Philip didn't sound right, so I went to find him. He was in the kitchen, sitting at the table with a mug of tea held between his clasped hands. "Are ...ou ok?" I asked him, placing the milk and eggs on the table and putting my palm against his forehead. It was quite warm. "Oh, you know. One of my bad days." His voice sounded worried, even though he was trying his best to be upbeat. "Are you sure?" I was concerned. He had bad days but usually he was just exhausted. This was different. His. Stacy was no longer protesting, her eyes were closed and her mouth was open, millimeters from the wall, her shallow breaths causing condensation on the plastic that surrounded the floor indicators which were moving inexorably down from 5 to 4. I ran my finger along her soft lips, parting them, feeling the wetness that was beginning to form there. I dropped lower, hoping that I wouldn’t feel the jolt of the car as it stopped at the next floor, sliding my finger between her lips, watching as they. More

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