Michael sat in the high backed motel chair staring at John
Staples. John had been oscillating between lucidity and a catatonic state for
the last hour, frequently mumbling about events that made no sense, names
Michael had never heard of.
Beads of sweat formed on John's face, the cups below his
eyes clearly moist. A light in his eyes flickered, worry crept across his face.
Outside the motel room door muffled voices could be heard approaching, staccato
bursts of conversation, words unintelligible. Michael sensed menace in the
muffled tones and braced himself, sitting upright. Suddenly John shouted.
'NO.'
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Copyright Ray Sullivan 2011
The characters, places and events described in this novel are fictitious and any resemblance to persons, places or events, past or present, is coincidence. All rights reserved
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