Hollywood Gothic
“With the shifting of the water his chair creaked, complementing the moaning of the wind. Side by side, Challis and Morgan Dyer sat on the quilted leather sofa, waiting to catch their breath, staring before them like zombies in an Antonioni movie. Challis was fighting to calm his mind, fighting to stifle the frustration building in the path of her two accusations. It was as if he were reliving the frustration of the night in Malibu. Why did you kill her? What do you mean … what’s going on? Why d...id you kill her, why, why, why? His mind had tripped then, slid off the wire. It couldn’t be happening again, not with Morgan. His hands worked at one another, sweaty. His eyes burned and he tried not to look at what was left of Jack Donovan. Beside him she was shaking, clearing her throat, wiping tears from her face with a tight white knuckle.
“I didn’t kill him,” he said slowly. “And I figured you were the murderer. I turned around and there was this thing coming at me with a club, or a knife …”MoreLess
“I didn’t kill him,” he said slowly. “And I figured you were the murderer. I turned around and there was this thing coming at me with a club, or a knife …”MoreLess
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