Chapter 7
Ross watched him write. It couldn’t be Ash. There was no possible way this guy was Ash. “That guy—the one I’m thinking of—he was right handed. You’re writing with your left.”
“I’m still not using my right side so well. I don’t know if you’ve noticed.” Mysterio smirked, but didn’t look up from his work. His phone rang, and he answered it right away. “Hey, John. Yeah, I’m still holed up here. We’ve got water, no food. Yeah, I’ve got food for Porthos for a week, but we’re not dipping into that.” He frowned, heavy eyebrows knitting together as he looked at the ground. “For one thing, because it’s dog food, John, not people food. It’s a different standard of quality when you’re feeding someone whose system has evolved to eat garbage and, er, waste.”
Ross made a face. He hadn’t given much thought to just how gross dogs could be.