Afaintvoicedriftedthroughtheirondoor—weak,yettingingwithasubtlesoftness,likeasoftfeatherbrushinglightlyagainsthisear.
Withacreak,theheavydoorswungopenoncemore.
"Whatisit?"heasked.
Reyaliftedherhead,slumpedweaklyagainstthewall.Hersweat-soakedhairclungtoherforehead,andhereyeswerehazy,fever-bright,asifshewerelostindelirium.
Shelickedherlipsandspokeinasoft,breathyvoice,"I''mnotfeelingwell...I''msweatingallover...myclothesaresoaked.Couldyouhelpme?"
Themanagerfrowned."Didn''tyoutakethemedicine?"
HisgazeswepttheroomandlandedontheunopenedTylenoltossedaside.Hisvoicesharpened."Igaveyoumedicine,andyoudidn''ttakeit.Areyouplanningtodiehere?"
Reyadidn''tanswer.Herbreathscamesoftandshallow,herhalf-liddedgazeholdingastrangeallure—seductiveandsicklyatonce,impossibletoread.Wasshetrulyburningwithfever,orwasthissomekindofact?
Themanagerswallowedhard,thenturnedtothebathroom.Whenhecameback,hecrouchedinfrontofher,toweldrippinginhisglovedhand.
Hisgazedrifteddown,lockingonthepalelineofhercollarbonewhereitpeekedfromthenecklineofherdampT-shirt.Whenhispalmpressedagainstherskin,eventhroughtheglovehefelttheunnaturalheatradiatingfromherbody.
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