“I no longer want to be a musician; I don’t want to be a pop star,” he said quietly. He then looked around to make sure that no one was there except us and whispered, “Do you know what happened to me recently? A month ago I saw my saint—Saint Francis, who I’m named after. When I was little my grandmother told me a lot about Saint Francis and I saw him recently. It happened at night. A chariot of fire rode into my room harnessed with three white horses and in this burning circle I recognized my saint. He wore only a Cossack tied by a rope and was barefoot. He crossed himself with the sign of the cross, like so.” Francis crossed himself. “He said that he is waiting for me and I must follow him.”

I opened my mouth in astonishment. I involuntarily remembered the picture of some Catholic saint hanging in his room in the shelter among the posters of gangsters.

“I don’t know why, Doctor, but since then I feel at fault for everything. I am the most horrific sinner on earth. I am suffering. Oh, why didn’t they send me to jail back then?! Why did I only receive one year of fucking probation?” He clenched his bony fists hard.

“Wait Francis, wait. You are not a criminal. It is we who are criminals for allowing this to happen to you, but you’re not guilty of anything. Yes, you participated in an apartment robbery, but you told me yourself that you were on the lookout and didn’t even know that the apartment would be robbed.”

Nodding, but clearly not listening me, he started to roll up the sleeve of his black T-shirt for some reason. Then he took something out of the pocket of his wide jeans. I didn’t get a chance to see what it was. A moment after the click a blade flashed in his hand.

“I deserve this! Deserve!” he extended his bare left arm forward and suddenly started cutting it with the knife.

“Take this, motherfucker! Take this!”

Blood gushed on his black T-shirt and flowed down to his jeans.

My eyes got blurry. I pressed the secret panic button mounted into the table as hard as possible, mentally reproaching myself for never having tested if it works. Where are the police? Why is it taking so long?!

“Fuck, fuck!” Francis screamed, shaking his head. He stopped cutting his arm and was watching the blood flow. A wild, joyful smile played on his face.