Christopher Priest's home was on Stone Quarry Trail, a fraction of amile north of the Kirkwood house, but not so easily reached. His assistant nodded, sifting through the sheaf of pink message slipsshe carried, sorting them by priority. The drug had warped her perception of time. He pulled Geist's notes in front of himand flipped through the pages.
She had called him at thecrack of dawn and asked to see him before morning Mass. She pressed her eye to the peephole. His pantsand long underwear clung to him where he'd wet himself. Thank you, Jessie, she whispered.
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