The man stood facing the door. He would not
move. He did not speak. It was as if he were scared,
debilitated, ashamed. His constitution weakened, life
draining from him as if death itself were leeching off his
soul. A few moments passed and yet he still did not move.
I was about to say something when he finally spoke.
“She’s my only daughter, Mr. Kade.” His voice was
shaky, his lip no doubt quivering. The tears in his eyes
shone brightly in each word he spoke. “Do whatever it is
you need to. Just save her.”
“What’s her name?”
“Sara. She’s only thirteen.”
“I’ll do as I can, Mr. Holstadtler.”
The man moved his head to a right profile, his eyes
downturned but focused on nothing in particular, and
nodded ever-so-slightly. Bringing his gaze to the door in
front of him once again, he took a deep breath, slipped his
long, thin fingers slowly around the doorknob, exhaled an
empty lonesome sigh, and pushed the door open.
The room was almost as dark as the hallway, save
for about three candles that were burning in silver
candlesticks, one on each side of the bed and another on a
wooden dresser by the door. It was difficult to discern the
corners of the room, but since the room was small –
smaller than expected for such a big house, it was easy
enough to navigate around the disheveled wooden bed.
A girl was sprawled out on the bed, sweating and
clawing at her neck, when I entered. She kept pulling at
her nightgown, as if too hot with the windows closed, the
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