Neither of us spoke a word.
They were terrible hours in which every kind of thought passed through my mind, each more ruthless than the last.
The uncertainty was what was killing me—more slowly than the two bullet wounds.
I could endure the physical discomfort. We were built to function that way.
But I wasn’t sure I could endure the doubt.
Or the loss of respect from those I loved most.
The loss of their affection.
So when the agony became too much, I decided to go out.
To do something.
To start with the obvious.
“Take this,” I said, handing Andre a folded piece of paper. “I have to go out. Keep an eye on the clock. If I don’t come back in two hours, take your sister and go straight to the receptionist’s office. Give him this paper. Tell him to call the police.”
“But… I thought
