The patrol car came to a stop at the curb in front of the Church of Santa Maria. "Vaya con Dios, Sergeant" Father Dominguez addressed the driver before opening the passenger door. "And thanks for the lift."

"Any time, Father," the policeman responded. "Thanks for coming ... even if it was for nothing."

"For that," the priest reminded him, "we should both thank God."

"Yeah, you're right. Well, I'll see you at Sunday Mass. Take care." The policeman pulled away from the curb unhurriedly.

Father Dominguez stood, watching the patrol car drive away. Turning, he briefly considered going into the chapel to offer a prayer - for the Sergeant's safety as well as gratitude for the fact that he had been called out quite unnecessarily that evening.

The front of the building was shrouded by scaffolding - the long overdue renovation of the centuries old Spanish structure was underway at the same time the neighborhood was enjoying a revitalizing gentrification. The scaffolding and work in progress, however, made the front entrance difficult and the side entrance through the small chapel was, temporarily, the best way in and out.

Father Dominguez decided - a last check of the premises would do no harm. Then he could retire to bed. It had been a long day.

The priest walked past the scaffolding and turned into the garden. Over by the lady fountain, he noticed a dark figure huddled on the rim. "Homeless," he wondered. It wasn't completely unknown for a homeless individual to seek shelter in the church yard. "Actually," he reminded himself, "it's very much in the tradition of the church."

Then the figure moved, rising from the fountain rim and walking toward him.

"Excuse me," the figure addressed him hesitantly. "Ah, are you a priest?"

"Yes, my son," Father Dominguez mentally prepared himself for whatever request might be forthcoming. It seemed that his evening wasn't over ... not yet.

"Could ... could we talk to you for a moment," The voice was young and spoke of fear in every word.

The priest looked around quickly, seeing no one, then turned his attention back to his questioner. "Is there someone with you?"

"Uh, yeah, kind of ... uh, that's part of it ..." The speaker was small - or young at least - and wore a jacket and a backpack. While his face was in shadow, his hair and haircut suggested an anglo, rather than a chicano, as did his manner and speech.

"Let's go inside," the priest invited, turning toward the parsonage instead of the chapel entrance.

Entering, the priest led the way to the kitchen, gesturing his guest toward a chair at the table. "Would you like some coffee? Or do you prefer chocolate?" he offered, then stopped. His visitor wasn't answering and probably hadn't even heard the offer.

Instead, his visitor had collapsed rather than sitting and had his head buried in his arms while his body heaved with silent sobs.

Father Dominguez reached over to the coffee maker to punch the On button - a parish priest's life is often one of irregular demands and a lifetime of habit insured that the coffee grounds and water were always ready. Turning back to the table, the priest pulled a second chair around by the boy, then sat, placing a comforting arm across the boy's back.

A moment later, the boy had buried himself in the comforting arms and was crying loudly with great gasping sobs.

* * *

Even if a ghost couldn't cry - as Danny had discovered - he still shared Jeremy's pain ... and shared the catharsis as well. When the boy's sobs slackened, becoming sniffles and reddened eyes, Danny felt the relief every bit as much as Jeremy ... or perhaps even more since he, himself, lacked the physical means of relief while still retaining the consciousness which felt the pain.

Father Dominguez, while unaware of the ghost's pain or participation, was very sensitive to the boy's, holding the sobbing figure with gentle, silent compassion until the flood of tears ceased. Still without speaking, the priest released the child and rose from the table.

After placing a box of tissues within easy reach, he turned to the cabinet and extracted two large mugs, filling each about two-thirds with the freshly brewed coffee. A bottle of brandy from another cabinet added it's aroma to both cups, followed by cream from the refrigerator. Last, for the boy, the priest added sugar before setting the steaming, fragrant cup on the table.

Taking his own cup, Father Dominguez circled and took a seat opposite.

The boy looked at the mug, before cupping it in both hands and taking a hesitant sip. "It's good," he finally broke the silence.

Father Dominguez nodded but offered no response.

The boy sipped again, then offered: "I'm sorry ... I didn't mean to ..."

"It's okay," the priest interrupted softly. "Obviously, it was needed." He fell silent and sipped his own coffee. "Let the boy proceed at his own pace," he reminded himself, speaking internally. "There's no need to rush him."

"I'm sorry," the boy repeated. "I ... I was scared ... the burning man ... he keeps dancing ..."

