Its air stagnant and old, its floors and ceiling, its tables and stools reeking of fifty years of stale body odor and smoke, the squalid, old bar in the heart of the Tenderloin District was home that night for Patrick. Sitting slumped at a booth in the farthest, darkest corner, a warm erotic body pressing him to the wall, he slugged down his sixth shot of mash and asked for more.
He was frightened and confused. Sybil had come for him but had not taken him. She had revealed her spirit to him but not her name. What does she want? he kept asking himself. Staring at hands that brought his drink, he took a ten from the bills he had put in front of him when he came in and surrendered it. Sober for months, he had a great thirst not only for drink but for something else.
Seductive fingers, crawling through tiny hairs at the back of his neck climbed toward his mutilated ear and played there. As her tongue took their place, her hand reached for his thigh.
Excerpt from SATAN’S SCAT
© Shawna Ryan
Author: thrillers DESTINY'S DAMNED & SATAN'S SCAT
available:
www.pilchuckpublishing.com
amazon.com
books stores and libraries
Thursday, July 17, 2008
A TROUBLED PRIEST - SATAN’S SCAT
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