He would never admit in mixed company that he came from a bloodline of quick-fainters. His father, Wilson Randolph Sloan, passed out at the sight of blood. His grandfather, Randolph Willard Sloan, IV, had a certain chink in his powerful armor at the sudden smell of horseradish and dill. His cousin Randolph Wilsonard Sloan was not prone to fainting, but never learned how to swim and avoided open containers of liquid. He died of dehydration at the young age of 22.

William Randolph Sloan’s fainting spells came with no rhyme or reason. Sometimes he would be out cold for mere seconds, other times he would require hospitilization. Smelling salts did no good. Many a glasses of water had been wasted in the effort to revitalize the man. Giving him a good slap or two would only bring relief to the person administrating the slaps.

Epiphany. That was the only way for William Randolph Sloan to emerge from his faux-coma like state. He would have to have a visit with Epiphany.