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to the counter. There he studied the glass jar full of nearly opaque fluid and the cloudy object lurking within. "What the hell do you suppose this thing is?" he grunted. "Damn thing looks like a high school student's biology project." |
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"Maybe, but who for? Driver didn't have any kids," Proctor sighed. |
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Dawkins held the jar at eye level. The cloudy contents sloshed back and forth against the backdrop of sunlight glistening off of fresh fallen snow and streaming in through the window. "Wonder what the hell those things are in there? Must be growing. It's a hell of a lot heavier than it was the other day." |
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"Maybe the old gal was culturing something," Proctor muttered. He didn't care what was in the jar. At the moment that was the least of his concerns. The old house was beginning to unnerve him; all he really cared about now was getting the whole sordid mess wrapped up and forgetting about it. |
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Dawkins, however, was preoccupied with the contents of the cumbersome jar. His probing eyes were squinted into narrow slits. |
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Lawrence Dawkins was tempted to tell the young officer that his work was his life, that he was intrigued with the amorphous-looking object because the ugly reality of the situation was that he had nothing better to do. Instead, |
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