Part 3

Three-nineteen in the morning.

In the light of the microwave clock I slowly stirred another spoonful of Folgers into my cup. The water was barely warm. Brown rings stacked up around the inside of the mug like layers of sandstone. Cup number who knew, I didn't feel it and I didn't need it. It was just something to do.

My phone was in the exact center of the table. I'd killed almost twenty minutes positioning it there and now there was nothing left to do.

I clicked the home button. No notifications. 

I knew that. Missing the call would have been impossible. I let the screen die to black.

In Hell at least I'd know.