DESPITE his exhaustion, the new day seemed to offer Monroe a little hope. Drenched in sweat, his body glistened slug-like. The night’s exertions left him weakened. Time was the great healer, or at least that’s how the saying went. For Monroe, waiting was something he had learned to accept. It had not always been a smooth process. Naturally impatient, eager to get on with things, waiting was wasting, as far as he was concerned. Locked in his torment, he felt a little assured that soon he would be able to get on with his life.
He blinked. The sun, warm and bright, brought him renewed energy, and he sat up. The others snored and groaned around him, relieved and secure. Monroe brought them feelings of security. That was his gift, his power. Even the woman, who he believed to be dead when he f
