Release(35)

From Linus.

He set his phone back down and drove on, not noticing until he parked at the church that the red rose he’d meant to give Linus was still sitting on the passenger seat.





THE HOUSE UPON THE ROCK





“That’s going to be too far apart,” Big Brian Thorn said. “We’ve got fifteen rows to fit in here.”

“As a tall person, I can swear truthfully that these aren’t too far apart.”

“You won’t be sitting here. You’re always up in the balcony. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

“I’m not the tallest person in the entire congregation.”

“On average, you’re well above. Fifteen rows.”

The overflow room was on the left of the sanctuary. It was also the church’s main activity area and was used all week for a nursery in the mornings and AA meetings in the evenings, both bringing in rent that The House Upon The Rock didn’t like to admit it needed. Saturdays were for an early morning Men’s Bible Study that to Adam’s relief he was still technically too young to be forced to go to. Today, that had been followed by the teen choir practising the musical they were going to inflict on the church on Labor Day – Adam’s tunelessness being so pronounced even his dad didn’t encourage him to sing – followed by what was supposed to be his dad’s two main ushers helping him set up the space for services tomorrow. But one was having thyroid surgery and the other had fallen down a flight of stairs, probably (but not provably) drunk. So it was down to Adam to help his dad make the church ready. Fifteen rows of five long padded benches apiece to make up an overflow room that would, at best, end up a third full.

“Why isn’t Marty helping?” Adam asked, hoisting his sixtieth bench into place.

“I don’t want to talk about Marty right now,” his dad said, not looking his way.

“But helping here could be penance.”

He got a glance for that. “We’re not Catholics, Adam. We don’t do penance. We do forgiveness.”

“If you’ve forgiven him, then he should definitely be here helping.”

“I haven’t forgiven him.” Big Brian Thorn stopped where he was bringing in the cart full of hymnals that Adam would soon be setting out on the benches. “God help me, I haven’t forgiven him yet.”

Adam couldn’t remember the last time that look on his father’s face had been caused by his brother and not by Adam straying from a path so narrow it was a wonder any Christian here could see it. The novelty was so great, he even found himself asking, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I do not,” Big Brian Thorn said, getting back to work. The overflow room was only the start. The cameras that broadcast the sermon to the web needed to be checked, the sound system tested – the teen choir had a history of not putting it back the way they found it – and, as it was that time of the quarter, the Jacuzzi behind the cross at the front of the sanctuary needed to be cleaned, filled and warmed for the baptisms taking place tomorrow. This would be Adam’s job, the last he needed to finish before he was free to help Angela with the pizzas for the “get-together”.

They worked mostly in silence, for which Adam was grateful. He was even more grateful his dad trusted him to do it (mostly) and kept a good distance. Adam really didn’t know how strong the smell of Linus might be.

“How long have you known?” his dad said, looking at two hymnals he was holding but not putting anywhere.

Adam’s stomach fell. “Known what?”

“About your brother.”

Adam swallowed in relief. “This morning. He caught me at the end of my run.”

“Why you first?”

Adam was about to answer, but realized his dad was asking himself, not actually interested in Adam’s take. Adam answered anyway. “Probably just a warm-up. See how the words sounded when he said them out loud. See if they’d kill him or if they were just words.”

“They were more than just words.”

“There are positives,” Adam said. “You’ll be a grandfather.”

“I’m forty-five. My hair isn’t even grey.”

“It will be if Marty keeps the surprises coming.”

His dad set down the hymnals. “Don’t be glib. The young are always glib. And look what happens.” He turned and left, heading back, Adam assumed, to his office. There was a sermon to write, after all. Adam wondered what topics it could possibly be covering.





The Queen and the spirit who binds her wish to enter a prison.

This is going to cause issues the faun doesn’t know if he can properly address. Breaking down the doors and walls will, of course, be no problem; his strength is that of any hundred of these fragile creatures with their busy, fuddled lives. But that would attract more attention. He would be seen by too many eyes, more than he could hope to control, and for a creature who depended on myth, too much fact could prove quite fatal.

But the Queen is determined. There she goes, approaching the prison up a curved, fenced road intended only for the cars that guard it. It will be mere moments before one passes this way.

“My lady, please,” he says, though he doesn’t know how much she hears now. He is watching the sun as it leans down its arc. It is a summer day, which is a fortune, but the afternoon will not last forever. There will be dusk. Then that same sun will set, spelling a doom the only comfort of which is that, if it comes, he will be gone before its full manifest.