The elderly man wiped away tears as the music box in his late daughter’s room ran down. He stared at the shelf of her toys. She was so young and so devoted to the blue-eyed doll the day she died.

Mercy, his fogged memories told him. Mercy was the name of the doll. As the man slowly bent his knees, joints complaining, he clasped his hands. “Oh God,” prayed the man, “Why did you not show mercy? Why did you take my Suzanna?”

Jonas opened his soul and waited for some sign that God was listening. As always, all he felt now was silence. This void in his soul was why he had left the clergy back then.

Wrath surged through the thin, gaunt, frame. Wrath against an uncaring world. Wrath against a spiteful God. With a lurch Jonas rose to his feet, mind a blank. As his arm swept the reminder of his past off the shelf.

The shattering of fragile porcelain brought a measure of sanity to his senses. He looked down to see one unshattered, accusing, blue eye staring at him surrounded by the remains of a priceless antique.