Sixty-One
Clarence opened his eyes.
Blinding light.
He rubbed his cheeks. Tape. Or bandages?
Whispering voices.
Beeping.
Beeping.
BEEPING!
Clarence shuddered. "Stop that noise!"
Silence.
A bird screeched.
"Clarence? He's loosing consciousness—"
Screech.
Clarence ducked as the bird swooped, headed straight for him. He braced himself, covered his head. The flap of powerful wings and rustle of feathers was nothing compared to the screech that drilled his senses. The sound raged through his veins, vibrated to his core.
He straightened and shook his fist. "What are you doing, old bird? Why are you trying to kill me?"
The bird circled higher and higher, then dove at him again.
Clarence ran across the street to an old house.
A woman, getting out of a car in the garage, yelled and
