Читать книгу Sqerm - James A. Moore - Страница 13

Chapter 9

The morning sun was beginning to cut slits in the curtains of Sage’s office. Each beam was a laser dancing its way across the floor and ultimately onto Sage’s desk. Had they been real lasers, Sage’s face would have been sliced into multiple pieces.

Sage had spent another night in his office. Light crept across his face, he woke and lifted his head from the items that had acted as the most uncomfortable pillow on his desk. His face indentions outlined the imprints of the things upon which his face had rested. He gently traced the marks with his fingers and thought waffle butt.

He turned off the monitor and slid his chair away from his desk. He palmed the small digital camera and headed to the shower. The water hit the shower walls, and he took a minute to pause and enjoy the sound of the droplets. Kneeling slowly, he took a deep breath and began a set of push-ups. The exercise was quick, and he prepared for his shower. He found the sound of the water relaxing and the pressure of the shower soothing. After showering, he opened the well-organized closet, dressed, and made his way to the kitchen.

His kitchen was neat and had the accouterments of a professional kitchen. A six-burner gas stove surrounded by plenty of granite countertop spacing was the star of his kitchen. A built-in fridge that matched the cabinets was only given away by its ice machine; it was at the end of the kitchen, and it functioned as the supporting cast. The kitchen was his favorite room in the house.

Sage grabbed and carefully rinsed an apple. He selected a napkin and poured a small amount of coffee from a French press into a portable cup. A fair amount of cream and sugar increased the level of the height of the coffee in the vessel. He headed toward the garage and paused briefly to look at the bicycle. Sage was a creature of habit and organization. Sage got into his vehicle, started the engine, headed down the street, turned, and disappeared.