"A break in the gloom." Father Mulcahy whispers, cheer stricken from his voice.
He sighs and orders a beer. Nearby the doctors are laughing, working to forget why their fronts are splattered red and their priest had to give the Last Rites seven times in one day. He wishes he could do the same.
The beer arrives and he picks it up, only to set it back down again.
"If you'll excuse me," he says to no one, for no one is listening, "I believe I'll turn in."
And he quickly leaves, weary and exhausted from the pain and sorrow.