Father Dominguez felt as if his ears had suddenly come erect. With some effort, he loosened his grip on the mug, then raised it and took a generous drink, quickly recalling the errand he'd just returned from.

* * *

He'd been watching the news when the call came. The fire department had responded to a report of an explosion and, from the scene, had asked the dispatcher if a priest could be located. Since Santa Maria's was close, the dispatcher had called Father Dominguez and then sent a patrol car to pick him up.

The explosion - and fire - were less than a half-mile away, in an industrial area which, unlike the residential portion of the neighborhood, was not enjoying a resurgence of prosperity. On location, two fire trucks were attended by a pair of ambulances and several police cars as well as a strong smell of smoke although there was no immediate fire visible.

Within the loose enclosure formed by the emergency vehicles, two burnt out vehicles had been parked at the front of a warehouse structure. The front of the building was also blackened but whether from flames from the cars or from something burning inside was uncertain.

The sergeant in charge escorted Father Dominguez to one of the ambulances where one man - visibly shaken and shaking - sat wrapped in a blanket. Another lay on a gurney, trying to coil himself into a fetal ball.

Seeing the priest, the shaking man leaped to his feet, dropping the blanket and then falling to his knees and babbling in rapid border Spanish: "Father, forgive me ... the burning angel ... Mother of God preserve us ... will he never stop dancing ..." As the blanket fell, the man was a naked as a new born child but showed no obvious signs of injury.

One requirement for confession is comprehension and, to Father Dominguez, it was questionable whether the man was at all aware of what he was saying. Still, his duty was also to minister to the ill and infirm and, of this, there was no question. Provisionally, the priest offered the Sacrament of the Reconciliation - what had once been popularly, if inaccurately, called the Last Rites.

As Father Dominguez completed the blessing, the kneeling penitent seemed to regain some measure of composure while his babbling softened to a murmur. As the priest rose, one of the medics was giving the man an injection. The medic nodded, "Thank you, Father. Ah, if you speak Spanish, maybe you could get something out of the one on the gurney?"

Obedient to the request, the priest knelt by the wheeled stretcher, laying a gentle hand on the shoulder of the twisted figure. "In nominee Patria ..." the priest began softly.

The huddled man - he too seemed to be naked under the blanket - shuddered at the touch and, also in border Spanish, moaned: "He won't stop burning ... he won't stop burning ..." The words were repeated over and over.

Again, Father Dominguez offered the sacramental blessing, then rose, crossing himself and adding silent prayer for the souls of those who had witnessed such pain.

Erect, he turned to the ambulance attendant. "Is there a burn victim?" he asked.

None, he was informed. Six men had been found at the scene. The firemen answering the original alarm had found them inside the structure banging on the doors, unable to get out. The fire had been outside - the two vehicles. The building was metal - effectively fireproof - but the fire fighters had only gained entrance after chopping a hole through the side wall.

Inside, they'd found six men, all nude except for the empty guns two were still waving. No clothes had been found either. Inside, the building had held little which would burn readily ... aside from a mass of charred money in a half-burned canvas carryall and the remains of a number of cardboard boxes. The boxes, it appeared, had been empty.

One of the six had suffered burns on his hands and arms - possibly from trying to extinguish the burning bag. He had already been taken to a hospital for treatment.

Another was suffering from a broken leg and what appeared to be a self-inflicted gun-shot wound. He was in the other ambulance being treated.

The remaining two men were in custody in a patrol car.

No severe burn victim had been found. Maybe the two men had simply been talking about the one who burnt his arms.

Of course, there was still the question of the burnt cars. And of how the men came to be trapped inside the building. And why they were naked - had they burnt their clothes? And why were at least two of them mentally reduced to virtual shambles.

Father Dominguez found the hole in the side of the structure. The fire axes had opened a section easily four feet wide, knocking out two of the metal uprights to do so. He peered inside, momentarily blinded by the interior lights.

At least a dozen policemen and firemen were polkaing around the interior. Toward the back, a sectional ladder reached upwards to a raised structure against the rear wall where a doorway opened onto empty space. A yellow clad fireman was on the ladder, looking at the framework below the door. Above him, another fireman was crouched in the doorway.

Father Dominguez withdrew, shaking his head. Gratefully, neither was curiosity a sin nor was unrequited curiosity fatal.

