Marcos Soriano Cradled within his palm, slightly brighter in color than the pink of his skin, was a single pill. Roughly triangular in shape, and no larger than a child’s first tooth, the pill had cost him more than the equivalent of a year’s lease on his Volvo V70. It was love itself. He’d spent more than three weeks searching for it. He’d met with strangers in dark alleyways and the backs of booming clubs. He’d paid dearly...

Marcos Soriano “Teach me how to pray,” she says, and gets down on her knees. Becky Sims, a wispy, straw-haired freshman. Eyes blackened with mascara, a wash of rouge painted over blemished skin. You’ve only seen her once before, in the first meeting of your “Mystery of God” course. Now she kneels in front of you, barely a breath away, on the Persian rug that covers your office floor. The resource bookshelf looms at...

Marcos Soriano On the third Wednesday in June, after a lunch he’d hardly managed to eat, Donald Mathison reported to the fifth floor of the 400 Parnassus Avenue Medical Building.  The weather had been unusually warm for the past several days, but inside the Oncology ward the air held an artificial chill, and gooseflesh rose on Donald’s arms as he crossed the threshold. He had a 3:30 p.m. appointment with the head of the department, and...