Two nights after Marcos’s invasion inside the mansion near Chicago, the spy visited me yet again. This time I was alone. David had come down with a summer cold and called off his shift. His protection was not replaced. Instead, I was left alone throughout the night, comforted by lonesomeness and dreams.
Thunder and lightning prevented me from sleep, though. A wash of rain poured down from the heavens and drenched the estate. Lightning illuminated the night with yellow-white claw-like markings across the dark sky. Thunder played havoc with my ears, booming every few seconds. The wind was a tempest of mean spirits, swirling and howling with anger. It was impossible to fall asleep on the third floor because of the storm. Therefore, I stayed awake, stared at the ceiling, and dreamed of my lip
