A three AM phone call about a locked room changed everything

remembering the nights I had stayed awake listening to his breathing, wondering what I had done to make him look away.

I realized then that it had never been about what I did, or what Stacey did, or what anyone else had failed to do.

The pattern was his alone, written in the blue ink of his notebooks and locked behind the brass key he kept in his briefcase.continue reading …