K. Marvin Bruce

  Terah swung around to see the man he’d found fucking in bed.   The figure leered at him, and seemed solid.   And clothed.   Terah backed into the burner as the figure approached.   Had Mich lied about being alone here?   Had he been setting him up? The man looked like the sex guy, but his face was pure menace.   He held a worn leather Bible in his left hand.   He approached, his smile broadening with every step.   He reached his hand toward Terah.   Then he was gone. The warmth of the boiler casing on his back brought Terah around.   He didn’t want his back exposed.   Keeping his eyes in the direction of Wednesday, he backed in the shadows to the next boiler, trembling. “It’s okay,” Mich soothed.   “He’s gone.” Shaking so violently he couldn’t speak, Terah remained in the shadows until the encroaching chill drew him back to the taunting orange light. “There’s a reason this real estate is so cheap,” Mich joked.   “I ...

  “Wednesday was Episcopalian.    Not Catholic, not Protestant.    Not really a chaplain, some say.    He was rumored to’ve faked his own ordination.    In any case, he tried to take over runnin’ the place.    He had this thing called a D.Min.    Sounds like ‘demon’ to me.” “I know what that is,” Terah interrupted.    “It’s kind of a sham degree offered by seminaries so ministers can call themselves ‘Rev. Dr.’    It’s a ‘doctorate’ without having to do the level of work required for a Ph. D. or even a Th. D.    The people that study for them generally don’t have the intellectual ability to be called ‘doctor’ any other way.” Mich looked thoughtful in the light of the fire.    Terah had no idea what time it was.    Without work, time was arbitrary. “That makes sense,” Mich mused.    “From what I’ve read he didn’t act like a professor.” “You don’t need to cut them an...