He spent the night thinking about Jules, listening to the Bee Gees, and looking out the window at the blinking traffic lights below.
He fixed himself another Becca’s Special from the fridge—she kept the supplies on hand to mix it upstairs if needed.
He sat at the window, swilling the first sip. The patrons from the bar were trickling out of the bar now. A glance at his watch told him it was two o’clock. Closing time.
Boots sounded on the wooden steps approaching the apartment door.
He turned the music off to not irritate Becca. He hurried around, cleaning up a little.
An ear-splitting scream stopped him and made him drop his drink. The glass shattered.
It was Becca.
Cyrus leapt over the couch and whipped open the door, where she was standing in the hallway, pointing at the floor.
C
