On the Road Again

’You shouldn’t have done that, you don’t know what you do child.’ Scorpio’s voice, quiescent, fading off again out of reach.

’What have I done? Tell me, explain yourself’ Peter shouted into an empty room, tears flowing sinuous, and unnoticed, down his face to drip and mingle with the liquid of Lynda’s lost life.

No reply.

Swallowing his gnarled emotions he returned to the task of finding her transport key. Lying tucked in a ball, beside empty report folders in an alcove beneath her desk, lay the woman’s tattered old coat. If I were a woman that’s where I’d keep them. He thought as he felt about, and eventually pulled the key from her inside pocket. Moments later, outside on the street, he could just make out Larry through the static of the falling snow, stamping his feet next to a dingy old pre-war Velta half buried beneath two feet of snow. He had cleared the windscreen carelessly and now waited in numb silence. Peter hit the keypad and popped the doors open.