Klempner
Turning the handle slowly, I push open the door at arm's length, to see... Baxter.
But it's not Baxter as I know him.
Knew him.
His stance is strange: standing against one wall but in a semi-crouch. And his body is twisted, as though he's supporting himself lopsidedly. His hands are behind his back and his expression is... agonised.
As he sees me, he moves, then screams. Holding his unnatural stance, "Oh, God. It's you. Larry... Help me."
What the f**k?
He's weeping the words. "For God's sake, help me. Please. I'm sorry." He keeps repeating himself, his voice racked. "Help me..."
Glock in hand, I keep him covered, glancing right and left for anyone else. There's a door off to the right, two off to the left. "Help? You?" Still I don't approach any more closely. "Baxter, wh
