Life, or at least Lyndon’s life, went back to usual. He’d sent a brief message saying he’d gotten back in one piece to the email address Curtis had entered in his phone, and that was that.
Standing in Curtis’ apartment now, though, late at night after his shift, everything weighed on Lyndon. He flicked on the light, locked the door behind him, and looked around the partially-lit place. Something smelled terrible. Lyndon followed his nose to the breakfast bar, where a bagel and fish lay rotting next to a glass of pale liquid with mold floating in it. He pitched the terrible food and poured the liquid down the drain, thinking Curtis must have dashed out of here in a hurry to have not cleaned up after himself.
The apartment otherwise was tidy. Lyndon turned on more lights, located the water
