After busting into the bathroom and turning on the cold water to stop the kids’ mid-rut, she came back out and listened to the person on the phone.�...�Odd phone call. No one has that number except specific people,” she said, staring at her phone for a few seconds. “They told me that I could trust you. My son is immortal, or at least that is as close to as I can describe it. He was hit by a train and pushed under it when he was three. When the train managed to stop, they ran down the tracks looking. My darling Christine did for me exactly what I had done to her – no more and no less. But it did not escape my notice that her touch on my arms and shoulders became less hesitant as each moment passed. Her hands accustomed themselves to the touch of a man beneath her fingers, and (although I say it myself) I think she actually took a pleasure in that. I despatched her to fix some coffees while I got out of the bath and dried myself. Rather than get dressed I simply. More

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