Chapter 9
When the alarm went off Samson grabbed a pillow from the other side of the bed and jammed it down over his head, muffling the annoying beeping. Somewhere in his skull a marching band composed entirely of drummers played a deep thunderous crescendo without end. Samson groaned. How could it already possibly be morning, hadn’t he just gone to bed?
The alarm persisted, needling its way through the barrier of cotton until Samson couldn’t take it any longer.
Head still buried, he reached out to the nightstand, fumbling for his phone. He knocked something, possibly the book he’d picked up to read the other night as a distraction, onto the floor. Whatever it was hit the carpet with a soft plop. He nearly sent a glass of water toppling after it in his blind search. Finally, his fingers
