Chapter 25: Misery (2)
Liam Moore sat like a fixed painting amidst the raucous, noisy crowd. His thoughts were entirely with Jane Osmond, who was upstairs.
Why? Even though he prided himself on knowing everything, he couldn’t figure it out. A brief mystery.
The men, red-faced from drinking, laughed loudly, pounded their knees, and sprawled on the armchairs. Their mood was entirely different from his, who remained silent throughout.
He looked down at his glass. It appeared to be from a high-end brand, but it was actually a cheap imitation. The engraving was crooked, and the finish was rough. The rim was so thin that it would undoubtedly crack if his teeth hit it wrong. It was as crude as James Stranden. He hadn’t intended to think about his old schoolmate this way, but it happened.
His eyes saw much. If there was a God, he must have taken great care when making Liam’s sharp eyes.
What did these eyes see?
Take Philip, for example. His hands shook throughout their conversation, a common sign among addicts.
Philip joked about being an alcoholic, claiming the drink tasted sweet like honey after a long period of abstinence. But this wasn’t true.
He wasn’t interested in his drink; the glass he poured remained untouched. An alcoholic, especially one who had abstained, would lose control in such a convivial atmosphere, yet Philip had taken only a few sips before setting his glass down. Alcohol was off the table.