She had begun her prayers in earnest then and was beginning to become lost in her memories of her Papa when the sound of hushed voices intruded upon her consciousness. She heard a male and a female voice speaking to one another and they seemed to be drawing near to her sanctuary. A feeling of panic spread through the girl's body and she wildly looked about the room. Other than the arched entryway of the chapel, the reliquary, the candles, the painted angels, the stained glass angel and a black, metal grate were the only visible choices of possible escape. As the voices seemed almost upon her, she had no time to ponder her options. She hurried to the grate and pulled. She could not make it budge, so she turned to the stained glass window. For reasons still unknown to her to this day, Christine ran her fingertips along the edge of the frame and felt a small switch. She flipped the switch and the window began to swing in, away from her. She caught it, opened it enough for her to step. He hesitated a moment before asking, ‘Do you want to be with this one?’ Alison smiled at him. ‘I thought you’d never ask!’ – – – – – – – – – – Simon found John near the bar. He told him, ‘Don’t worry about giving me a lift home, I’ll be staying here instead.’ ‘Alison?’ he’d asked, and at Simon’s nod John clapped him across the shoulders. Then he went back to chatting up the pretty young brunette he was with. Just across the road from the club was a motel. The old guy on reception didn’t bat an eyelid when Simon and Alison walked in together and asked for a room for the night. He shoved the registration book across the desk, fiddled underneath it to find a pen, then grunted, ‘Room 42 – across the other side.’ Once in the room, Simon looked around, suddenly a little bashful. For all his bravado, and, in truth, some experience too, this was a little faster and more ‘matter-of-fact’ than he was used to. Alison had no such hang-ups, however. She took off her coat and went to the alarm.
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