It's hard to walk, but you walk anyway, glowering at your brother, at everyone around you. It's embarrassing, being called out like this, but maybe - and you're sure he'll point this out later, when you're back in the car - this will teach you not to mouth off to every single person alive. You can't help it. It's what you do. And besides, this spiritual healing bullshit is, well, bullshit. A man can't heal with a touch, especially not a blind old pastor.
But when he puts a hand on you, something - clings. It holds on, tight, dropping you to your knees. Your heart pounds even though it shouldn't, even though the shock that's killing you should have made this impossible without actually putting you out of your relative misery. The world starts going white. Everyone's watching with drawn breath. His other hand comes down, down, comes to rest on you --
Everything disappears for a minute. Sight, sound, pain - only the pain doesn't come back when you take a deep breath, feeling as good as you ever did. Beyond the disbelief and the internal cries of OH BULLSHIT you feel ... better. Healed. Literally, actually healed, apparently by the power of God. That's kind of a weird thought, but maybe taking out all those denizens of the darkness means you get a reprieve this once?
But then you open your eyes and the old man in the suit is turning away, looking bored, almost smug, filmy eyes fixed on you until he turns his head away and disappears.
And all your relief vanishes in an instant, leaving behind only suspicion and dread.