It was ten in the morning when I walked on the balcony. I looked at Stanley Peplinski's deserted house and saw Hansen's empty house. I remembered Hansen's words, "An old man fears death more than anything. In his old days, he becomes religious..."

Since I had witnessed Satan, I had prayed to God more than I usually did.

"…and he rarely believes anything which hasn’t got a word God in it."

Yes, I don’t believe what hasn’t His name in it.

"The old man remembers his past days, his crimes, works of his in adulthood and his sins."

All the morning I had been doing the same thing.

"The old man fears that he cannot remember what good he has done for he has got a weak memory. Good things can be forgotten easier than the bad ones."

What good have I done till now? I looked down from there.

"He then begins to think if his sins have outnumbered good deeds."

I climbed the barricade. This time it was very easy for me.

I looked around and took a long breath, "You were right, Ben, I fear my sins. I fear them." I recalled the massacre.

Now all I needed to do for repenting was to take a step in air and let gravity do the rest. I had heard, suicide is an unforgivable sin but killing a guilty accused of unforgivable crime is glory.

I was the one who was responsible for hundreds of innocent deaths – an unforgivable crime in its own. I had taken pride in killing adversaries for all my life but innocent killings had outnumbered my glory.

I couldn’t do justice to the deceased and my sins had outnumbered the glory.

But I still had a chance of removing a guilty man – myself.

"I will not burn in hell for killing myself. I will go to purgatory for having removed an unforgivable sinner." I heard my voice in my head. I was no more desiring of heaven.

"I have done crime and if I punish myself from my life then I will have glory…again." I closed my eyes for about a minute and prayed to God. I remembered the child, Satan, Russian Blue and Dormer.

BEEP!

The sharp sound of horn made me open my eyes. There was a car on the road and a couple of men in there were urging me not to jump.

I won't listen to anyone.

"Father!" a familiar voice filled my ears.

Joey came out of the car in a wheelchair. Father could walk but his son had been paralyzed. I believed it to be price for someone's good. The child had given back my legs but had taken Joey's.

"Father, don’t do what you are up to. I'm back!" he yelled at me.

I was about to take a step –

"Please don’t. We will talk and sort this out. Please don’t."

I have no reason to listen to Joey. He isn't the godly child. I am inches away from leaping.

I paused, thinking Joey isn't the divine child. But he is my own child, "He may not be the divine child but he still is my child." I take a deep breath, still, with no voice coming out of my mouth.