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Danny sat on the edge of the sagging motel bed, elbows on his knees, and stared at the partially open bathroom door.
Soon. Soon he’d have the help he’d asked for from Victor. But he didn’t know if he could hold it together that long. He wasn’t sure how he’d gotten here—not the driving part, but the decisions that led to the destination. And he had a sneaking suspicion that however it had happened, he’d forgotten something important along the way.
Danny felt like his skin was crawling off his flesh. Except it was also in his brain, the crawling feeling tingling with a million slithering feet. Was this what methamphetamine was like? He laughed and for a moment almost felt sorry for his customers. But they chose their path. And what was his?
He could make out her shape on the bathroom
