Issac had thrown in the towel for the night himself. After his prayers, ones that were a bit more meaningful and desperate than the last, he shut he lights off and climbed into bed.<br/><br/>The following morning the pastor had woken around seven thirty in the morning. Seven thirty, to him, was considered sleeping in. He had put on a pot of coffee and was sitting at the kitchen table; half asleep and eager to get some caffeine into his system. The activities of the previous day was no more than a hazy fog in the back of his mind. As much as he would love to believe what had happened was a dream, he knew better.