He crawled slowly toward the attic floor opening gripped in a cold that made his skin numb and his joints ache, a fear that made the hair on his arms stand straight. He couldn’t look back, he couldn’t scream. The comic books were forgotten, his only thought was to get out. Mrs. Duffy called to him as he walked past the salon a minute later. “Hel-oo, Hugh! How are you this afternoon?” He ignored her and went straight to the kitchen. He grabbed another coffee mug from the cupboard, content to leave his favorite one three stories above for the rest of eternity, and poured himself a hot helping. He sat at the table and took three long swallows, grateful for the sear it created as it went down. Cathy came in a minute later, not looking too happy. “What the hell was that? Can’t you even stop to say hi? Jesus Christ, Hugh! She’s a paying client.” “Oh that, yeah...Sorry.” He took another long sip, his hand shaking. She saw his distress and reached for him. “What’s wrong?
