“I recall discussing something along those lines recently with you, Clayton, I’m a little tired and old for that, I think.”
Clayton hurried now to catch up with the old man. He stopped in front of him.
“Miracles happen, Mr Matthews,” Clayton said, staring. “I can prove it. They’re real, everything I’ve said about them is real. It’s extremely important that you listen.”
“What am I, your messiah? I don’t know how I can help you, Clayton, I’m sorry to be so blunt.” He pushed through the young man and felt the eerie softness of his flesh, the way it slid over his bones. Clayton, silent, studied the professor’s face; knowing, keenly anticipating his response.
