LIGHT 12
Monday, after pacing the house like a caged animal for forty minutes, I realised I needed to get out. I’d spent a couple of hours trying to get a grip on the recording of my dreams, but hit a wall when I couldn’t conjure, with clarity, the facial features of Sean.
I thought long and hard, screwing my face in concentration, until a headache formed at the back of my eyes. All I found in my mind—as some form of description—was the outline of a body, a mess of brown hair the hue of rich dark chocolate, and the rippling of muscles beneath flesh. Everything else was a blur. Maybe that should have been description enough—but it wasn’t for me.
In need of a break to clear my head, I grabbed my gear—pen and paper included—and headed out the door. I drove until no longer in Lichfield, no
