by Merrow, JL;
Now, however, Don found himself assailed by doubts. What if his prayers had indeed hurt Michael? Perhaps Don had been wrong to leave him alone so long, wrong to pray for him—
Don wasn’t the only one to startle to attention as the street door opened with a loud crack of the heavy iron latch. Several heads turned as the door creaked wide, a bright shaft of sunlight preceding the latecomer into the old church building. Its light fell at an angle across the congregation, distorting the shadow thrown by the newcomer into a strange, fantastical shape. Don kept his gaze to the front; no need to make whoever it was feel more uncomfortable at their lateness by staring.
Then the gasps and the muttering began. Old Will faltered in his sermon, and fell silent. With a sudden stab of certainty as to what he would see, Don twisted in his seat. Michael stood in the doorway, his face hidden in shadow. Spread to their fullest extent, his heavy, leathery wings seemed to stretch impossibly far, as if they could enfold the entire congregation. He walked forward along the central aisle, his wings having to draw in to avoid the pillars.
As the murmur of the congregation grew and some people began to edge away from the bizarre figure making his way through the church, Robert’s gentle voice cut with crystal clarity across the uproar. “I’m very pleased to see you, my boy. All are welcome in God’s house.”
Don stood hastily, painfully conscious of the eyes upon him as he did so. “Michael? Would you come and sit with me?”
Michael turned to him, his face at first sight expressionless—and then Don looked into those Arctic eyes and saw the depths of loneliness within. “Please?”
Sounding like a clamour of rooks taking flight, Michael’s wings folded and vanished, merely a faint ripple in the fabric of unreality that pervaded the church. There were more gasps, and suddenly Don couldn’t wait for Michael to make his way over. Stumbling in his haste, he picked his way through the seated, stunned congregation to where Michael stood in the aisle, now seeming nothing more than a scarred, shirtless man with wild hair and wilder eyes. “Michael?” Don asked softly. “Are you all right?”
Michael didn’t answer, so Don took him by the hand and led him to some empty seats at the front, taking off his jacket and placing it gently around Michael’s thinner shoulders. Robert waited while they sat down, and then turned to Will, still rooted in place at the lectern. “Excellent. Now, Will, as I fear we’ll have lost the thread of that heartfelt sermon of yours, I wonder if you would indulge me with a reading from Scripture? I feel a passage from Luke would be in order. Chapter Fifteen, beginning at verse four, if you please.”
Will began to read uncertainly, his voice gaining confidence as he went on. “…will he not call together his friends and neighbors, and say to them, “Rejoice with me! For I have found the sheep that was lost…”“
Michael’s hand was clutching at Don’s painfully. “Michael?” Don whispered again. “Do you feel all right?”
His question was ignored. “Is that what I am?” Michael’s voice was ragged. “A lost sheep?”
“No,” Don told him fiercely. “Not anymore. I’ve found you.”
Michael looked up at Don, and somehow his eyes were neither cold nor hard, but the color of the sky when the sun has just broken from behind the clouds. “Don’t lose me again,” he murmured, a trace of his old, twisted smile upon his lips.
“I won’t,” Don told him, smiling back with a heart that was suddenly light as angels’ wings.
THE END
ABOUT J.L. MERROW
J.L. Merrow is that rare beast, an English person who refuses to drink tea. She read Natural Sciences at Cambridge, where she learned many things, chief amongst which was that she never wanted to see the inside of a lab ever again. Her one regret is that she never mastered the ability of punting one-handed whilst holding a glass of champagne.
She writes across genres, with a preference for contemporary gay romance and the paranormal, and is frequently accused of humour. Find her online at jlmerrow.com.
ABOUT JMS BOOKS LLC
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