CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
Slowly, consciousness returned to Silas Ostwinkle. At first he wondered if maybe he was in Iraq again. He couldn’t remember feeling so terrible since he’d been in combat way back in February of 1991.
The nausea, the splitting head pain, the feeling of helplessness …
Can’t be Iraq, he told himself, struggling to clear his head.
No. It’s just another goddamn hangover.
Surely that was what was going on.
But he wasn’t sure exactly where he was. He hoped he’d somehow gotten home safely into his bed and hadn’t wound up unconscious in some strange place.
If he was home, there was nothing to do except sleep it off for a few hours, then climb out of bed and heat up some of yesterday’s stale coffee and spend the afternoon and early evening nursing his hangover until he had