Out front, the sergeant had thanked him for his attendance, offering a ride back to the church.

* * *

Now, Father Dominguez regarded the boy across the table. "The burning man," and "... he keeps dancing ..." - if the words were different, the images were the same. What had the boy seen?

"I'm Father Dominguez," the priest offered. "If you prefer, I take no offense to being called Raul."

"J .. Jeremy ... Jeremy Blume," he introduced himself.

"Do they call you Jerry?"

"Uh ... sometimes."

"But you don't like it," the priest observed. "Very well, Jeremy it is." He waited, watching while Jeremy's gaze sought something in the coffee cup.

"Would you like to talk about it," Father Dominguez invited gently

"I ... I don't know ... where to start."

The priest remained silent, giving the boy time to find his own beginning.

"Is it true," Jeremy fiddled with the cup, tracing circles on the table, "that whatever I tell you is confidential?"

"That depends," Father Dominguez didn't consider the question frivolous. "If you are referring to the Sanctity of the Confessional, yes. No priest reveals anything which he is told in confession."

"To anyone?"

"Absolutely," Father Dominguez confirmed. "In actual fact, the priest is enjoined to forget what he is told as soon as absolution has been granted."

"Uh, I'm not a Catholic," Jeremy hesitated. "And I'm not sure about absolution. I mean, I don't think it ... uh, I don't think I've done anything like that."

"And we're not in the confessional," Father Dominguez agreed. "But neither condition is a requirement. If you would like, we could go to the confessional. Or we could go to my study. Or we could talk right here." The priest paused, watching Jeremy's face. "If you prefer, however, I'll simply offer you my word that nothing you tell me will be repeated to anyone. Except, of course, if you ask me to do so. Would that satisfy?"

"Uh, yeah, I guess so." Jeremy nodded, eyes focused somewhere beyond the table top..

"Then you have my word," the priest was emphatic, then grinned and added, "Unless you'd like me to swear on a bible ..."

Jeremy raised his head, returning a faint grin. "Naw, I guess not. Isn't that like a verbal contract - that it's not worth the paper it's written on?"

"Something like that," the priest agreed, reassured to see that the young man could smile at himself. "But you do have my word. I will not repeat anything which you tell me until and unless you explicitly ask me to do so. Satisfactory?"

"Yeah, I guess. Uh, does that include anything I show you?"

"It does. Anything you tell me ... or show me ... or communicate in any other fashion." The priest's eyes twinkled but his voice remained calm and reassuring. "Does that cover everything?"

"Uh, I guess. Yeah."

"Then would you like to move to my study or remain here?"

"Uh, here's fine."

"Then, if you'll excuse me a moment, I'll freshen the coffee." He crossed to the counter and topped off his cup. "If you don't like the coffee," he offered, "I think I could find a soda or some orange juice." There was no response.

Father Dominguez produced a pie from the refrigerator, gathered plates, forks and napkins, then sat down again with his coffee before cutting two generous slices. "Hope you like banana creme," he offered.

"Look," Jeremy began abruptly, "I can do things that ... well ... they're hard to explain ..."

"And that's why you wanted to include showing me? Would that be easier?"

"Uh, yeah, except ..." Jeremy paused, then began talking about Tully and about how Tully's clothes had disappeared and about the truck driver and his clothes. "But there was the fire too," Jeremy added. "And the burning man and ..."

The burning man took more than a little explanation, partially because Jeremy was uncertain how describe what he had seen and, partially, because he was even less sure how to describe the feeling of fear and foreboding he'd felt from the dancing figure. "... and, anyway, I think there's ... something ..."

"You think there's a connection?" Father Dominguez prompted, fascinated.

"Yeah ... something ... somehow," Jeremy agreed.

"But you said that you could start a fire. You're sure that's not the connection."

"No," the boy considered. "That's different. Besides, there was the other fire ..." And Jeremy had to regress to tell Father Dominguez about the conflagration which had destroyed the house ... which led back to the dancing figure's first appearance ... and the fever ... and then back to the trucker again ... "And, of course, I met Danny ..." Jeremy concluded.

Father Dominguez remained silent, leaning forward, elbows on the table, fingers making a steeple beneath his nose.

"Sounds pretty crazy, doesn't it?" Jeremy fidgeted.

