By Robert Devereaux
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Extra info for A Flight of Storks and Angels
I’m not going to dignify that with a response. ” There’s nothing I want more, thought Harold. Not a thing. A far cry from the days when mutual happiness, a tender give and take, had been their bywords. ” He had seen the steeple rising, sunlit and tall, before they turned onto Spring Street. Now the sparkling facade of the First Methodist Church stunned him with its loveliness. A few parishioners, known to Harold through his wife, were decked out in their Sunday finery. A robed Bill Fleischer, silver-haired, tall, and large-handed, communed with a small circle of his flock on the church steps.
No Mike. Just Mike’s bed all crumpled from him and Patti, half of Mike’s dresser, and the window, blinds drawn against a savage light. He stopped on the threshold, stepped aside, pushing the door open further and feeling behind it the soft resistance of bodies. ” Ward walked right by him, clean as you please. Then the force of the door bent Calvin’s hand back enough to sting, and he saw Mike swing his friend around and raise a switchblade to his eyes, terror in Ward’s face mixed with ice-water surprise.
But the distance in Timothy’s head-voice alarmed him. Ward turned to find his companion pale, wavering, panicked himself. “I can’t do that,” Patti pleaded. “C’mon, Mikey, let me cover up. ” Her hands went to her breasts, but Mike pushed them away. ” He took a nipple between the thumb and forefinger of each hand, tugging down until she went to her knees, one leg, then the other, her hand on his thigh for balance. She hid her face from Ward, jawline flexing at her bubblegum, and placed a hand on Mike’s zipper.
A Flight of Storks and Angels by Robert Devereaux