If you want to pray, pray to me, it said. Why would you pray to a God who kills baby sisters? You’ll never laugh at how funny she is again, or tickle her until she squeals, or pull her braids. She’s dead and you and your folks are in jail. When he comes back, the crazy cop, he’ll probably kill all three of you. The others as well. This is what your God did, and really, what else would you expect from a God who kills baby sisters? He’s as crazy as the cop, when you get right down to cases. Yet you kneel before him. Come on, Davey, get a life. Get a grip. Pray to me. At least I’m not crazy.
