The basement air was thick with the damp and dust, a chill that had little to do with the temperature. Victor worked with the quiet efficiency, his hands moving through the damp, as he searched for his belongings. It wasn't too long a soft, hesitant scuff of a heel on the concrete stairs broke the silence. He didn’t need to look up to know who it was. The scent of her perfume clashed violently with his nose, had given her out. “Victor.” Sandra’s weak voice came up.Victor continued his methodical search, pulling out a warped sketchbook filled with childish drawings of the countryside. He put on a smile that disappeared quickly. This book held something memorable in his life. Whereas, he didn’t bother to acknowledge her.“Victor, please,” she tried again, taking another step down, her emerald gown looking absurdly out of place in the grimy cellar. “You have to listen to me!” Seeing Victor wasn't concerned about her, she continued to say. “You have to know things aren’t as simple a