Afterthoughts
It can’t be said with certainty the mime’s life would have been saved had the snow storm been on time, but it’s the conclusion to which most rationale people would come. The flurry was to have hit at precisely noon; however, it arrived at half-past the hour, and it wasn’t until then that the patrons at the Robust Café realized something was wrong with Boyd Robertson (the mime). From inside the warmth of the Robust, the clientele began to see the mime really was trapped in a box. . .

Something awakened Patrick Granger. Instinctively, he pulled his arms and legs into his body, careful not to topple over his makeshift throne. Registering the twilight of his surroundings, a wave of terror spread over him.

Oh God, no. The fire. I’ve let the fire go out.

Patrick strained to see the floor below, but the semi-darkness cast menacing shadows everywhere. Reaching into his shirt pocket for one of several penlights, Patrick moved the slim beam first left and then right searching the. . .

The darkness spread just outside the cab’s window. It crept up the walk and nuzzled the front door of the Fenter home. Jason looked through it as a familiar silhouette framed by the window pane moved behind drawn shades.

His mother serving dinner.

Jason offered the driver a grand (half now and half later) to ensure he’d wait curb-side. The cabbie took the money and said something, but Jason wasn’t listening. He got out of the taxi—he in the darkness as the still-moving. . .