Apart from the brief glances at the stylish white carriage he was surreptitiously tucked away inside of, Mr. Sillow was completely free of suspicion as he made his way deeper into downtown. All of the curtains on the carriage’s side windows and back glass had been drawn closed, and the privacy panels located at the front had been pulled together as closely as possible to obscure the public’s visibility inside. But despite his obscurity, being amongst a thicket of people who detested every fiber of his being made him understandably uneasy. Everything now seemed to be moving in slow motion. Inside of the carriage, he had broken out in a cold sweat and his trembling hands were starting to send the horse conflicting commands. The confused creature suddenly darted to its left and then just as quickly veered sharply to the right; accelerated to a gallop and then came to an abrupt halt. Now the carriage was beginning to garner unwanted attention after nearly bulldozing down several pedestrians. Its jittery operator had to regain his composure immediately or suffer the consequence of his cover being blown. Wisely, Mr. Sillow allowed the horse to remain at a standstill by releasing its reins to inhibit any further wrong moves. He just needed a few minutes to calm down. The cessation of movement provided the furious residents who witnessed the near accidents an opportunity to approach the carriage and confront whomever was at the helm of the reins. But before any of them could get close enough to take a peek through the partially-open privacy panels at the front of the carriage, Mr. Sillow had pulled them completely closed. His brazen reclusion sent the town-goers into a tizzy as they began banging on the carriage’s frame and insisting that its driver reveal him- or herself at once. Inside, Mr. Sillow was certain that he was spending his last few minutes alive. At any moment he was expecting the rabble to forcefully gain entrance into the carriage, drag his body out, toss him onto the dusty pathway, behead him, and hold his head high as a trophy symbol. Despite being a steadfast atheist, Mr. Sillow was fearful of the unknown realm that succeeded the cessation of one’s mortal existence. In fact, he was so terrified about being on the brink of death that he was compelled to press his hands together in his time of despair and call upon the name of God. Though his prayer wasn’t spoken with sincerity of heart, he figured that he would be delivered out of his pickle, citing that Mrs. Marshall, a devote churchgoer and self-proclaimed Christian, was a fairly blessed individual. “Dear, God, allow me to overcome this troublesome time in my life and I swear I shall become a changed man,” was his taunting supplication to the Almighty Father. He may not have prayed earnestly, but his petition helped, serving as a placebo to his anxiety. In two swift motions, he cracked open the privacy panels and took a firm, confident grip of the horse’s reins. He then sped away from his censurers to catch up with the woman he regarded as responsible for helping him overcome his harrowing dilemma.