The dance

Stacy was used to this. The dance never changed rhythm. A call in the middle of the night. Another body. Another name. Nothing else.

“Garret,” her voice slurred sleepily into her cellphone. “When you ever gonna get me something more than just a name?” Too late. He had already hung up.

Stacy glanced over at her computer. She had websites bookmarked. Wikipedia. The New York Times. Wall Street Journal. Even social sites like YouTube and Yahoo. Soon, she would be performing searches. Endless, methodical, mind-numbing searches.

But first she needed more than just a name. She needed a face.

Stacy sat down on the bed and closed her eyes. She repeated the name over and over again, allowing the sounds of the letters to roll around in her mouth.

“Felton Noble. Felton Noble. Felton Noble.”

Garret leads. She follows. The dance never changed rhythm.

The room around her began to spin. The lights faded into nothing.

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