"In some ways," the priest considered. "In other ways, no. For a ... ah, fourteen-year-old? the story is disorganized but still remarkably consistent. If it was simply a story, I suspect you would have a great future as an author. No, it's okay." He raised a hand against interruption. "I did say 'if'."

"Now," he continued his review, "you said that it was Danny who warned you when you were running away from the truck? And then again at the warehouse this evening?"

"That's right," Jeremy agreed.

"Where is Danny," the priest asked, concerned. "Is he okay? Why didn't he come with you."

"Uh, he did ... he's right here ... oh ...uh ... I guess I didn't explain ... Danny's a ghost." Jeremy paused, hesitant.

When Father Dominguez didn't laugh, the boy continued. "Uh, Danny's ... I don't know ... he's a ghost but he's a friend of mine and Jeanne's and I've been reading Huckleberry Finn to him except I can't see him, only Jeanne can but I can talk to him ..." The words came tumbling out in total disarray. Father Dominguez remained silent - this was one account that he wouldn't interrupt for anything.

Finally, Jeremy ran out of words. "Of course, it's kind of hard to prove any of it ..." he concluded.

"The ghost, yes," Father Dominguez agreed. "Of course, the church does expect us to take some things on faith. But, you were suggesting that you could show me?"

"Uh, sure, but ..."

"I could suggest that your connection between the, er, 'dancing figure' and making things vanish is rather tenuous. However, suppose we let that pass for the moment. Can you ignite, oh, what about a candle?"

"Sure," Jeremy relaxed.

Father Dominguez produced a candle from the sideboard, then returned to the table. "Will this do," he asked. "Do you need any ..." He stopped abruptly as the candlewick ignited.

"I see," the priest nodded, restraining an impulse to cross himself. "And you can extinguish it as well? ... Yes, I do see," he added as the flame winked out. Father Dominguez used a long moment to examine the candle carefully. "If you would," he held the candle over one of the desert plates.

Obligingly, the candle ignited again.

"Can you explain how?" the priest queried.

Jeremy shook his head. "That's part of the problem - there aren't any words. The best I can tell you is that I make it want to happen ... except that that's wrong, too."

"I see." The priest shook himself. "Ah, would you consent to a small experiment?"

Jeremy nodded.

The priest rose, leading the way out the back door and across the lawn to the side entrance for the chapel, producing a key to open the door. Inside, he turned on the lights, then led the way to where ranks of votive candles were arranged on stepped shelves.

"Here," Father Dominguez indicated the rows of candles, only a few of which flickered dimly. "Can you light these?"

The response was something like a flashbulb ... except that it lasted longer. Where a scant dozen candles had been burning, now several hundred flickered.

This time, Father Dominguez did cross himself, adding a reverent but unhurried, "Benedicte Nominee, Dominus, Patria, Fillus et Spiritus Sanctus ... Amen." Finished, he looked around, somewhat bemused, before adding: "You know, a part of me wondered if you would vanish. Hmm, did you realize you missed a couple?"

"Oh," Jeremy raised himself on tiptoes and peered at the banked candles. "There," the remaining wicks ignited. "Sorry, I didn't see them," he apologized "Er, should I put them out again?"

"No, I think not." Father Dominguez's voice made Jeremy turn. The priest was grinning happily while shaking his head slowly from side to side. "I must say," he continued, "you certainly provide a convincing argument. As for the candles, each is an offering to God ... and I must believe He is pleased by your ... ah, demonstration."

"I don't understand," Jeremy looked first at the candles, then at the priest.

"There was a time," Father Dominguez was thoughtful, "when what you did would have been called either a miracle or an act of the devil. Theologically, however, performing such an act on consecrated - holy - ground would intimate that the act was a miracle of faith since, obviously, the devil is powerless within a church. Yes, I admit, it's a rather simplistic theology and one which young seminarians have dissected many a late night."

"Oh," Jeremy performed his own dissection, "you mean that if it were evil, I wouldn't have been able to light the candles?"

"I honestly didn't expect you to light the candles at all," the priest confessed. "As for it being a miracle of God or an act of the devil, I continue to doubt that either standard applies. No, I suspect that - whatever you are doing - it is something much more fundamental."

"However," Father Dominguez stroked his chin thoughtfully, "I suspect that your reluctance to talk too openly about this ... ah, talent ... is greater wisdom than you realize." The priest was silent for a moment before adding: "Look, I know I'm not offering much in the way of answers ... but I'm not even sure what the questions are."

