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Mal had approached the school slowly. His nerves were frayed. He was shaking. Sweating. He did as he was told, though. He found room 315 and looked into the small glass window criss-crossed with wire mesh. Inside the room stood a small woman, hair pulled back into a tight bun, tiny glasses slipped slightly down her cute, upturned nose. She was leaning back against the front of her desk as she stared down her glasses into a book. Mal could see her lips moving, and through the door he could hear a slight murmur as her voice brought to life the fantasy winter world that lay beyond the back of a wardrobe. The students were enthralled by the adventures of young children, like themselves, and of a powerful lion. They grew to hate the witch as they learned the difference between a hero and a villain—between good and evil.

And as Mal watched the teacher lick her finger and turn a page in the book, he felt his hand slowly reach out, grab the doorknob and turn it. He did it so quietly that no one in the class even noticed him enter the room until he was almost in. No one looked concerned, no one screamed. This was another time when fears didn’t run rampant through the minds of everyone—a time when villains were on TV and in the movies and nestled deep within the pages of a book. Evil was a witch that gave small boys Turkish Delight. At least for those children it was…until that day.

Only minutes before, the last thing Mal wanted to do was kill this woman. But as he watched her through the window he felt something take over his body, his mind. He remembered watching her read and the next thing he knew he was behind her, hand over her mouth and knife to her throat. Then the screams followed. They were deafening and assaulted his senses and sent him into motion. He sliced the knife deep and fast across Mrs. Burnsfield’s pale white throat. And as the blood sprayed, hot and fast across the first couple of kids sitting in the front off the class, all the sounds around him disappeared. Instead of the assault of fourth-grader screams Mal heard pure silence. It was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. He looked out at the students, all scrambling to get away from the big bad man that just hurt their teacher. Where was the talking lion? Where was the hero? And for all the commotion and mouths open, straining to release the loudest screams possible, Mal heard nothing. He felt the warm blood from the now dead Mrs. Burnsfield run down his arms and meld with his flesh. And for the first time in his life Mal felt…peace. Bringing death had brought Mal…peace.

Was this a taste of what Gregory had promised him? Because if it was, and it was only a taste, then he would continue to do this until his time had come and he was able to walk into the warm embrace of eternal salvation—into pure bliss.

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