Mr. Patterson barely had time to raise his arms to cushion the blow, but it still sent him sprawling to the floor. The walkie-talkie still squawked, a... it went sliding across the floor. ‘…the elevator. We are making our way down the right stairwell in pursuit!’ ‘Thanks for the tip.’ Punk Rocker said as he continued running down the hallway towards the boiler room. He stopped at the stairwell double doors just long enough to slide the crowbar into the handles to block them. ‘That crowbar came. This one tiny step of total trust. Now here they were, stood in her kitchen like two tongue tied teenagers, not knowing what to say, or how to begin to close the gap, faced as they were with reality, her father confessor, her scribe, to some extent lovers, her distant soulmate and his lovely subject. She poured the tea, his black and sugarless, then they sat at the big old table, sipping at the Englishman`s cure all, saying nothing, just absorbing each other, appraising one another, each a. More

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