She assumed the accumulated files had reached the doorway by now, blocking passage inward.But the door opened easily. She was not greeted by the mountain of files that had ruled her imagination. Instead, four tame stacks awaited her on the desk. The calendar was still tacked to the wall as she had left it. The Database hummed as it always hummed. Today the sound struck her as neutral; perhaps even benevolent.Bene violent.Bone el vent.The month had turned, but she didn’t flip the calendar. She put her hand on the wall, leaned closer, looked anew for the woman and child in the shadow of the trees.HS89805242381: This time, her fingertips relished the familiarity of the password.She picked up the file of EMMITT JUDD ARCHINGTON.ACHING TORN.CHANTING OR.She searched the HS number, cross-checked the information, input the date. Her first file since the emergency batch of airplane fatalities; the first file she had ever knowingly processed.It was less harrowing than she had anticipated.She remained calm as the names came rushing up at her.
