Mister is standing at a window, watching Vicente’s birth mother disappear down the street.
William Hart is waking up—dizzy—his head spinning like a top. He tries to remember where he is. Yes, in an apartment, yes, a new apartment, and yes, he remembers now, he’d gone out for a drink, and that man had attacked him, hit him and hit him, but there was something familiar—and somehow he’d driven home, though he can’t remember—and yes, he’s remembering cleaning himself up, a loose tooth, blood on his cut lip, the taste of it mixing with the scotch he was drinking to dull the pain. Yes, he remembers now.
The light is disappearing from the room. I have to get the light back in the room. Yes, that is what I have to do. He stumbles to the mirror and sees his face, swollen and ashen. He feels a throbbing in his head, then feels his knees buckle under him. He struggles to stand, but the pain owns him now. He crawls to the door, manages to turn the knob. He pulls himself out into the hallway have to scream for help but he has lost his voice. He lies there, the world spinning—then it slows—then it stops. Everything is so calm. He can hear his own breathing. He looks toward heaven and thinks he sees a boy. That boy, that beautiful boy. That Angel. He’s come for me. The angel of God has come for me at last.
The darkness is gone. He smiles at the light hovering over him. Pray for us, Oh Holy Mother of God, that we may be made worthy of the promises of Christ. Everything is so clear. The light has been looking for him all his life. Finally, it has found him.