"Uh, there's something else." Jeremy hesitated.

"Would you like to go back to the rectory? Or we can just sit down here."

"Uh, here's fine ... but I haven't told you the rest - about Danny, I mean."

When Jeremy finished explaining Danny - and acting as Danny's 'mouthpiece' (in a very literal sense) - Father Dominguez was very silent ... and very still ... for several minutes.

"I don't know what to tell you, Danny," he addressed the ghost directly. "To answer your question as briefly as possible, the Church teaches that, if we are good, when we die we go to heaven. But 'is there a heaven'? That's harder to answer because first we have to answer 'what is heaven'."

The priest paused, considering what he had said - and also wondering slightly at his own acceptance of Danny's presence. "If you mean," he continued addressing the ghost, "did your friend go somewhere where he has wings and plays a harp, well, I'd doubt it. That's just too simple. If you mean, did he go somewhere where he could find peace? Perhaps so. We might begin by examining the evidence."

"What evidence?" Jeremy spoke for Danny as well as himself.

"Danny, you've told me how you feel now as opposed to how you felt before? That you don't hunger? That you don't feel mad or angry? That you've lost your craving for coke? Tell me, do you still feel anything good?"

"Yes," Danny admitted, agreeing that his talks with Jeremy and Jeanne made him feel good, that listening to Huckleberry Finn and Tom Sawyer were good and that he looked forward, now, to learning things.

"And are you still you?"

"Wha'd you mean?"

"I mean, are you still Danny?"

"I think so," Jeremy echoed on Danny's behalf.

"A famous man," Father Dominguez told them, "once said it thus: 'Cogito, ergo sum!' - I think, therefore I exist. To him, his own thoughts were the ultimate test of whether he existed or not. Do you understand?"

"Sure."

"And you feel better now than you did?"

"Yes."

"Then, you are still you but, perhaps, you have moved closer to Heaven."

"Uh, maybe ..." Danny didn't sound entirely satisfied.

"Well, let's look at it a different way. You described your friend as 'going somewhere a long way off.' A long way off how? Why did you say it like that?"

"'Cause ... cause that's what happen'," Danny protested.

"And?" Father Dominguez prompted. "Where did he go? Up? Down? East? West?"

"I ... I'm not sure. 'Cept it wasn' anythin' like that. It ... it was just away."

"Was he reluctant? Excuse me, did he want to go or was he trying to stay?"

"I ... he ... I think he was ... very ready - like he wan'd t' go."

"And?"

"That's heaven? Someplace where you wan' t' go?"

"As I said, it may be that you have more answers than I right now."

"Then why do I feel ... sad ... and scared?"

"We're often scared of the unknown, Danny. That's natural. As for sad, wouldn't it be stranger if we did not feel sad when we suffer a loss?"

"But ... I don' feel angry ... or ..."

"Sadness can be purely intellectual," Father Dominguez suggested. "It doesn't have to stem from our flesh and glands. Actually, I suspect that the same is true of anger and pain but that we are much happier to be rid of these. Sadness, despite the fact that we don't enjoy it, does have value. Would you prefer that you felt nothing at the passing of a friend?"

"No ... that wouldn' be ..."

"So, you're sad because you're saying good-bye ... because it's part of saying good-bye. Is that bad?"

"Then," Jeremy interrupted on his own behalf, "you mean that we feel sad because of ourselves, not because ..."

"Quite so," the priest agreed. "But some people never understand. Danny, how do you feel now?"

"Uh, he says much better ... and so do I ..." Jeremy confessed. "I mean, I'm still scared but ... but it's not ... not as bad."

"On the other hand," the priest continued, "the fear might not be yours,"

Jeremy looked at the priest as if he had sprouted a second head.

"Danny," Father Dominguez explained, "says that the burning figure wants something. Presumably from you. So, why should you feel afraid? But, if you were burning ... then you'd have a lot of reasons to feel afraid, yes?"

"You mean ..."

"That you might be feeling his fear, not yours. Yes."

Jeremy's face flashed through a gauntlet of terrors. "But that's horrible," his voice was hollow at the thought.

"I agree. If it feels that bad to you, just imagine what it must be like for him."

"I am," Jeremy looked as if he wanted to cry again.

"Tell me, Jeremy. Where are you planning to sleep tonight?"

"Huh? Uh, I don't ..."

