Lazy planks of light angled through the blinds, dim but enough to see by. I stood inside a cozy little living room with framed portraits on the walls... Two or three of a long-haired girl who was probably Dana in prior years, but all the rest were pictures of who I guessed to be Lisa Trowell. One artful shot looked like a clever double exposure of Lisa and an identically-dressed twin. The rest of the poses ran a gamut of hairstyles and costumes. Lisa had many faces, and moods. In the small. ‘A terrible way to die,’ he said, evenly, his eyes a million miles away. Emile had died in a place like this, the twenty-year old memory still afresh in his brain. He had been lecturing, in the States. He hadn’t even know she was ill. All of their phone conversations and letters, and she hadn’t even broached the subject. Brave was she as she faced the final journey, braver than he would have been in her place. Had he known the solution would have been child’s play. His flight landed and he had. More

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