Heretics book 3 - The Apocryphile Press

THE KINGDOM :: 285
“Alright. Let us pray. O Lord, we give you thanks fer this
food, and fer the pesky hand what made it. Amen.”
“Thank you. I think,” said Terry, placing a jug of apple
cider on the table and sitting down.
“And what did they say—the grandfathers and grandmothers?”
Richard asked, reaching for a sandwich of his
own.
“They said, ‘He is safe, doing what he loves. Go there.’
Wherever the fuck ‘there’ is. Where he feels the most safe.
Damned if Ah know where that would be.”
Terry and Richard locked eyes, and Richard sat up straight
as if he were hit by lightning. He thought back to the elder
Dane’s unsuccessful exorcism. Mikael had been nervous, and
Terry asked him about the place where he felt the most safe.
“Dyl, hey,” he laughed. Everyone at the table—except
Terry—looked at him like he had suddenly turned into cream
cheese.
“We know where that is,” Terry said.
Just then the doorbell rang. “Ah, shit, they’re early!”
Dylan whined. “Hold that thought, dude!” he said, pointing
at Terry. He rose from the table like a man propelled. “And
bag a couple o’ them sandwiches fer me, will ya, Ter?”
“Who is it?” Kat asked.
“It’s the Swansons, here for the baptismal rehearsal. Five
minutes, that’s all Ah ask, five minutes for a fuckin’ sandwich...”
but then he was at the door and swinging it wide
with a broad smile. “Come in! Welcome!” The Swansons
entered, little Jamie in her Daddy’s arms. “Hello, Boopsi!”
Dylan touched her nose. She wrinkled it, and turned a sad
face into her father’s shoulder.
“Uh-oh, li’l darlin’, what’s the matter?”
Her father set her on the floor and she looked at her shoes.
Dylan held his hand out to her, and finally she spoke, barely
audible. “Sammy went to heaven....”