The Cartoonist
“Scott had driven it hard, burying the tachometer needle into the red with every shift, and now the temperature indicator glowed an angry crimson.
Before leaving the hospital he’d gone by the old man’s room again, but the artist was still sound asleep—a sleep that was more like unconsciousness—in his wheelchair by the window. As Scott left the ward, the nurses regarded him as they might a walking contagion, and Scott guessed they’d already heard about his encounter with the old man. News tra...veled fast through the hospital grapevine.
He ground the car to a halt in front of the house and jumped out, slamming the door behind him. His injured leg complained at the strenuous activity, but Scott barely noticed. He started directly inside...but before the mocking eyes of the house he hesitated, feeling cold and unmanned. Without his family in it, the house was simply a collection of bricks and boards, a cold and creaking tenement haunted with echoes...and suddenly, he couldn’t bear the thought of going in there alone.MoreLess
Before leaving the hospital he’d gone by the old man’s room again, but the artist was still sound asleep—a sleep that was more like unconsciousness—in his wheelchair by the window. As Scott left the ward, the nurses regarded him as they might a walking contagion, and Scott guessed they’d already heard about his encounter with the old man. News tra...veled fast through the hospital grapevine.
He ground the car to a halt in front of the house and jumped out, slamming the door behind him. His injured leg complained at the strenuous activity, but Scott barely noticed. He started directly inside...but before the mocking eyes of the house he hesitated, feeling cold and unmanned. Without his family in it, the house was simply a collection of bricks and boards, a cold and creaking tenement haunted with echoes...and suddenly, he couldn’t bear the thought of going in there alone.MoreLess
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