The warm, crimson-colored blood slowly seeped from the open wound on Gregory's face. Despite the pain he experienced as his salty tears fell into his facial wounds, the heaving anger and pain he felt within was much greater. "How could he do this to me? I'm seventeen years old. Nobody should do this to their child. He's a preacher for God sakes!"

Gregory had so many thoughts racing through his head that he did not notice that his stepmother had entered the room. He turned over on his side as she walked into his room.

"How could you let him do this to me, Mom?"

"G....gr...gre..."

"No! I don't want to hear your sorry excuses! I want answers! Why don't you step in? Do you see what he does to me?" Greg removed the soiled, white towel from his face to reveal the deep gash in his cheek. "Look, just forget it! Get out of my room." Dishearted and grief-stricken, Angela- Greg's stepmother- gathered what was left of her self-esteem and walked out of the room.

Greg, now physically and emotionally weak, reached over to his nightstand, and dialed his best friend's house. Deep within Gregory knew that if he could ever hear Djalan's voice on the phone, everything would be all right.

"Djalan..." With the tone of his voice and the despair evident in his speech, Djalan knew what had happened.

"He's done it again, hasn't he?" Greg was silent. "Man, something has got to be done 'bout this."

"Yeah, I know," Greg retorted, "but who will believe me? What good is it going to do?"

"Any intervention will be better than what you're in right now."

"Nobody's going to convict a preacher like my dad- he's too smart."

"Well you should at least try."

"Djalan, I really don't know what to do... but I've got to do something."

Days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months. The nights became longer and the occurrences became more frequent and intense. Gregory found himself hating his stepmother because she was too spineless to stick her nose in the "family's business," and utterly despising his "loving" father. Often Greg would ponder during church service, while his father was shouting and preaching, how could he act so holy yet abuse his only child so harshly. Could God have forgotten about him? Why was God allowing this to happen to him? Was there truly a God?

==========

The ride home from Angela's job to the quaint, little home was about ten minutes, but for some strange reason, it took longer on this night. A combination of the heavy thunder storm and an unexpected detour made her arrive home ten minutes later than normal.

Angela made her way through the pounding rain, shielded by a cheap "I Love Jesus" umbrella. Frustrated and wet, she stuck her oblong key in the door lock, twisted it slightly to the left, and turned the door knob. As she dropped her umbrella beside the door, she beheld Greg standing behind his father, sleeping in his car, with a gun behind his left ear.

"Greg NO!!!!!!!"

BANG! BANG! BANG! The warm, dead body of Rev. E. Christopher Walker fell to the carpeted floor. Greg, still traumatized from his father's nightly beating, dropped the pistol atop his father's corpse. With his shirt soaked with tears of frustration and sweat of anxiety, Greg walked towards his mother, his arms out stretched, and his heart full of remorse.

It was not long after Angela made a call to the local "911" that the Walkers' perfect home was transformed into a hustling-and-bustling crime scene. The busy paramedics- the unnerved coroner- the investigative cops all seemed to be a dream to Greg, who was silently sitting in the back of the squad car.

Djalan walked up to the police car, attempting to find something worthwhile to say. Greg turned and looked with tears in his eyes and simply mouthed through the window: "I had to do something." Djalan balled up his fist, struck his chest thrice, and walked away.

============

Ten years later- December 18th- at 11:54 pm, the chaplain, warden, and three security guards escorted Greg down the narrow walkway towards the execution chamber. Finally Greg's day was here. After submitting appeal after appeal, Greg had run out of options; he had to die.

Two technicians strapped his arms into the gurney and injected an IV into each arm. The warden asked for his last public statement. Greg began: "Ten years ago when I murdered my father, I could not understand how a man so holy could be so wrong. Through my studying of the Bible, I found that we are daily dipped in sin, yet God will forgive us.

Djalan, thanks for always being there..." Overwhelmed with grief and anger, Djalan with tears streaming down his face, silently walked out of the room. How could he stand there and watch his only true friend be executed? It was as if his heart was being ripped from his chest.

"Mom, I'm sorry for all the pain I caused you. I never meant for it to go this far. God, I'm on my way." Greg closed his eyes, never to be opened again. The execution began the procedure-- in a matter of moments, Gregory Christopher Walker was dead.