CLICK
The most terrifying truth is not who pulls the strings, but that there are no strings, only a paying audience.
Intermission
Twenty minutes. The phone sat on the counter like a small black verdict. I put my hand over it as if I could push the call back into the line.
Heather hadn't moved. The shirt collar she'd borrowed sat crooked on her shoulder, and the two tickets were on the table between us, 7-C and 7-D, lying close enough to look like a pair of misprinted earrings. I cleared my throat.
"Sit down," I said.