Prodigal Son

day.
        Having missed breakfast and then lunch, he grows hungry as the day progresses. Considering his accomplishments to this point, he can endure a little hunger.
        At Mercy, Randal's untouched meals will alert the staff to his absence, though perhaps not for a while. Sometimes, when particularly deep in autistic detachment, he leaves a meal untouched for hours. He has been known to eat both breakfast and lunch an hour before dinner-then leave his dinner until near midnight.
        Before departing Mercy, he closed his bathroom door. They may think that he is in there.
        From time to time, people toss bags of trash and loose objects into the bin. The top of the big Dumpster is over their heads, so they cannot easily look in and see him.
        Sometimes the trash strikes him, but it's never a problem. When the people leave, Randal pushes the new stuff away and re-establishes his cozy nest.
        Midafternoon, a man singing "King of the Road" approaches along the alley. He can't carry a tune.
        Judging by the sound, he's pushing some kind of cart. The wheels clatter on the cracked pavement.
        Between lines of the song, the cart-pusher grumbles incoherent chains of four-letter words, then resumes singing.
        When this man stops at the Dumpster, Randal Six puts aside his puzzle book and pen. Instinct tells him that there may be trouble.
        Two grimy hands appear at the rim of the bin. The singer takes a grip, grunts and curses as he clambers up the side of the Dumpster.
        Balanced on the edge of the big container, half in and half out, the man spots Randal. His eyes widen.
        The guy is perhaps in his thirties, bearded, in need of a bath. His teeth are crooked and yellow when he reveals them to say "This here's my territory, asshole."
        Randal reaches up, grabs the man by his shirtsleeves, pulls him into the Dumpster, and breaks his neck. He rolls the dead body to the farther end of the container and covers it with bags of trash.
        In his corner once more, he picks up the puzzle book. He turns to his page and finishes spelling derangement.
        The dead man's cart stands near the Dumpster. Eventually someone might notice it and wonder about its owner.
        Randal will have to deal with the problem if and when it arises. Meanwhile, crosswords.
        Time passes. Clouds darken the sky. Although still warm, the day grows cooler.
        Randal Six is not happy, but he is content, at ease. Later, he will be happy for the first time.
        In his mind's eye is the city map, his route to happiness, the O'Connor house at the end of the journey, his guiding star.

CHAPTER 87
        
        BECAUSE OF THEIR fine-tuned metabolism, members of the New Race did not easily become drunk. Their capacity for drink was great, and when they did become inebriated, they sobered more quickly than did those of the Old Race.
        Throughout the day, Father Duchaine and Harker opened bottle after bottle of communion wine. This use of the church's inventory troubled the priest both because it was in effect a misappropriation of funds and because the wine, once blessed, would have become the sacred blood of Christ.
        Being a soulless creature made by man but charged with religious duty, Father Duchaine had over the months and years grown ever more torn between what he was and what he wished to be.
        Regardless of the moral issue of using this particular wine for purposes other than worship, the alcoholic content of the brew was less than they might have wished. Late in the afternoon, they began to spike it with Father Duchaine's supply of vodka.
        Sitting in armchairs in the rectory study, the priest and the detective tried for the tenth-or perhaps the twentieth-time to pull the most troubling thorns from each other's psyches.
        "Father will find me soon," Harker predicted. "He'll stop me."
        "And me," the priest said morosely.
        "But I don't feel guilty about what I've done."
        "Thou shalt not kill."
        "Even if there is a God, His commandments can't apply to us," said Harker. "We're not His children."
        "Our maker has also forbidden us to murder… except on his instructions."
        "But our maker isn't God. He's more like… the plantation owner. Murder isn't a sin… just disobedience."
        "It's still a crime," said Father Duchaine, troubled by Harker's