one might comfort a newborn.

"Thy Will be Done..."

A group of bystanders were outside on that cold night, and watched as the roof of the church fell in and the stone walls started collapsing. By the time that the fire department arrived, the building had already become unsavable.

Thirty minutes later, sifting through the rubble that had once been distinguished as the prominent St. Elmer's chapel, a group of firemen slowly used their axes and prod poles to clear a path through the charred wood, ruined stone and chipped plaster. They were looking for anyone that may have been trapped in the debris, but hadn't found anyone yet. All around them, smoke and ash was everywhere. Some of the church statues, although burned very badly- were still standing. One of the firefighters- a humbled, 25 year old man named Harold Connors carefully stepped over a fallen altar candelabra and shook his head mournfully. The other two continued on a little bit into the ruined debris, while he stayed back and took another look around. Just as he was about to leave his search area and rejoin his coworkers, something caught his eye and he looked down at the ground. As he bent down to look at the object, he realized that he was looking at a very beautiful pendant. It looked as if it had been broken from a necklace, and very old. As he picked it up, one of the others called out to him from across the rubble.

"Harold? You find something? What you got there?"

Holding the pendant gingerly in the palm of his hand, Harold walked over to the others. He held out his hand and showed it to them both.

"It's from someone's necklace, I think. I just saw it laying back there in the ash. Back there, by where the altar was." Harold looked at his two co-workers.

The first firefighter gave the pendant a once over. "The altar area, huh?"

The second squinted his eyes at the pendant. "That thing's gleaming a bit hard, isn't it?"

Harold quickly regained his composure and stuffed the pendant into his pocket. The other two men turned around and went back to their work, picking through the rubble. Standing there for a moment, Harold took off his helmet and looked up into the dark starry night sky. Somehow, he could almost feel that something was wrong, but it was hard to tell what. Putting his helmet back on, Harold gave another look around at the walls of the ruined church and then went back to picking through the rubble.

Three and a half hours later, the firefighters were finished picking through the ashes of the ruined church and getting their equipment packed up. There hadn't been any bodies, and with fire inspectors at the scene- everyone expected that this fire had more than likely been caused by faulty wiring. When the investigators wrapped up their work, one of them turned and gave a thumbs up sign to the on-site fire chief. He gave a nod and turned towards the other firemen who were coming down from the church steps. A few removed their helmets and unbuttoned the high collars of their coats.

"We're finished here guys. If everything's packed, start moving these trucks out." The fire chief walked off towards the group of investigators and started to converse with them.

As the men of Fire Station # 23 went back to their engines, Harold Connors slowly took one last look at the once majestic church. Then he climbed aboard one of the huge trucks and sat down, murmuring words to the other firefighters who got on. He sat there and felt the surge of the engine as the driver switched on the ignition. It would be a long ride back to the station- but at least he would be going home again.

It was a little past twelve at night when he opened the front door of his house and entered the silent building. He already knew that everyone was sleep, so he took great care to be quiet and not awaken his wife, Rhonda and their two children. Slipping through the kitchen, he briefly switched on the light to hang his coat on the wall and remove his wool sweater. Then he switched the light back off and crept down the hallway towards his bedroom. He knew that he was getting closer- he could practically hear Rhonda snoring in her sleep. Even though she was petite and very beautiful at 24, her snoring could 'wake the dead', as Harold sometimes teased. Their children, 6 year old Mark and 4 year old Marie sometimes complained about it too, but it was normally on those days that he would be home and sneak them into the front room with him to watch late night television programs.

He stopped in the hallway outside of the children's rooms and peeked in on Mark, who was sleeping soundly in his bed and all snuggled into his favorite blanket. Closing the door again, Harold then opened the door to Marie's room and to his surprise, found her sitting up in bed rubbing her eyes.

She looked at her daddy and stretched out her arms, Harold walked to her bed in the dim lighting and picked her up. After kissing his daughter on the cheek, he whispered to her:

"Did I wake you? Did daddy wake his little girl?"

Marie shook her head, looked at him and said very simply, "A voice called me."

Harold mistook this bit of information as her playing with him. So he held her a little higher and looked at her again. He wasn't really sure of what it was that she meant. So he asked another question.

"Huh? Oh- you mean you heard daddy when he came into the house?"

Her answer was still the same. "A voice called me."

Harold placed her back on the bed, and then looked at her again. Marie was prone to her playfulness, at times she was a very bright and bubbly little girl. But the look that he saw on her face this night was one of seriousness. Still, he didn't think much of it- so he kissed her forehead and bade her goodnight.

Just as he was about to close the door to Marie's room, she sat up suddenly and looked at the door. Her swift movement made Harold stop, and he opened the door wider to see his daughter just sitting there with a blank look on her face. They were looking straight at each other, then suddenly Marie got out of the bed and walked up to her father. In the dim light, he could just make out the look of determination on her face. Marie slowly held out her hand.

"Daddy. I want it. I want it." She said.

"What is it that you want?"

"I want it. I want it. Give it to me."

At first, Harold had no idea what she was talking about. Then at that very moment- he put his hand in his pocket and remembered the pendant. But how could she have known that it was there? Still, he pulled it out and placed it on the palm of her tiny hand. Marie looked satisfied, then she marched back across the room to her bed.

Harold Conners watched as his daughter got back into her bed and fell asleep, as if nothing had happened. Then he closed the door to her room and went to his bedroom, thinking to himself about how cold Marie had felt when he'd picked her up in his arms. But right now, he was tired- and everything else beyond that would have to wait until morning...

...when he'd had enough sleep.