The whiskey goes down smooth, I can barely feel the burning in my throat. I settle deeper into my seat and take another sip. This is good whiskey to die with.
Not so long ago I would have stood up, said a few words of comfort, lead a prayer or two. Maybe these fools would have believed me as once I believed His words - but those days are a distant, blurry memory now.
I take another sip, close my eyes and the night of rain-slicked streets, screeching tires and blood comes back, as it always does. Every time I close my eyes. Every single time.
Sarah had wanted to drive, she knew I'd had too much to drink, but I wouldn't listen. I never listened once the whiskey took over.
I lost my faith and Sarah in the same breath that night. How could I have been the one chosen to live after what I had done? Easy - there was no choice made, no hand guiding our fates; I know that now.
Another sip, a hand scratching the stubble on my old, old face. I thought I saw a member of my former flock when we boarded in Heathrow, but I can't imagine she'd recognize her Father John now.
Another sip. Might as well enjoy the ride - there will be no angel waiting for us on the other side, no bright light, no God. There will be nothing after this.