"Come back over to the rectory. There's a spare room and we can talk in the morning. Okay."

"Uh, I ..."

"It's past midnight," the priest remarked. "And I do want to talk to you further."

Jeremy agreed, suddenly realizing just how tired he was.

* * *

"Verify." the voice instructed.

"Rain ... Huskers ... Upset." the second voice confirmed.

"Cleared," the first voice agreed.

"Unsecured, on site, remote - will confirm on secure link. Scramble surveillance team SoCal. Coordinate through Riverside HQ. Beta priority. Validation one hour, secure link, out."

* * *

Over the breakfast table - even though it was closer to noon than morning - Father Dominguez was postulating a different sort of problem. "Officially, from the Church's view, that is - if you do exist, Danny - the question is where's the proof? And, if you do prove something, then what? Theologically, a ghost - a 'tangible' spiritual presence - is a quite different 'miracle' than simply lighting a few candles. It would require a papal commission to decide if you did exist and, assuming your existence was admitted, to determine what you are. That's no small matter and could occupy a great many people for more than a few years."

"Uh, Danny says that he could, ah, try to prove ..."

"I'm not sure whether that would be a good idea or a bad one," the priest responded. "Jeremy, Danny, let's look at this carefully. First, suppose you do convince me ... what then? I don't believe either of you realize just how much this would mean to the Church. To several churches, for that matter. Do you want to prove it?"

"Second, how urgent is it for you to prove it? Does it matter immediately?"

"Third, what about a bargain - provisionally, I'll assume that you, Danny, do exist - if only on the strength of Jeremy's belief. Would this be sufficient?"

"Just a minute, Danny," Jeremy spoke, then returned his attention to Father Dominguez. "Uh, excuse me but ... you have already ... haven't you?"

"Er," it was the priest's turn to be nonplused, "I have what?"

"Admitted that Danny exists. I mean, last night you addressed him by name and you were applying the, ah, Socratic method? to make him decide if he existed or not. And, this morning, you're still addressing him by name ... Of course, I guess you could have just been humoring me but ..."

Father Dominguez chuckled. "Worthy of a Jesuit. You're right, I guess I have ..."

"Then, ah, Danny want's to know if you ... if you would confess him? Is that the right word?"

"Is Danny a Catholic?"

"He says so," Jeremy replied. "Says he went to the new church - the one on Park? Least, he says he used to ... at least, he did when his dad wasn't too drunk. Oh ... I guess I shouldn't have said that."

"It's okay," Father Dominguez reassured him. "Just pretend that you're a translator and say whatever Danny wants you to. But, first, if you will allow me a moment."

"Uh, sure, uh, is there a problem?"

"Bless you, Jeremy. No, there's no problem. I'm sure that God judges only the intent but, being human, er, at least, mortal, there are forms which we use for guidance." Father Dominguez rose and left the room, returning a moment later with an ornate ribbon draped across his shoulders. "Ah, Danny ..." he hesitated, then asked, "Would you prefer here or the confessional?"

"He says here's fine." Jeremy translated.

* * *

"Verify." the voice instructed.

"Franc ... Closing ... Wheat." the second voice confirmed.

"Cleared," the first voice agreed.

"Unsecured, on site, remote - confirmation on secure link. Upgrade scramble SoCal. New priority, triple Alpha. Implement full lab facilities, secure remotes. Validation thirty minutes, secure link, out."

* * *

Danny's 'sins' held few surprises for Father Dominguez although a few of the boy's admissions puzzled Jeremy thoroughly. When Danny finished, Father Dominguez was silent for a long, thoughtful minute.

"Do you know your "Pater Noster", Danny?"

"Uh, I don't think he does," Jeremy translated.

"Mea culpa - my fault, Danny," the priest apologized. "You do know the prayer which begins 'Our Father Who Art In Heaven'?"

"Oh, sure," the ghost responded and Jeremy echoed.

"Fine. Then I absolve you for these and any other sins which you have committed and for which you are truly contrite. As penitence, I want you to say ten 'Our Father's and commit an act of contrition. Do you understand?"

"Uh, he's not sure," Jeremy hesitated. "The prayers, sure. But - an act of contrition?"

"An act of contrition, Danny," the priest explained, "means a good deed. Something you do to help someone else even if it's difficult. Do you understand?"

"Oh, he understands that," Jeremy corrected. "But how does a ghost perform a good deed?"