Mean Streets by AA.VV

Mean Streets by AA.VV

Format: mobi
ISBN: 9780451462497
Publisher: Penguin Group USA
Published: 2009-08-03T04:00:00+00:00

Noah’s Orphans

Thomas E. Sniegoski


Remy knew it wasn’t real, the product of some strange, dreamlike state, but he didn’t mind in the least. Seeing her this way—it was almost as if she were still

with him.

Almost as if she were still alive.

She had called to him from inside their Maine summer home, and he’d gone to her, climbing up the stairs to the second floor.

Standing in the doorway to one of the spare rooms, he watched her.

Her back was to him as she looked out one of the open windows onto the expanse of backyard, verdant with grass that would need a lawn mower’s attention sooner rather than later. She was wearing a white cotton dress that billowed and moved in the warm summer breeze coming in through the window. And as he silently stared from the doorway, he was reminded of how much he loved her, and how incomplete he would be without her. “Remy,” she called out again. He answered, startling her. She laughed that amazing laugh, and turned to face him.

“There you are,” she said, eyes twinkling brighter than the highest spires of Heaven.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” He stepped into the room.

“No fear,” she said with a slight shake of her head as she reached out to take his hand.

Deep down he knew that this was all wrong, that Madeline had passed away three long weeks ago from cancer, but he couldn’t help it, eagerly wrapping himself in the warmth of a lie.

Her hand was cold and wet and he was about to ask if everything was all right, when he realized how dark it had become in the room.

Black, like the inside of a cave.

And from outside he heard the sound of heavy rain.

A dog barking pulled Remy from his fantasy, and he left his v the darkness, and the rain to find himself sitting on the porch at the summer home, now in the grip of winter.

It was snowing, and the wind had carried the fluffy white stuff up onto the porch. It had even collected on him as he had sat unmoving. Remy brushed the snow from his arms and the top of his head and Marlowe barked again for his attention.

“Hey,” Remy said. “Sorry about that, must’ve dozed off.”

“No sleep,” the black Labrador retriever said, reminding ram that angels did not sleep.

Angels of the heavenly host Seraphim were not supposed to have human wives, summer cottages in Maine, or work as private investigators, either. But he did.

“I know, but I was dreaming,” he said, remembering his wife’s beautiful face and how the sudden darkness had tried to claim it.

“Rabbits?” the dog asked.

“No rabbits,” Remy said. Snow had accumulated on the dog’s shiny black coat and Remy started to brush it away. “Madeline.” Marlowe lowered his gaze. “Miss,” he grumbled in his ca9


As a member of God’s heavenly host, Remy was able to understand the myriad languages of every living thing on Earth. But even if he could not, there was no mistaking how the animal was feeling, for Remy felt the very same way.


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