To my relief, the man did not seem to have a wife or children. Wanting to be thorough, I noted the areas of the house that would be lit in the evening, and in which order they were lit. I even dared to peek in his ground-floor windows. Based on the information I gathered, I made a sketch of the probable layout of the home’s interior and where I suspected he kept his collections. At night, after the house had quieted, I’d return to the Fae-mily Home, hoping there had been word from Gwyneth, only to receive a shake of the head from Fi. Disturbed by the lack of response, I’d pace the floor of my tiny room. Had the letter been lost? Intercepted? I invented a hundred scenarios in my mind, believing Gwyneth would not have wasted any time in replying. At some point, if Nature was kind and allowed exhaustion to claim me, I’d fall into bed and sleep. If panic overtook me instead, I’d find relief in a syringe full of Cysur—despite the commitment I’d make to quit in the light of day, I’d yield when fear stalked me in the darkness.
