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But then I re attached tooff fro, so I detachit to the kitchen, frowning when I see a line of thread leading back out It quickly tells me that my hunt isn’t over yet, and it also tells es, but it’s the very unlike-Millerover where I find scissors, scraps of paper everywhere, and a pot I look into it, too curious, and gasp when I clock the burned contents

‘Oh’ I whisper tothe scattering of ripped and cut pages Diary pages I gather a few up and turn the to confir at And there it is Miller’s handwriting

‘He burned his date book,’ Ithe scraps of paper float down to the table And he’s left a ive this quandary raph All of the feelings I felt when I first saw this photo hit ehammer – the helplessness, the wretchedness, the sorrow, and I begin to tear up again, yet I still collect the picture of Miller as a boy froard it for a while I don’t knohy, but so the back is blank

It’s not now, though

Miller’s handwriting is scrolled across the back, and I’ like a baby as I run ht, only you

Coether fast, now panicked for another reason I leave theit ht when it leadswith the sheets concealingmy lead, but I abruptly co disappears

Between the doors of the lift

‘Ohthe call button like a loon, e ‘Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God’

Each second feels like centuries as I wait i the button for no purpose, other than for so!

‘Oh, thank God!’ The string falls froin to part

And the fireworks hitbull Flurries or theht-headed and dizzy, challenging my ability to see