Searching

Nothing makes sense. The walls are closing in again. Thompson is out there, but where? Where? And all the while I'm driven round in circles by the hint of a scent of a womans perfume. Damn Blue, you're getting in too deep already.

I've been over everything I have today. Every contact, every file, every old clue and every memory in the dark corridors of my mind. Nothing has brought me any closer to Thompson. I have half a mind to march in on Thornton and demand to know what he knows. Or to offer my services, to punish Thompson for his failure. I even take my long coat from the door and rest Faith in her holster. But I know it's foolish. Thornton would have me shot on sight if I went anywhere near him. K made that perfectly clear.

So here I am, shouting at the walls and kicking over furniture. It's cabin fever and there's no way out, no-where to hide. I need something new, something fresh. Seth and Baltam are forgotten, I have to track down Thompson.

Or have the rules changed while my back was turned? Some instinctive fever for revenge and vindication courses through my veins like hydrolic fluid, burning oil tearing through an engine, red hot flames chewing up a building. I begin to think that it's not Thompson who lit this fire though. Why does it now burn so brightly, and so hot? No, there's something more to this.

K stands always over my shoulder, just out of reach, a glowing cigerette in one hand and burning match in the other.