anything tonight?” Vair asked as she ran a detangler over her hair.
“Maybe. I could use a trip to the beach.” I pulled out a slip of yellow paper: a receipt from the coffee house in Dynamic Reality. Where normally a list of food items would be printed, there was handwritten text instead:
“It is written that those who seek shall find, and that they should do so with a humble heart, because those who are raised up will be humbled and those who are humbled will be raised up. But it is not by your own understanding that you will be emancipated from the sin you now see, but by a gift you cannot earn.
“On your acceptance of this gift, your every imperfection will be forgotten, and you will retain no rightful cause for grief or fear of death. All that is in your past, including the very worst acts, will be blotted out permanently, and the Brandon Dauphin who serves will be free to flourish. The price of salvation is high; but my grace is higher. Seek me and find me.”
Below the text, it was signed: “The son of a programmer.”
With it came a leather-bound book. A note was taped on top of it: “Infectious.”
My eyes darted back to the slip of paper, scanning every word repeatedly, unable to believe what I was reading. Raskob – the good Raskob – the child – he was – he was…
On the very bottom of the slip, beneath the green print confirming that the bill had been paid in full, I found four words that paralyzed me, and