Past Lives

The acrid stench of gasoline and charred wood still clings to the fibers of my jacket as I stand in the dimly lit safe house. Neither Vance nor I ever breathe a word about what he whispered to me in the dark that night. I never brought up the Russian endearment I overheard before sleep claimed me, and he certainly never repeated it in the light of day. I have convinced myself it was nothing more t