7: Ad NauseamThe morning sun stabbed through Smith’s living room windows when Wynn and Smith exited his small makeshift darkroom in his house. Wynn carried the stack of photographs to the kitchen table and spread them out.
“Want a drink?” Smith asked from the kitchen.
“Water would be good.”
He chuckled. “No, I mean, a drink.”
“Isn’t it too early for a nightcap?” she asked, giggling.
“Not for yours truly. It’s never too early. Anything of interest in those photos yet?”
“Everything you described to me.”
“So nothing odd?” he asked, approaching the table.
“Some of the shots of him and Candy outside the motel are blurry, but I think it’s just because of the rain on the windshield, not because anything supernatural is happening. And all your shots of them inside the motel room are crysta
