My eyes fluttered open. At the core of my being sat an exhaustion - not that I was weary or anything negative like that. But I was tired in a way that was happy and grateful and warm.

I also had to go to the bathroom.

Carefully, I picked up Radisson's arm from where it was slung across my waist, placing it next to my professor's chest. His hand curled up in response, and he shrank a little away from me in his sleep. Watching him curl up into himself, childishly defensive, I melted a little.

My feet touched the bare wood floor, and a shiver ran through me. The apartment was cold, so cold I was surprised I couldn't see my breath. I padded out of the bedroom and down the hall. In the dark I could see two closed doors. One of them had to be the bathroom. The other would probably be a closet, but at this point, I would take either. A closet might at least have a blanket or a sweater.

Not wanting to awaken Radisson, I turned the knob and opened the door slowly, as quietly as possible. I liked the idea of knowing he lay asleep in the other room.

I should have been uncomfortable, knowing what we'd just done. I should have been filled with disgust, for me and him. But I wasn't. What had happened between us felt good. It felt right. How could it feel so right if God didn't approve? Besides, God didn't intend for us to be perfect. He could forgive a few flaws, as long as I could recognize them.

The open door revealed a square of pure blackness. I fumbled for a light switch, flicking it on.

The blast of cold white light seared my eyes. Closet, not bathroom. Still, I wanted something to cover my bare chest, to keep me warm. But the only thing dangling from a hanger in the tiny closet was a suit made of clear plastic, with a hood in the back and a zipper up the front. Rubbing my arms for warmth, I crouched down to search the cardboard boxes lying on the floor of the closet.

The first box I opened was filled with nothing but paper. Essays and tests from previous classes, I guessed. Some of the writing was really bad, I reflected, more of a scrawl than anything else. Flipping through, I resolved to be a little more careful in the future, to make the lives of my professors and teaching assistants a little easier. I certainly didn't need examples of what not to do to know that I shouldn't turn in anything spattered with dark brown stains.

These couldn't be philosophy essays though. Or at least, not good ones. I wasn't reading closely, but a few contained wild pleas for help. Had Radisson taught a creative writing course in the past? I wondered. With a shrug, I closed that box and moved to the one underneath, dragging it across the floor to lie next to my knees before lifting the lid.

My entire world disappeared in order to focus on the contents of the box.

Pictures. So many pictures. Boys and girls, all my age, all slim and naked like me, lying on the bare mattress in the other room. All asleep.

None of them could have known their pictures were being taken. I felt like I was prying, violating them. But then, these were all in Radisson's closet. He was the one who had done the original violating. I hoped he'd at least asked beforehand whether he could take the pictures. Casting a wary glance back at the bedroom, I hoped he hadn't taken any pictures of me.

I was still sitting on the floor going through his closet though. There was no way to ask him about the pictures, or the people in them, not without revealing what I was doing. He couldn't still be seeing them - could he? Was that why he had this apartment?

As I pored over the photos, the images changed, morphing like an obscene flipbook. It started with handcuffs and zip ties, then there were slashes of red and ribbons of dark membranes I never wanted to see.

Radisson couldn't have taken these. How would he have these photos? He wasn't in any of them, so there was nothing really linking him to them, I told myself. It was clearly the same bedroom - they had to have been left by the apartment's previous owner, or some sort of sick joke.

"It's a shame you had to go snooping," Radisson's voice chided me from the bedroom door. 'But maybe it's my fault. Normally I'm not compelled to fall asleep with my… Pupils."

I jumped, practically throwing the photos from my hand as I scuttled back from the evil box. My feet feeling like foreign objects, I struggled to stand. "Wh-what are - Why do you -" I stammered. "What the heck are these?"

"Really?" Radisson cocked his head, stepping forward deliberately. I noticed he was dressed - how long had he known I was awake? "You see that and you still can't bring yourself to swear?" He shook his head and chuckled. "You really are pure, aren't you?"

I didn't feel pure. Not anymore. But I wasn't concerned with myself right now. "Who are all those people? In the pictures? Are they - " I left the question unfinished, hanging in the air between us.

"What do you think?"

"Oh, God," I gasped, finally grasping what was going on. "Oh, Jesus, no."

