CHAPTER TWELVE
The Chosen One sat in the grimy bathroom of a cheap motel where the management accepted cash and did not require photo ID. Gingerly he peeled off the gauze he had put on his shoulder right after he had escaped the museum and examined the wound.
A shallow furrow ran along the flesh of his shoulder. Blood oozed from it. It did not look too dirty.
He had to make sure it stayed clean. He could not afford an infection, not when he was so close.
Opening up the bottle of iodine with his teeth, he poured a liberal amount onto another piece of gauze and dabbed at the wound, letting out a short hiss from the pain.
Don’t be weak. God hates weakness in His vessels.
A regular thumping against the wall of the adjoining room reminded him just how weak some people could be. He wished
