This was where Delilah Caldwell lived. He had found her address in the phone book and knew right away that it was her house. He had called ahead of ti...e and it was almost like she knew he would. He rang the doorbell and she answered. Delilah was a woman in her sixties. She had gray hair and a thin face. She was wearing a purple jumpsuit with pink socks. Danny was a little nervous, but he stepped in anyway. Danny followed the older woman to her living room. They both sat down. ‘I’m sorry I had. This time. ‘Stupid, stupid, stupid!’ a slighted inner-voice berated. Sound, it knew, encouraged all kinds of familiarity. The one thing she had to be above. At least for now. In her general scheme of things of course, it was small beer; she knew that. Yet it was a departure from the script just the same. And she was growing less and less fond of departures. As before, when excitement grew so uncertainty waned. At first, lingering germs of doubt had made her uneasy. How could one know, after. More

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