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assault and backed away.
    â€œIt’s because of people like him that this country is in this mess,” he said. “Did I kill him?”
    â€œNo, but you killed his daughter, and you’re going to pay.”
    The news sobered the prisoner. But gradually a smile spread over Teague’s lips. “Maybe that’s even better,” he said. “He can suffer for the rest of his life for his treachery.”
    â€œThat was my twin sister you killed. She was my best friend. When you shot her, you killed a part of me too. That’s why I came after you. That’s why I couldn’t leave it alone.”
    Robert turned to go, then hesitated. “Did you ever stop to think,” he said, “that it’s you who’s going to rot in hell, you son of a—?”
    He stopped himself, shocked at what had been on his lips.
    He turned again and left the cell, wondering where such an outburst had come from.
    By the time the deacon arrived at police headquarters, Robert was on his way home. Heyes asked the church leader if he would bring two or three reliable members of the congregation, in addition to himself, who would be willing to look at the prisoner and see if he was the man who had shot up their church and killed their minister’s daughter.
    They came the following morning. All four identified Teague with absolute certainty. Teague’s volley of hateful accusations and threats confirmed the likelihood of their testimony, and his final, I should have shot you all! was not loston Heyes nor any of the rest of those listening. It did, however, unnerve the church people with concern that, if he should ever get out, he might come after them.
    By the end of the second day, Heyes was ready to admit that young Robert Paxton was not the crazy kid he had taken him for.
    In the weeks that followed, Robert was viewed as almost a celebrity by the people of the church and as a hero in the Baltimore papers. In the midst of the devastation of the tragedy, his heroic actions helped everyone begin the long process of getting on with life. If the terrible question of why remained unanswered from an eternal perspective, at least temporal justice could be carried out.
    All involved began putting it behind them. All, that is, except Robert Paxton. His struggle with conscience was only beginning. He was too young and too confused by it all to be put on such a pedestal of acclaim by the boys of the church. Even Detective Heyes was singing his praises. As word spread about what had happened, that a dangerous murderer had been arrested by a seventeen-year-old minister’s son, requests for newspaper interviews became regular.
    In his own mind, however, Robert was far from at peace.
    He did not question what he had done. But he now began to question why he had done it. Were his motives as honorable as his actions were being lauded? His very celebrity status forced him to look inward and realize that revenge and anger had driven him, not virtue or heroism. There was also the matter of his outburst in Teague’s cell to contend with. From what cesspool inside him had that come! To talk to a man of God’s creation about his soul rotting in hell . . . what a horrible thing to say! He was God’s witness to the man! Yet what had come out of his mouth but hateful venom?
    A gloom slowly settled upon him. He began questioning his very faith itself. How real was it anyway? He had not prayed once since the moment of the shooting. He had actedwith the base instinct of fleshly anger. He had not once thought of Damon Teague as a man, but only as a villain, an enemy, something less than human.
    The incident placed a mirror in front of his soul. He saw things that disgusted him. How noble was vengeance as a motive for action? Why had such malice unexpectedly risen within him? When the moment of crisis had come, had faith carried him through, or the desire for revenge? He knew the answer well enough.
    During his brief