Undercurrents [antikvár]

1AS HE STEPPED off the jetway, Lou Boldt spotted the child held in the woman's arms, a keen sense of expectation in the young blue eyes as they briefly caught his own. The child attempted to kick loose from her mother, who set the girl down, allowing her to run to greet her father, a rather average-looking executive-type a few people back. It was symbolic to Lou Boldt that the child should pass him by. He felt as if everyone, everything were passing him by, taking no notice. Perhaps it was his own fault. Yes, perhaps he was invisible. Perhaps what he wanted was to be unseen and left alone.He heard the child giggle and found himself tempted to tum around. He loved the musical sound of a child laughing. Was there anything more beautiful? Anything more missing from his life?But right now the child didn't matter.The killings had started again; that was all that mattered. He maneuvered his way through the arriving passengers, his mind elsewhere, eyes trained toward the floor as he absentmindedly watched the colorless toes of his scuffed shoes.He didn't want to believe it was the work of the same man. He had consumed the better part of the short flight from Portland to Seattle struggling with the thought, trying