He ran through the night without direction. His feet fell hard and fast against the mirror of wet pavement. Drops of cold rain ran down his cheeks but he paid no attention. If he stopped running they would kill him. He was fifteen years old and had no wish to die.

The end of the block was obscured in darkness and mist. Anything could be lying in wait for him there but the unknown was a better choice than surrendering to the monsters who chased him.

A cathedral-a fortress of stone and iron-loomed. All of the windows were dark. Any priest with common sense would have the doors tightly locked at this hour, in this neighborhood.

There was no way he'd be able to keep up this pace long enough to get away. They'd find a car. They'd track him down.

Was that a man, standing on the steps of the church?

The boy faltered. If they had already gotten in front of him, there was nowhere left to run.

The man's gaze fell on him. He seemed suddenly surprised and then he called out. "Come inside. You'll be safe here."

Not so far away the drone of an engine being pushed hard could be heard. The boy ran up the wide steps and through the ornate wooden door being held open for him. Headlights appeared around the corner and the door slammed shut. Both of them stood there for a moment, silent, breathing hard, waiting in total darkness for the danger to pass.

And it did.

A shuffle of footsteps indicated that the man had moved and there was a sudden light from the left. "This room has no windows. We can sit in here for a while."

The boy hesitated.

"It's OK. I promise you're safe here."

The room that they were in was a perfect rectangle. Wooden shelves covered the walls and expensive-looking books filled every inch of space. There was a large conference table in the middle of the room with high-backed chairs all around it.

"Are you thirsty?"

The boy nodded. He was only just now catching his breath. How far had he run? Twelve blocks? Twenty? Gratefully, he accepted the can of soda that had been taken from a small refrigerator in the corner and sat down near one end of the table. "Are you a priest?"

"No. Just a sinner, saved by grace." The man sat down as well. "Do you want to talk about what happened?"

The boy shook his head. He drank deeply and tried to suppress the resulting burp.

"I wasn't expecting to be in this neighborhood tonight. I see, now, why God put me here. I lived here when I was a teenager, too."

"It was probably different then," the boy mumbled.

The man chuckled a little, but there seemed to be a sadness in his eyes, even as he laughed. "No. Not really. Have you lived here a long time?"

"No. We just came here. My mom took off with some guy. Dad said there'd be work in the city."

"Let me guess. He wasn't talking about the factory."

The boy shook his head and, without warning, burst into tears. He had tried to hold them back but they would not be denied. Grief and horror ripped at his heart. He buried his face in his arms and sobbed like he hadn't done since he could remember. A high-pitched keening wail tore from his throat. His entire body convulsed with the dread of what he'd seen.

It was a long time before he even realized that the man had put his arm around him and he was crying against a stranger's chest. He pulled away and attempted several deep breaths in an effort to get control of his emotions again.

There was a box of tissues in the middle of the table. The man pulled it close and the boy blew his nose. He swiped at the tears with the back of his hand.

"They killed my dad. They killed him right in front of me and I ran away."

"You did the right thing. They would have killed you too."

"They still will. They'll find me. They'll never let me live. I could testify against them."

"For the murder, and for other things as well, I'd be willing to bet. You've seen too much for one so young."

The boy shrugged.

"You have to call the police, you know."

He jumped from his chair so quickly that it tipped, on the verge of falling, before landing safely upright once more. "You said you grew up here!" Fury had replaced grief and he embraced it. Fury was less painful. "Were you lying or are you just stupid? They own the cops. Hell! The cop will probably shoot me when he gets here just to earn their favor. He'll get away with it too. The mayor will give him a fucking medal for ridding the city of another gang banger."

The man stood and found a notepad and pen on one of the shelves. He sat down again and wrote a name and phone number. He hesitated and then added a second name and number. The sound of the ripping paper was absurdly loud in the silent room when he pulled it from the pad. He slid it to the boy's seat, though the boy was now in the opposite corner, back against the wall like a frightened wild animal.

"Don't call the police department. Call this man. Sargent Novak is a good man. He'll listen to you and he'll keep you safe. After you talk to him, call Robert. Tell him," he paused, a frown crossing his brow. "Tell him that a boy he once helped gave you this number. Tell him you need to disappear. He'll make that happen for you. Know this, though, he'll expect you to live a different kind of life. He'll demand hard work at school and at home. He's the fairest and most generous man I've ever known, but he can be hard."

