For I know my transgressions, and my sin is always before me.
Psalm 51:3

From what Sheriff Scott told me

Adeline Taylor was a girl of 19, whose body was found hanging in the woods near the town. There was a Christian cross carved into her wrist with a knife.

Two minutes after getting the call, Sheriff William Scott hurried to the scene. He stood there for a couple of seconds, watching the body gently sway in the breeze, feeling sorrow overcome him. The grave silence, which seemed to last forever, was shattered when his phone rang.

"Sheriff Scott," he picked up the phone and answered.

"Major Hibbins from the State Police, Sheriff. Have you had a chance to learn anything?"

"We found her in the woods. Looks like it happened last night. She's young."

"Any ID?"

"Yeah. She's Adeline... Adeline Taylor."

"Anything useful about her?"

"I know her family. Her father's a monk."

"A monk?"

"Yes. A very decent one. A clergyman in the real sense of the word. I have no clue why she'd do something like this. Hang herself? Doubt that. Or maybe..."

"Maybe what, Sheriff?"

"Maybe she was hanged."

Chapter 1

"Dad! I did it, Dad! Flying to California in a month! Tell Mom before I get home, okay?" I yelled excitedly on the phone at the Bagramyan subway station.

It was 2014 when I was admitted into the Business Management program at the American University of Armenia. My dad always called me determined and taught me from early childhood that I needed to stand on my own two feet. "You're gonna have a bright future, son," he would say whenever he came into my room and found me with a book in my hand.

He was by no means an emotional man, but my mom certainly was. She would jump and scream and clap her hands whenever I accomplished even the tiniest achievement, which sometimes looked hilarious. During my 12 long years of school, I managed to collect every certificate possible, and my mom would tear up every single time I came home, waving a certificate in the air.

The last time she got this emotional was in June of 2014, when I told my parents about my admission to AUA, with a full scholarship as the cherry on top. And now, on my way home on the subway, I knew she was already tearing up, ready with her usual "That's my boy!" line, because Dad would have already told her about yet another one of my achievements.

During my fourth year at AUA, I was toying with the idea of doing my Master's, possibly at the same university. Then I heard about the US Exchange Program with Berkeley University, kindly offered to me by the AUA staff.

Any AUA student could apply for the program, as far as I knew, but the three with the best test results would be given a plane ticket to Berkeley for their Master's, and, as my dad liked to say, to see the real world.

I didn't hesitate after hearing the news and went straight for the application form. America seemed exciting and tempting, true, but most of all, I wanted to amp up my dad's pride. I wanted to prove him right about me, show him what that bright future looked like. It was mostly about fulfilling his expectations, with the bright future thing being secondary.

I have to be honest, there was no initial anxiety after submitting the application; I felt confident, given my high exam results. It was just another normal day at uni when I heard the good news: I was one of the three exchange students selected. Daniel Vardanyan, that is. And although I had one more class remaining that day (Advertising in the 21st Century), there was no way I could contain my excitement, so I rushed off campus and hurried home.

"Son!" Dad exclaimed, opening the door and gripping me in his arms like he was wrestling an opponent. "I told you they'd pick you! I told you, didn't I? Congrats!"

"Thanks, Dad. Where's Mom? Crying?" I asked, grinning.

"Done with that already, Daniel. She's gone out for groceries to celebrate. She'll be right back and back to crying, you know her - if she needs something to weep over, she'll be sure to find it," he said fervently, gently tapping my shoulder.

Never mind Dad’s jokes. He’s the living proof of that century-old saying about humans loving only once and till the end of their days, or something like that. Every time Mom asked me, “Don’t you want to get married, Danny?” I always replied, “Not until I find someone to love as much as Dad loves you.”

We went to bed late that day. Dad raised toasts to me between his bites of food, and Mom was busy sharing the news with friends and relatives on the phone, announcing my admission and the flight date. I sat there, looking at my parents, proud to be the reason for the celebration.

“And you’re the only one going?” Dad asked when Mom hung up another call and finally focused on us.

“No, Dad, two more students. The program allowed three.”

“Who are they? Do you know them?”

“I know one, a girl named Anush, also in Business. You’ve seen her, Mom, remember? We were in that play together.”

Dad refilled his shot glass of vodka and raised his eyes to me, questioningly.

“The girl with the beautiful hair? With a full scholarship?” Mom asked.

“Yep, that one.”

“She’s a cutie. Good for her. And who’s the other one?”

“No idea, from a different program, I guess. I’ll find out tomorrow,” I said, savoring the mouth-watering tolma made with Mom’s signature recipe.

“When are you flying, Danny?” Dad asked.

“Classes start on March 4th. The flight is on February 27th. I’ve got a lot of paperwork to sort out before then. Have to collect a lot of stuff.”

“Flying that soon, hon?” Mom asked, with a touch of regret, so like her.

“Don’t start crying again, Mom; I’m not joining the army,” I said with a smile, reflecting on the first day of my compulsory military service, when Mom cried so much her eyes bulged from their sockets.

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