THE PRIEST OF SANTA MARIA

The man hastened into the shadows to be swallowed by the darkness. The guilt of what he was now a party to gnawed at his intestines as he walked. It rose to his head, and the world took a disorienting spin as his chest laboriously heaved to catch a breath. He managed to reach the end of the road where he dropped to the ground--his heart thumping and his face hot with fear. He had knpwn the Attars for four years since their arrival from Switzerland, and they had always treated him with the generosity and repect he had never known from the other tenants. To them, he was a man, not a menial servant. Don Primo's threats had been persuastive. An offer he could not refuse. He rubbed the sweat from his forehead and noticed the blood money protruding from his pocket. In a disgusted rage, he tossed it to the ground and stood up with his fits clenched. 

THE ABRUPT RING FROM - his bedside table startled Kurush from his dreams. He scrambled for the phone as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. A muffled voice saturated with dread heeded its warning down the phone. Get out of the flat, now. Avoid the lift. Alberto is that you? The phone went dead. Kurush remained in his bed, the receiver still in his hand and the hypnotic dead tone dulling his senses. Frya entered his room.                                                                                                                                            

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