King's Pleasure. Adrianne Byrd

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СКАЧАТЬ He flashed the cleric an awkward smile.

      Father Dickerson’s eyebrows crashed together in the center of his forehead. “Son, please forgive me if this next question offends you. But, uh, are you well?”

      Quentin actually gave the question serious thought. “To tell you the truth, Father, I’m not sure I’m qualified to answer that just yet. I mean, honestly. I can be frank with you, can’t I?”

      “Sure. Absolutely.”

      “Good.” Another smile crept across Q’s face as he tried to clear his throat again with a deep cough. “To be honest, I feel fine—better than fine on most days. I mean, how could you own the hottest strip clubs in three cities and not feel upbeat about life, right?”

      Father Dickerson just stared at him.

      “Well, maybe you don’t know. But trust me. A man like me, still in his prime and surrounded by beautiful, firm, heavily oiled bodies is its own blessing.”

      “I’ll take your word for it,” the priest said.

      “Yeah, uh, right. Anyway, there has been some un- usual— Well, not quite paranormal activity happening from time to time.”

      “Paranormal? Like ghosts?” the priest asked, trying to quickly get to the crux of the problem.

      “Well, that’s the ‘not quite’ part of it,” Quentin said, squirming.

      “Son, if you’ve come to me for an exorcism, that leads me to believe that you’re seeing or hearing some sort of, shall we say, disturbing spirits?”

      Quentin looped the phrase through his head a couple of times, but he was still uncomfortable with it. “Now, does your definition of spirits mean that the person or persons are…”

      “…Dead,” Father Dickerson supplied as more lines creased his forehead.

      “Well, see, that’s still my gray issue.”

      “Come again?”

      “Well, the entity that I’m dealing with hasn’t exactly died.”

      Father Dickerson continued to stare at Quentin.

      “She—”

      “It’s a woman?”

      “Yes. Actually, she’s my sister-in-law, Alyssa.”

      “Your living sister-in-law?”

      “As far as I know.” Quentin shrugged. “I mean, I haven’t talked to her in a few months, but I’m sure someone in the family would’ve contacted me if something had happened to her. Then again, who knows? I’m not exactly on the best of terms with my family.”

      Father Dickerson snatched off his black-rimmed glasses and proceeded to rub his eyelids. “Let me try this again,” he said. “You want an exorcist to get rid of a spirit that isn’t really a spirit but a recurring vision of a woman who is very much alive? Do I have that right?” he said in disbelief.

      “Well, it’s more than just a vision. She talks to me and tries to give me advice—most of the time when I’m not asking for it. She’s made me look crazy in front of some of my dates. Her specialty is popping up right after I— Well just because you wear that collar doesn’t mean you don’t know what goes on between a man and a woman. Am I right?”

      When the joke fell flat, Quentin couldn’t cough long or hard enough to clear whatever the hell it was that was stuck in his throat.

      “Son, this is probably the first time in my thirty-one years at this parish that I’ve ever said this to someone who has come to me for guidance. I would love to help you, but what you need—neither I nor the church can really help you with. I think that you need to see someone in the mental-health field—maybe someone in a white coat, with the authority to prescribe medication or who can admit you to someplace safe.”

      “I’m not crazy,” Quentin declared defensively. “At least my shrink doesn’t think I’m crazy.”

      Relief flooded Father Dickerson’s face. “Ah, so you are seeing someone.” He reached over and picked up the phone. “Is there a number or…?”

      “What about the exorcism?”

      “Son, I can’t exorcise a spirit that doesn’t exist. It is metaphysically impossible for someone who is alive to haunt you. Clearly you are seeing and hearing things that just aren’t there. I’m sorry. I’m sure that’s not the answer you wanted to hear, but that’s the cold, hard truth.”

      Quentin shook his head. “Well, can’t you just sprinkle some holy water around? I mean, what’s it going to hurt?”

      “Mr. Hinton, are you even Catholic?”

      “Is that a prerequisite?”

      With a deep sigh, Father Dickerson pushed his glasses back onto his face. “Good day, Mr. Hinton.”

      “But—”

      “I said, ‘good day.’”

      “Unbelievable.” Quentin rose to his feet, barely managing to refrain from giving him a piece of his mind, which is what he really wanted to dish to the insensitive priest. “I guess I’ll just see myself out.”

      He turned toward the door and stopped short when he spotted a bored Alyssa, still beautiful in the wedding gown she wore when she’d married his brother, Sterling, utterly breaking his heart. She was leaning against the wall with her arms folded and a smug look plastered on her face.

      “I told you this was a waste of time,” she said.

      “Oh, shut up,” he snapped as he resumed his charge toward the door.

      “Excuse me?” Father Dickerson said.

      “I wasn’t talking to you.” Quentin snatched open the door, but decided to leave the priest with just one bit of parting advice. “If I were you, I’d sprinkle some holy water up this office, because whatever you’ve been doing is clearly not working.” He stormed out, with his fake apparition following close behind him.

      “Does this mean that we’re going back to Dr. Turner now?” Alyssa asked.

      “It’s either that or the loony bin.”

      “Good. Because I think you’re on the verge of a breakthrough.”

      “God, I hope so.”

      “Aah, Quentin. You’re back,” said Dr. Turner, greeting him in her downtown Atlanta office with a smile. “I wondered whether I’d ever see you again. It’s been a couple of months.”

      “Yeah, I’ve been a little busy….”

      “It’s okay,” she said. “It’s not that unusual for patients to disappear from time to time, especially when they’re anxious for results.”

      Alyssa laughed. “She really does have you pegged.”

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