PROLOGUE

His measured footsteps made no sound on the shiny, linoleum-covered floor of the hushed hospital ward. He walked, unhurried, toward the room where she lay. Night had fallen a few hours earlier and the only sounds came from the occasional cough or groan from a patient and the muted murmur of voices from the skeleton nursing staff rostered on the evening shift. He’d passed right by them on his way to the ward. They stood in a huddle at the nurses’ station, engrossed in catching up on the latest gossip, the latest scandal on TV—anything but the patients in their care.

It wasn’t a reflection of their nursing ability. They were among some of the hospital’s best. But by that time of the evening, most patients had been made comfortable for the night and were asleep, or close to it. It was no accident that he’d chosen this time to be there.

He rounded the corner. Ever careful, he snuck a look over his shoulder, just to be certain. The way was clear. He drew in a deep breath and did his best to steady the persistent thump of his heart. The anticipation of what was to come sent a fresh wave of excitement thudding through his veins and despite his attempt to calm his thoughts, his pulse leaped forward again.

He’d been given a sign from God and the sign was crystal clear. There was no doubt in his mind what needed to be done and he was pleased to have been trusted with the task. He’d been handpicked by God to carry out His wishes and the thought of ending the dying woman’s suffering filled him with immeasurable joy.

The woman in question shuddered and moaned in the bed, even in her sleep. He’d done all he could to ease her pain, but short of increasing her dosage of morphine until she was unconscious, there was nothing more he could do. That was, until God had given him the sign. That had changed everything. Soon, very soon, Frances Daniels would find everlasting peace.

At sixty-eight, Frances was dying from terminal cancer. It had started in her lungs and had quickly spread to several parts of her body. In the beginning, they’d tried a combination of chemo and radiotherapy, but nothing seemed to work. No one wanted to admit defeat, but the medical team were fast losing hope.

Now he stared down at the woman, thin and pale against the twisted cotton sheets. She stirred restlessly, almost as if she could sense him and his purpose for being there. Renewed anger surged through him at the pain God had inflicted upon her. It wasn’t right that He gave her this awful cross to bear. It wasn’t right that He made her suffer.

All of a sudden, it wasn’t Frances, but his mother lying there. Muttering and moaning in her sleep with a pain that even the strongest of sedatives couldn’t touch. And he, no more than a child, helpless and weighed down by sadness, stood by and watched her die. Slowly, painfully, each breath a ragged whisper, she died with an anguish no child should have witnessed. The familiar feelings of helplessness and loss washed over him and he closed his eyes against the pain.

“No!” he whispered, his voice harsh in the silence of the room. “I’m no longer that helpless child. I won’t stand by again. God has given me His orders. It’s up to me to end this woman’s pain.”

He stepped closer to the bed and reached into his pocket, retrieving the vial he’d brought with him. His movements were tender when he gently shook Frances awake. She opened her eyes with a start and blinked, unsure for a moment where she was and then she smiled.

“Oh, it’s you. I thought you would have left long ago. You work too hard.” She smiled through the pain that had been with her for far too long and his lips turned up in response. He let the joy of what was to come flood through him once again. Soon, she’d feel so much better. Soon, there’d be no pain.

“Frances, God has sent me to do his bidding. I’m here to set you free.” He brought the vial closer and held it beneath her nose.

She frowned in confusion and turned her head away. He followed the movement, keeping his hand firmly in place. She breathed and coughed and breathed again and he made sure she inhaled what he held. When he was certain it was enough, he carefully sealed the vial and slipped it back into his pocket.

“Doctor—”

“Shh, Frances. It’s okay. Everything’s going to be perfect. You’ll see.” He smiled down at her again and whispered, “It’s time to meet your Maker.”