He felt it coming on, so he got up and rushed from the room. He reached the

bathroom just in time and threw up in the toilet. He got out of his clothes

because his body felt literally on fire. He climbed into the shower and turned

the water on as cold as it would go. It still felt like he was in a steam bath.

Or a furnace. It was as though the water was hitting his skin and evaporating

from the heat.

 

He grabbed the pipe stem of the shower head and squeezed. He felt the metal give

under his grip and let go before he crushed it.

 

He slumped against the tile, counting his breaths but still losing control,

feeling the enormous weight of hopelessness settle down on him.

 

He was Atlas without the requisite strength.

 

For the first time in his tortured life, Paul Rogers wasn’t sure he could

actually do this. He didn’t know if he would survive long enough. It would be a

cruel irony if he were to drop dead at the woman’s feet, inches from his

decades-long goal of snuffing out her life.

 

He climbed out of the shower, toweled off, and sat on the toilet. The pain

finally subsided, the internal fires lessened in their intensity. He put his

clothes back on and returned to the room where Myers and Quentin were still

sleeping.