The papers on my desk are meaningless.
I can’t concentrate on the words—all the letters swim in front of
me. I see his name again, and those three little letters that mean
he’s gone and no one knows where to.
On the TV in the hall, the reporters
just say the same things over and over. I’ve heard the words so
many times I can recite them verbatim, and I’ll hear them in my
dreams tonight, if I even manage to fall asleep. I’m exhausted from
worry but I know my house will be too damn quiet, so when darkness
falls, I don’t bother to leave the office. Tomas knows the number
here. He’ll call if he can. Please, I pray, staring at the
phone. I want it to ring, I want to answer it and hear his voice on
the other end of the line.
At one point I pick the receiver up
and listen to the dia
