The next morning found the newlyweds in the last place they had ever expected to be: a charity hospice in a seedy part of town.
They stood in the reception area, waiting to speak with… someone. Michael studied the furniture. Chipped Formica had peeled away from the surface of a badly-scarred reception desk, revealing particle board beneath. The damaged desk seemed somehow emblematic of the entire place; a shabby veneer that almost resembled something nice, but underneath lay cheapness and decay. I don’t want to be here.
Michael stared into the eyes of a woman whose sleek, brown hair had been heavily streaked with gray. Then he shook his head and stalked away, sinking onto a threadbare sofa whose flowery material recalled the 1970s.
“We're looking for Amanda Burke,” he heard Sheridan tel
