As he got to his feet, his lucidity began to return. He went back to Luther’s alleged office and kicked the chair over in frustration. He rechecked the cabinets and desk drawers, frantic for some evidence, some token to make this fool’s endeavor worth it.

       “This is all wrong!” he bellowed angrily.

       Chris slammed a fist onto the desk, knocking over a framed photo of an elderly black man and a girl. From behind it rolled a silver vial, the size of a crayon. The vial looked medical in nature: the kind easily attached to a syringe for injection. Without a second thought, he snatched the vial and pocketed it.

       “I’ve got something; a vial.”
&nbs...

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