"Why would they help me? How can I live a different kind of life? I am what I am. I'm not worth nothing to nobody."

The man smiled, gently. "I thought the same thing about myself, at your age. Do you know what they teach in this place?"

"Yeah. They say that you can't have no fun or you'll go to Hell."

"They teach that you were created, unique and wonderful, by a God who loves you more perfectly than any human father ever could. The priest could show you in the Bible where it says that every human who has ever lived has sinned and fallen short of the possibilities that God gave them, but God loves every one of those humans anyway. He loves without limit or judgement."

"I've sinned more than other people. I've done things that are unforgivable."

"Jesus was nailed to a cross and left to die unjustly. He looked at the people who did that to him and offered them forgiveness."

"I can't be some kind of Bible-thumper."

"Can you be an asset to this world? Given the chance, are you man enough to make yourself part of the solution instead of part of the problem?"

"I don't know," the boy answered very quietly.

"I believe you can. Call Robert. He'll help you."

"Who are you, anyway? Why are you doing all this for me?"

The man leaned back in his chair and sighed. Again, that air of sadness seemed obvious. "Someone helped me once. I believe I was brought here tonight to do this for you."

"What do you mean? Who brought you here?"

The man stood and went, again, to the shelf where he'd gotten the notepad. He picked up a cordless phone and set it on the table next to the paper he'd written on. "Call Sargent Novak. You won't regret it, I swear. I'll give you some privacy."

It was a long time before the boy moved at all. So many thoughts competed for his attention that he could barely latch onto a single one before it was gone. In time, though, it became obvious that one thought was more powerful than any of the others. I want to live. He walked back to his chair and sat down, picked up the phone and dialed the officer's number.

He never saw the man who'd helped him again. Novak had listened to him for hours. He'd spilled every bit of information he knew. If he was going to get away, keeping secrets was no way to start a new life. If they found him they'd kill him no matter what. There seemed to be nothing to lose and everything to gain by telling the truth.

The officer had made a few calls and the boy had been whisked out of town, to a place where the authorities were not corrupted by the money and guns of the local gangs.

Robert had been as generous as promised. Without a word of protest he'd made a room available for the boy. In time, he took legal custody, enrolled him in school and put him to work in his shop. Every Sunday, Robert would wake him and, together, they would walk to the little white church in the heart of the tiny town they lived in. Together they listened to words of hope and renewal.

It was that church where the boy learned the meaning of redemption and came to understand that he'd experienced such a miracle in its most pure form. That was the church where he met the prettiest girl he'd ever seen. That was the church where he married her, and it was the church where they baptized their baby boy.

The boy who had run from certain death lived to be a man. His life was average. He worked. He played. He traveled and read good books. He was unfailingly faithful to his wife and dedicated to teaching his son how to be a good man. In its normalcy, his life was extraordinary. Every day was a gift and he never failed to be grateful for it.

Years passed and he found himself in a clean white room, surrounded by machines that never stopped making noise. His wife held one hand and his son held the other and he wept with love for them as he slipped from pain into the blessed relief of darkness.

And then, growing from the darkness, he saw a faint light. Walking toward it, he realized he was a little cold. The light was obscured by a mist that surrounded him. He didn't know where he was, but he felt no fear. A peace that surpassed all understanding held firm in his heart. His body felt stronger and more steady than it had in a very long time. He took a deep breath of the chilly air and felt tiny drops of water against his face. As he continued toward the light, shapes became visible though the haze. He stopped and looked around.

Before him, a rain-damp city street gleamed like a mirror in the glow of the streetlights. There were shops and restaurants across the way. All were closed at this late hour, the lights dimmed, the doors and windows barred against would-be thieves and vandals. The place seemed familiar, but he couldn't quite name it. He turned, studying his surroundings. He stood at the top of a wide stone staircase. Massive oak doors with cast iron fittings loomed behind him. In the distance, he heard the slap of sneakers, falling hard and fast against the wet pavement. Someone was racing toward him.

Surprise washed over him, along with instant understanding. He turned in the direction of the noise and called out, "Come inside. You'll be safe here."