Gazing at the mostly healed wound, he noticed that the flesh surrounding the scar was reddish and swollen. The infection was gaining a hold again, as it had done several times now. He would need more antibiotics soon. Something different, stronger this time, because obviously what he had was no longer doing the job.
“…So if you haven’t pulled out your snow shovel yet, you might want to think about it, because this front is definitely going to bring frozen precipitation with it this afternoon and evening. Most likely in the range of three to six inches.” Yet another, different feminine voice squawked from the television in the corner.
“There’s no way we can get a reprieve from that?” the anchor joked.
“Sorry, Skip, I don’t make the weather, I just forecast it,” the woman returned with a good-natured lilt in her voice.
“Meteorologist, Tracy Watson. Thanks, Tracy. It’s six twenty-eight, and coming up in the next half hour of Eyewitness News this morning, health reporter Doctor Patrick Kennedy will tell us about some alternative treatments for back injuries.”
“…And,” the co-anchor chimed in on cue, “We’ll have more on why the Major Case Squad has enlisted the aid of Saint Louisan and self-proclaimed Witch, Rowan Gant, to solve a bizarre homicide. We’ll be back right after this…”
All that was within the small motel room came to a complete and abrupt halt.
The endless prattle that had in Eldon Porter’s mind heretofore served only to chase away silence now had his full and undivided consideration. The mere mention of the warlock’s name pealed loud and clear through the muddy audio, striking deep into his soul and bringing him to instant attention.
Water continued to sputter from the faucet as he turned to look at the flickering TV screen. He continued to stare, silent and completely motionless throughout all one hundred eighty lethargic seconds of inane commercials-advertisements for everything from fruit juice to car loans. Never once did he twitch or so much as even blink. In point of fact, he scarcely even breathed.