“He wants you to think he’s a guy who wears camouflage fatigues around the house. He wants you to think that tonight he got a big headache and heard Jesus tell him he wanted new angels. But that isn’t who he is. He came for one of these people. Just one."
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The face was unchanging, the features relaxed but never in motion, as though there were no such thing as surprise. His was the face of a man in a room by himself. The eyes were different—bright and alert, but without sympathy: they did not veil the fact that they were looking at you but not feeling what you felt.
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Failure was humiliating and brought unwelcome attention, so he avoided trouble by doing his homework and getting good grades.
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He pictured them tugging on the door handle, and sensed a small, amused chuckle. Why was that? They looked funny: pulling on the door, pulling harder, their eyes widening with the bad news.

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