own scream. The wet sheets felt like moss beneath his feet as he stood up on the bed, surrendering to instinct, and removed the crucifix from the bedroom wall. Grasping it tight in his uncallused hand, he forced himself to stare at the image of the sacrificed Messiah until the metamorphosis of evil would consume him. When nothing happened, he ran down the hall to the bathroom to see the reflection of his eyes, wondering if they would still cry blood. They were white with innocence. Henry bounded up the stairs to his parents’ bedroom.

"Look at me!" he screamed, bursting through their doorway. "Look into my eyes. Tell me I am not the Devil! Tell me I am not the Devil!" He was waving his arms frantically, still clutching the crucifix so tightly now that the body o...

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