Cheryl Figgins and the chaplain stopped at the front desk of the infirmary. The overweight guard sitting at the desk nonchalantly wrote one last word on a crossword puzzle before looking up to acknowledge them. “Yeah...can I help you?” “We’ve come to check on Inmate Morgan...” Cheryl stated with forced friendliness. “What is his condition and may we see him?” “Don’t know and don’t care.” The guard focused his attention back on his crossword puzzle as he pointed toward a door. Cheryl looked from the officer to the chaplain. “Shall we?” The chaplain nodded and led the way through the doors into the ward. Tim was lying in a fetal position on a bed and seemed oblivious to his visitors. Tim...it’s me, Ms. Figgins...we’ve come to see how you’re doing?” Tim did not move. The chaplain moved closer, putting his hand on Tim’s shoulder and spoke in a compassionate tone. “Son, I know it’s been hard, but I think you’d feel better if would talk to someone.” Tears streamed from Tim’s eyes and then he began to sob. “They were trying to help him and he killed them! How could someone do this?” Tim turned over just enough to look the chaplain in the eyes. “How could he?” The chaplain looked at the floor and shook his head. “I don’t know...I don’t know.” Suddenly Tim’s face contorted and he shouted, “Get out! Just get out and leave me alone!” The chaplain and Cheryl left the ward. As they came through the door, they were met by Dr. Miller, the prison psychiatrist. Dr. Miller extended his hand to the chaplain. “So padre, what’s your feeling on all of this?” The chaplain inhaled deeply. “I don’t know what to think. He didn’t want to talk to us. What’s your prognosis? Is he going to get through this?” “Well, he’ll get over this grief eventually. I don’t think he’s suicidal, but I’m a little more worried about how he’ll deal with the police.” Cheryl looked surprised. “The police?” Dr. Miller nodded. “Yes, they’ve already been in touch with the Investigator...they want to question him.” “About what?” asked Cheryl.. The chaplain looked at Cheryl. “I think when something like this happens they have to question everyone. I’m sure it’s just standard procedure.” Dr. Miller shrugged. “Yeah, I’m sure it is too. It’s just the timing that I’m worried about...hopefully he’ll be okay. This was a very big trauma.” “Yes, and I know he was so close to them. We’ve talked about them many times.” Cheryl added. “What a horrible thing to have happen, especially when you’re trying to help someone!” Scott McWilliams lifted his head from the bar. “Hey...give me another one.” he slurred. The bartender hesitated and then grabbed a bottle from the bottom shelf. He poured the whisky into a glass and placed it in front of McWilliams. “What’s your problem, buddy?” Grabbing the glass awkwardly, McWilliams took a drink, missing his mouth at first attempt. “Problem? I got no problem...life is good.” “Oh yeah, that’s why you’re trying to drink yourself to death.” the bartender said sarcastically. “That’s what you think...I’m celebrating. The bartender looked at him with curiosity. “Yep...I killed a couple of people in Ohio...so life is good.” The bartender had shock is written on his face, but McWilliams did not notice. “It was easier than I thought it would be...I just aimed the gun and pulled the trigger. Only bad thing was he didn’t die right away, I had to shoot him again a few times. Damn old coot really resisted. Hey, give me another drink.” McWilliams downed the end of his drink. The bartender hesitated and then picked up his glass. “Hang on...I gotta get another bottle from the back.” The bartender left the area and went to the back room. He picked up a new bottle of whisky and the phone and dialed 911. He returned to the front and placed another drink in front of McWilliams. “There you go, my friend.” McWilliams grinned and swallows the drink straight down. “Cheers.” He laid his head down on the bar, then glanced up at the bartender. “Mind if I rest my eyes for a minute?” “Nah, go ahead.” A few minutes later, the police entered the bar and arrested McWilliams.