Odors
The smell clung to him, as he began the walk down the near-deserted
corridor.
It lived, breathed, threatened to engulf him.
He had smelt it before, had learned to despise its insidious aroma.
He forced himself into the night air--or was it morning now?
The fresh warm air enveloped him, cleansing and calming, as it
washed away the sterile, cloying antiseptic smell of the hospital
where she lay.
A smell he could put up with, a sort of cosmic stalemate if you will.
He could live with that.
More importantly, so could she . . .now.
*****
Hungry
Again? He pulled his weary body from the bed and began preparing
the feed, as if on auto-pilot.
Amanda should be here, not at the Agency working late.
Interrogation transcripts, indeed!
Carefully arranging the soft blanket, he gazed down into the little
face.
The tiny black and white kitten mewed back.
It couldn't be hungry . . . again?
Couldn't Amanda have come up with a better cover story than a pet
sitting business?
Why did Edna Gilstrap pick now to believe it?
Since when was he the designated pet sitter?
The kitten worked on eating.
He was no help at all.
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