She didn’t say anything when she walked in. She just brushed me aside and sauntered in with that strut she had. She looked around as she pulled each finger of her glove and then took them off and slipped them into her purse.

“You don’t look sick.” she said looking me up and down as I closed and locked the door.

“I mean, you’re pale and your hair is dull and lifeless, but I’m guessing you always look like that.”

Why was she in my apartment? Obviously Mister McIntyre sent her. Why her?

“As I can tell from your silly little scrunched up face and crossed eyes you are obviously trying to fathom why I’m here.”

Her gloves were finally off. She was walking around my living room, a look of amusement on her face. Continue reading