"Ben..."

"Huh?" With slight hesitation, a man slowly raised his head, unaware of his current surroundings. He looked around lethargically, and began to lower his head, when suddenly, the voice returned, only sharper.

"BEN!"

"What the hell?" He looked up quickly, seeing blurs of yellow everywhere. A small rub to his eyes adjusted his vision, and he noticed that the lights were candles, and that he seemed to be on his knees. His mind instantly brought him to the conclusion that he was in a church. Slowly, his broken and weary face turned, sweat droplets falling to the ground. He noticed an old, but firm hand on his shoulder. Following it, he found it belonged to Father Shay. The old man seemed feeble, yet somehow, he stood firm. His white collar was easily noticable, contrasting with his black suit.

"Father...did I-?"

"I've told you before, Ben. You're always welcome to stay, but please...next time, call me before you decide to break into the church." Ben turned to see that there were shards of glass on the floor, and a few drips of blood trailed up to the altar, where he noticed that he was bandaged around his arm.

"Shit...I didn't mean to..." He was cut off.

"Ben, please. Language."

"I respect you as a man, Father. But you can't fool yourself any longer. You're talking to no one..."

"That seems quite hypocritical coming from you...have you noticed yet that you are on your knees?" The old man laughed, taking his hand from Ben's shoulder. Ben stood, tediously, as he seemed a bit tipsy. He was a tall man, at six-foot two, and his shaggy, untrimmed beard made him look homeless. He towered over the clergyman. "They say that you're the most powerful while on your knees..." Ben chuckled.

"That's what she said..." The man turned, not at all looking pleased. Ben's smirk turned to a frown. "Sorry..."

"Anyways...it seemed as though you had been in a struggle last night. Do you remember anything?"

"All I remember is the fourth tequila...Ha..."

"For once in your life, Mr. Anderson, be serious. What happened?" Ben thought back intently. After much concentration, he found an answer.

"The figure...he was...he told me..."

"Yes..." Shay seemed impatient.

"Nevermind...it's not important." However, that was not the case at all. The minor details in his mind were still a bit fuzzy, but he kept the rest to himself.

"Ben, I already have an appointment scheduled with Doctor Conroy. You have to stop this, Ben. It can't go on any longer..."

"That's where you have it wrong, Father. I've had help in the past. Well, I wouldn't call it help, per se, more like five hundred dollars wasted on a supposed 'help' session that didn't do a GODDAMNED THING!"

"BEN!" Shay snapped. "We do not take the lord's name in vain! And as for your problem, just give in to him. He will guide you...he will help you find a way..."

"Pshh...You keep fooling yourself. God doesn't exist, Matt. If he did, then why would he have let that fucker cross the yellow line and kill your daughter?"

"Everything has a reason, Ben. I assure you she's in a better place, free of those who find themselves addicted to the awful toxins the Earth has to offer, like alcohol."

"If you consider ten feet in the fucking ground a better place, then you're finally right on something, dipshit." Ben, began walking away, but suddenly dropped to his knees screaming in agony. The pastor rushed over to him, helping him to stand. "Get off me," he pushed Matt away. "I don't need your fucking assistance..." As Ben walked away, drops of blood could be seen dripping from his shirt. Father Shay's eyes let a single tear fall, as he knew what had happened. The blood found its way to the floor, and pooled as Ben walked out into the light of day. He disappeared into the street, blending with the others, just civilians, but Shay knew how Ben was different. He would never be the same. Slowly, he approached the altar, making each step careful and deliberate, trying to avoid the blood Ben had left. Shay sighed sorrowfully for whoever it was, as he knew that all this blood was not Ben's alone. Silently, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, his hand shaking as he sat it down. Slowly, it unravelled, revealing a razor-sharp dagger drenched in innocent blood. Engraved into the handle read the word "Benjamin."