a wrought-iron cross gleams softly in the night. sun has long since set extinguishing light. string of rosary beads fits gently in her hand but recent twinge dread becomes more than she can stand. three “hail marys” leave lips but she has strangest fear that intended  recipient is not around to hear. breeze rolls down back as chill forms in the air and she  begins realize that something else might be one that’s there.