Epilogue
Wren couldn’t believe two months had passed. He stood shivering in the mist of an early October morning, sipping coffee from a paper cup. It was unseasonably cold for this early in October, and the fog that had settled on West Harrison Street made this part of the city, just west of the Loop, seem like something out of London’s East End, back when Jack the Ripper was prowling its streets. Or at least Wren thought that’s what he would imagine if he were a romantic sort, which he had decided, despite all evidence to the contrary, that he was not. He was simply more attuned to his feelings, more intuitive, if you will.
Right now Wren had other things on his mind, like the bus that was due to arrive from Minnesota in just a few minutes. Rufus was on that bus, homeward bound after a