"I asked them all," Radisson continued conversationally, all the time edging toward me, backing me up against the wall, "Whether they thought they were going to Heaven, and whether Heaven was better than life on Earth. And what did you think they said?" he asked, slipping back into the role of teacher, quizzing me. "Well?"

"They should've said," I gulped, my lungs burning even as I took rapid breaths, "They should've said that Jesus accepts everyone who accepts Him as their Lord and Saviour."

Radisson's grin widened. "And?" he prompted.

"And this life doesn't compare to the joy you experience from being close to God."

"That's pretty much what they said," Radisson nodded. "So, that leaves us with an interesting philosophical conundrum. Do you think I did them a favour?"

"What?"

"Well, they seemed pretty sure of their chances of getting past Saint Peter. And now they don't have to worry about their crushing student loan debts, so there's that."

"Is this a joke?" I asked. "Did you make those pictures just to give me some philosophy problem that you think will stump me?"

"It's not a joke."

"Then this is a nightmare, or, or, or something, I don't know. This can't be happening."

"This is happening," Radisson told me sternly. "Accept it. And answer my question."

"Or what? Are you gonna kill me if I give the wrong answer?" I shoved Radisson back, finding anger within me that I didn't know I was capable of. All this - every time we'd spoken outside of class, the connection I'd felt with Radisson, the need for his touch - it had all been a lie, just so he could feel like he'd won. Just so he could have me at his mercy and pretend that made him right. "Are you doing this to, what? To hear me say it? God's still not dead, and it doesn't matter if I say it, because that's never gonna change."

Radisson gave a low, throaty chuckle that sent a shiver up my spine. For a fraction of a second I wasn't sure if I enjoyed the feeling. "You really are so pure. But say the words, and I'll leave. You can atone for it later."

I narrowed my eyes. "No."

"It's just three words," Radisson growled. "And I thought God forgives all?"

"I'm not saying it."

Something changed in Radisson's posture, something quick and imperceptible - maybe he'd tensed, maybe a fold had altered itself in his suit. Whatever it was, something in my brain told me, Run. I threw myself to my right, away from the bedroom, just as Radisson lunged.

I fell to the floor, clumsy and off-kilter. Radisson let out that low, mocking chuckle I knew so well.

"Someone's jumpy," he commented.

Scrambling to my feet, I fled to the living room. The door was just a few feet to my right. My escape was right there.

At least, I thought it was, until I tried the knob. Locked. And not with a dead-bolt or a chain or any of the standard locks you see in an apartment. There was a keyhole here for a key I didn't have, set in thick shiny metal, surrounded by the grimy paint of the door. I gave the door another shake out of sheer desperation, considering an attempt to break it down. What else could I do?

"Oh dear," Radisson tut-tutted from behind me. "What now?"

Wild-eyed, I whipped my gaze back to the professor, asking myself the same question. How else could I get out of the apartment? How could I defend myself? Behind Radisson was the Gutenberg Bible - not of much use. Behind that was the kitchen.

Feeling more exposed than I ever had in my life, I leapt onto the garage sale sofa, racing across it, ignoring the spring that poked my foot. I hopped off on the other side, sailing into the kitchen, slapping my hand into the wall to flick the light on. Darkness was Radisson's ally, not mine.

In the light, it only took me a second to locate a set of knives. I grabbed the biggest handle and yanked it out of the holder, turning to brandish it in front of me.

Radisson glared at me from the kitchen doorway. His hair, mussed and matted, nearly obscured his right eye. Now that I knew what he was, he looked truly deranged.

"It really was a shame that you had to snoop," he chided again. "As I said, I don't normally sleep with my… Well, let's just say I haven't been planning to kill you for quite some time. Who knows?" he shrugged, edging forward as if I wasn't pointing a blade at him. "Maybe you would've been the one to finally change my mind."

"Stay back," I warned him, cutting the air a few more times with the weapon in punctuation. "Don't come any closer."

"No," he sighed. "I suppose not. A shame." Without another word, he turned and strode out of the room. After a second, I heard the lock click and the door swing open and then fall shut with a heavy thud.

I held the knife out in front of me like a talisman and watched the kitchen doorway for a very long time. And then I did what I had to do before I called 911.