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Clyde was smaller than I’d expected, at least a few inches shorter than me, and flat on his back with his mouth open.
His wife was familiar, though the last time I’d seen her she’d been made up to within an inch of her life and dressed in a smart skirt and fitted blouse, pearls fastened around her throat.
Paris slept naked, her cleavage exposed to the night air, one nipple hidden beneath a sheet, the other on display for anyone to walk in off the street and see.
I waited for the same jolt of lust I’d had when I’d noticed Lyric’s nipples through her thin pajama shirt.
It didn’t come. Not until the sleeping woman’s blond hair morphed into Lyric’s auburn red. Not until her features rearranged themselves into Lyric’s pert nose and full, pink lips.
The moment the woman became Lyric in my head, the trajectory of my thoughts changed.
Need roared in. Lust swirled, dark and hungry.
I wanted to drag the sheet off her naked body, spread her thighs, and put my mouth on the folds between her legs.
I wanted to lick her and taste her and tease her. Wrap my fingers around her wrists and pin her to the bed as I slid inside her before she was even awake. Fuck her hard until her cries of surprise turned into moans of pleasure.
Clyde’s snore startled me out of my thoughts. Shame took the place of desire.
This was why I’d joined the priesthood.
The things I wanted weren’t normal. Weren’t desirable. Weren’t safe.
I never wanted to hurt anyone, and yet, I was scared I would.
I’d terrified Annie, and back then, the things I wanted to do were tame compared to the thoughts I had about Lyric. I was better off never being alone with a woman.
I scurried into the walk-in closet, swiped a handful of expensive-looking jewelry from a box, and a couple of hundred-dollar bills on a makeup table. With the money I’d get from a pawnshop, it should be enough to pay at least some of Daniel’s hospital bill, or for the rent and heat.
I left the room without looking back at Paris. Without again imagining her to be Lyric. I hightailed it back the way I’d come, only stopping when I noticed an old-fashioned record player in the corner of the living room.
It wasn’t something I normally would have taken. It was probably not worth much, and it looked heavy and bulky. A waste of effort.
But Lyric’s gran’s comment about her husband throwing out her record player sat heavy in my memory. The song, and my presence, had made her so happy, in what had to be a confusing and scary time for her.
I unplugged the thing and hefted it into my arms. With a final pat on the sleeping dog’s head, I slipped out into the yard once more. My pockets full of jewelry to sell and give to a woman who needed it to pay her kid's medical bills. And a damn record player that would make an old woman happy.
Maybe, if I was lucky, it would have the same effect on her granddaughter. I was quickly addicted to Lyric’s smiles. I wasn’t sure I could give them up just yet.
9
ZEPH
Iwas no stranger to Saint View Hospital. My mom had volunteered here since I was a kid, and sometimes she would bring us with her if there was a boy my age in the children’s ward who needed to feel normal for a few hours. I’d never minded much, because they had a PlayStation, which I was never allowed to have at home.
As a priest, last rites were often administered in the palliative care wards, so I was often summoned down here to absolve people of their sins while they lay dying.
I hated it. Hated the confessions I heard when people knew they weren’t going home. The sins they confessed were always the deepest, darkest ones. The ones that made me want to put my hands around their frail throats and choke the last breaths right out of them.
I refused to utter words of forgiveness to those people. If no one else was around, I let them die with a guilty conscience.
But today I wore street clothes, not here on any official church business. I hadn’t slept well, worrying about Tammie and her boy. I needed to know he was okay. I gave the woman at reception Daniel’s name, and she gave me a floor and room number in exchange. After a quick jog up the stairs, I pushed open the door to the pediatric ward and ran near smack into my mother.
“Zepherin!” she exclaimed with anoofas I steadied her. “Goodness, boy, where are you going in such a hurry?”
“To visit a friend’s son. He was admitted last night.”
Her fingers clutched around her clipboard, and she glanced down at the list of names with room numbers printed neatly beside them. “Do you know which room?”
