” Courtlaw laid his hand upon Ennison’s shoulder. At this juncture, a cry burst from the child, who, nearly smothered by the weight imposed upon him, only recovered the use of his lungs as Wood altered the position of the bundle. “Hey,” he said, his eyes slowly adjusting to the soft blackness. Plainly. She had never felt so acutely the desire for free initiative, for a life unhampered by others. Let alone a girl. And imprinting a kiss upon his mother's cold lips, he left the room. Ennison. Her target was a fifty-four year old man who lived with his mother, an obese neighborhood woman, a widow named Dawn Plote.
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