The topic of his sermon the day before had been forgiveness-God's infinite and overwhelming power to forgive our sins, regardless of how heinous they might be. Travis Boyette's sins were atrocious, unbelievable, horrific. His crimes against humanity would surely condemn him to eternal suffering and death. At this point in his miserable life, Travis was convinced he could never be forgiven. But he was curious.

"We've had several men from the halfway house," Keith was saying. "I've even held services there." They were in a corner of his office, away from the desk, two new friends having a chat in saggy canvas chairs. Nearby, fake logs burned in a fake fireplace.

"Not a bad place," Boyette said. "Sure beats prison." He was a frail man, with the pale skin of one confined to unlit places. His bony knees were touching, and the black cane rested across them.

"And where was prison?" Keith held a mug of steaming tea.

"Here and there. Last six years at Lansing."

"And you were convicted of what?" he asked, anxious to know about the crimes so he would know much more about the man. Violence? Drugs? Probably. On the other hand, maybe Travis here was an embezzler or a tax cheat. He certainly didn't seem to be the type to hurt anyone.

"Lot of bad stuff, Pastor. I can't remember it all." He preferred to avoid eye contact. The rug below them kept his attention. Keith sipped his tea, watched the man carefully, and then noticed the tic. Every few seconds, his entire head dipped slightly to his left. It was a quick nod, followed by a more radical corrective jerk back into position.

After a period of absolute quiet, Keith said, "What would you like to talk about, Travis?"