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When Amber heard the phone ringing, she looked around for her robe and realized she’d left it upstairs in her bedroom. ‘Oh, well,’ she thought, ‘I’m alone. I guess it’s safe for me to go out like this.’ There was another phone just down the hall in the den. She stepped out of the shower, wrapped a towel carelessly around her naked body, raced down the hallway into the den, and grabbed the phone. ‘Hello?’ she said. The line was dead. Whoever it was had hung up. Frowning, Amber hung up the phone down, turned, started to walk back to the bathroom then she stopped. Had she heard someone in the kitchen? Panic filled her. Who was it? In order to get back to the bathroom she had to pass a doorway that would put her in full view of whoever was in the kitchen, if someone actually was there. The same thing would happen if she tried to get upstairs. What was she going to do? ‘Is anybody home?’ a male voice asked. Amber recognized Bobby Draper’s voice and relaxed a little. Bobby, her son’s best. Thank goodness, saved by the bell. It’s just a routine question, asked and answered. Done.It’s a sign. Keep your mind where it belongs. Another on the list. Done. Keep it up, you’re doing fine.But you have to know. Take a peek. One little look?I click back into the forbidden browser. It’s not the first story, nor the second. Scrolling down a bit...Whoa...There! It’s there!Okay, now you know it’s up and you’ll have something to read after work.Oh, who are you kidding! You know you have to read it now!I steal a nervous glance at the closed door. Sure it locks, but I can’t risk it. So I’m reading, eyes tracking sentences like lighthouse beacons, heart banging like a loose shutter in hurricane season, and already the locks on the Panama Canal are failing. All the familiar tingles and throbs are at high frequency and multiplied exponentially by the forceful, dare I say, borderline aggressive, vibe radiating from the narrator. Who is this man? Where did his stream of consciousness come.
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