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Sunday, August 14, 2011

How Hot Do You Like It?

"Who is Esmeralda?"

The question so innocently asked brought back memories of that betraying smile. "My dead wife." Carl’s voice, roughened from lack of use, sounded more gruff that he mean it to. Her young face creased in a frown. She told him her name was Akila. She and her family were traveling to Cairo and came across his corpse. Apparently Akila thought differently. She convinced her family to take Carl with them and had been tending to him since.

"You say her name often, in sleep. When did she die?"

It was too bad Akila had learned to speak English. He lucked out there. The only one in her family, which apparently was a point of pride for her. Childhood arrogance made him sick.

"Two years ago." Short answer. Hopefully that would end it--
"You talk about her as if she is alive. You say, 'I will get the answers I need from you.' and 'I will find you.'."

If he had his strength back, Carl would walk out of here. If the world wasn't so fucked up, he would laugh at his situation along the way. A kid, interrogating him. Maybe if he closed his eyes she would go away.
Fat chance.

"You are not sleeping, Mr. Carl."

He wished he was. But there was too much that needed to be done. Too many questions that need answering. He was gonna find Esmeralda. And when he did, he was gonna rip those pretty wings of hers off and make sure she could never fly back to heaven.

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