Glimpse

by Steve Whibley

  ***

  I was released from the hospital after three days. Hospitals tend to smell a lot like diapers and beef soup—a combination I couldn’t easily get used to—so I was happy to leave. I think the nurses and doctors were even happier to see me go. Getting me out of there meant they got rid of Colin too. The last time he visited, he spent an hour testing how many wooden tongue depressors he could fit in his mouth (fifty-six, in case you were wondering).

  It felt wonderful to be back in my own bed, among my own things. I settled in, thinking everything was perfect, until I reached my good arm toward the stack of comic books and noticed a piece of parchment, folded in half and resting on top of my reading material. My name was written in perfect cursive across the front.

  My breath hitched when I unfolded the letter.

  Dear Dean,

  Welcome to the club. We’ll be in touch.

  C.S.

  The initials were like two cymbals clanging in my head. I didn’t know what was going to happen next, but I knew darn well who C.S. was: the Congregatio de Sacrificio.

  About the Author

  Steven Whibley has lived in British Columbia, Alberta, and Japan; volunteered in Thailand, Myanmar, and Columbia; explored the ruins of Tikal, Angkor Wat, and Cappadocia; and swum with sharks in Belize. The only thing he loves more than traveling the globe and exploring new cultures is writing books (and spending time with his wife and two year old son, Isaiah, of course). Whibley is the seventh of nine children, and uncle to 30 nieces and nephews (and counting).

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