Set Voland--a homeless young man who attacked a child in the midst of hallucinations--has been caught by the police and sent to a psychiatric hospital. There, he's stricken by a meeting with a Shining White Being who will completely overturn his lif...
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"Confused what I thought with something I felt,
Confused what I feel with something that's real,
I tried to sell my soul last night.
Funny, he wouldn't even take a bite."
Kongos, Come With Me Now.
Experience had taught Set not to trust pushers who wouldn't show their junk. Priests were the worst dealers—selling stuff none could see or taste.
Even so, people loved being on the right side, and churches split the world in good and evil. Their holy scriptures vomited virtue, sins, and demons. They gave anybody who followed their rules the right to be right.
Who would pick the word of a hobo over a priest's? Not even Sybil Vain.
It still hurt.
Left alone on the terrace, Set gritted his teeth. His eyes moist, he squinted at the silent living room. The thought of smashing some furniture crossed his head, pushing his foot one step closer to the glass door.
Set couldn't care less about being on the right side. His understanding of peace and salvation was much simpler than that. He'd found a way to have a decent life, and he'd do anything to keep it as it was.
He swore under his breath and stopped there. Lost to the passing of time, he stared blankly at his own feet until Sybil's face popped up in his mind—with his magnetic eyes and innocent smile.
Set snorted in annoyance and ran his hands over his face. He had no idea how to deal with his need to be reassured. His feverish fingers dipped into his hair and pulled at them as he crumbled to the floor. A shiver ran up his spine when the cool wood hit his back, but the memory of how he'd lost his shirt brought a flush of hot blood to his face. It took him more than a minute to get rid of the image of Sybil dipped in the bathtub.
There was no way such a godlike being took an actual interest in him. Still, Set could no longer deny the obvious. He was drawn to Sybil Vain like a stupid insect to a burning streetlight. Another cuss escaped him.
Trying to rip the thought off his mind, he repeatedly hit the back of his head against the terrace floor. The action only earned him a dull pain. Disheartened, Set gave up and dropped his arms to his sides. His nostrils flared as he took in a sharp breath.
His mind wandered relentlessly, picturing Sybil as he walked alongside the priest. His hands itched to punch the guy, but he couldn't. He slapped the wooden flooring.
Knowing his only option was waiting, stirred in him an irrational terror.
He jerked up and walked to the fridge, hoping that alcohol would help silence his mind. His eager gaze scanned its inside. Among natural mineral water and fresh juices, stood a single bottle of fine Italian wine. Set sighed and grabbed it before heading back to the terrace.
