FADE IN: INT. CHURCH OF SAINT NICHOLAS, NAVE, DUBLIN, BEFORE DAWN Rain against stone. The sound precedes the image: water finding its way down walls that have been finding their way through centuries. A single gaslight burns near the sacristy door, casting a circle of amber that reaches the first three pews and dies. Beyond it, the nave stretches into darkness. The stained glass windows are black rectangles. Without sun behind them, the saints and martyrs are invisible, reduced to lead lines holding nothing. The confessional stands in the north transept. Its door is slightly ajar. Its interior is a mouth. FATHER EAMON DOYLE (45) sits in the last pew. His breviary lies open on his lap. His eyes rest on the page but they are not reading. He is lean, clean shaven, with the face of a man who was once handsome and is now merely present. His black cassock is pressed. His collar is white. He gives the impression of a man who has been dressed for some time, waiting for the day to arrive and