SEVENTEEN
It didn’t take him a whole twenty-four hours. Took him less than twelve actually.
At somewhere around four AM, Hillam and Coombs were sleeping. The door between the adjoined rooms wasn’t closed; it wasn’t open all the way either. The lights were off in both rooms though they were lit by the illumination of their televisions. The loud volume of the one next door, she guessed, was being used to muffle whatever was going on with Putnam.
The TV in her room was on too. She’d turned it around to face the window so that she could sit on the end of her and Wreck’s bed to see it. The sound was off; some twenty-four hour news channel flickered constant images on the screen. She wasn’t really watching.
Tulsi couldn’t relax enough to sleep. She felt antsy. Either because she and Wreck ha
