Hell, I didn’t know how to deal with myself. I sat in my car and let the heat of the day bake me. Maybe I could sweat those images out. Didn’t work. The Babbitt’s garage door opened. Before Mrs. Babbitt came over to see why I’d been basting for twenty minutes, I dragged my butt up the steps and inside the house. Kell sat on my couch, foot propped on the coffee table. Without a word I kicked off my shoes, stripped, and crawled into the shower. The water washed away the smell of death, but didn’t seep into my brain to erase the mental pictures. I stayed under the deluge until the water turned icy. Sad that this was becoming a habit with me. Robe on, hair combed, I bypassed the niceties with Kell and went straight for the Don Julio in the kitchen. Three slugs later, I began to breathe again. Bottle in one hand, empty Flintstones Village mug in the other, I shuffled into the living room and sat down. “How are you feeling?” I asked, hoping it sounded more sincere than it felt.
