John sits looking openly shocked, waves of disbelief crashing over his face. The truth is too easily stumbled upon, the insanity of innocence. A crime revealed by the cold light of faith.
How much… no, he couldn’t.
Paul is confused by the shock. He expected gentle understanding – could it be that the rift had grown so deep. No, it couldn’t have, “You do believe me?” The words a plea, the look in his eyes a reflection of a lost childhood; the melancholy imploring of puppy dog eyes.
John composes himself, throwing the shake that threatened to enter his voice, “Now, you know I’ve never doubted your word Paul… but… what can we do?” The question more rhetoric than discussive. A look of sadness in his grey eyes.
They sit in awkward silence, quietened by an inability to act, lost in private swirls of thought.
Finally John breaks the silence, “I need to speak to Julia, before she goes out… stay there… we’ll talk some more later… OK?”
Paul just nods
© 1990 & 2006 Andrew M Boylan