Together they whispered those greatest of words in human speech, those words that have bound heaven to earth in yearning and in hope for these two thousand years.
“Don't move, Barry,” whispered his father. “I like you there.”
With their faces thus together they fell asleep.
Barry was awakened by his father's voice, clear and strong.
“Are you there, Barry?” it said.
“Here, dad, right here!”
“Good boy. Good boy. You won't leave me, Barry. I mean you don't need to go?”
“No, dad, I'll never leave you.”
“Good boy,” again murmured his father softly. “Always a good boy, always, always—”
He was breathing heavily, long deep breaths.