A story about... Forgiveness © 2000 Damon Diehl, Marg Frey, Greg Gbur, Bryce Graves-Hurst	GREG	MARG	BRYCE & DAMON
				DAMON & BRYCE
			BRYCE	MARG & DAMON
				DAMON & MARG
			DAMON	MARG & BRYCE
				BRYCE & MARG

     The dim lighting and oppressive atmosphere must have gotten to me, or so I thought at the time. I dozed off, which isn't like me... not a man in my line of work. But none the less, I fell asleep, which is embarrassing, but this story won't make much sense if I start changing the facts around to make me look good. Besides, most people don't respect this line of work anyway.

     I woke up to a darkened room, and the chair in front of me was empty. I don't scare easily. I don't scare at all. So, let's not say I was scared. Let's say I was spooked. The knots in that chair had been tied fast, but now the man was gone. I reached to pick my knife up off the floor, but it was gone too.

     I stood up from the chair and surveyed my surroundings. The front curtain was open, and light shone in from the parking lot outside. The plastic was still there, under the chair. Clean as a whistle. My attache case was not where I left it on the bed. I checked the front door. It was locked and chained. He couldn't have left through there and chained it up behind him.

     I crept over to the bathroom door. The crack under the door was dark. I twisted the knob, stood off to the side of the door, and slowly pushed it open. It was dark; the doorway faced away from the front window so I couldn't see in. I reached around and flicked on the bathroom light. There was nobody in there.