But John’s paralysed state had not lasted long; he picked up his gun from the bedside table and almost fired. But he would only have shot a hole through the beer fridge, because the vision disappeared as quickly as it came.
He would not have been a real cop if he had not searched the whole flat through; he looked below the bed and into the wardrobe to find that street-boy who might be playing a silly game with him. He didn’t even think about how he could have gotten into the room; he might have come up on the fire escape and gotten through the gap next to the air conditioner in the window—he looked small enough to be able to creep through.
If it is a damned troll, then he is filching the peanut butter in the fridge at this moment, John thought, laughing at his own joke, and pulled open t
