Chapter 157: Whiplash
....
Los Angeles.
The small apartment was quiet, save for the rhythmic ticking of a wall clock and the occasional honk drifting in from the street below.
Stephen Jr., sat stiffly in a cushioned chair across from her - the same woman whose life he had once tried to reroute with a single sentence.
January Jones.
But not the one the world would come to know.
This January was younger.
Early twenties.
Blonde hair loosely pulled back, not styled for the camera but clipped up in a way that suggested she had just needed it out of her face.
Her skin had no makeup, just that natural, unfair kind of glow.
She wore a soft oversized cardigan and sat with both hands tucked under her thighs, shoulders slightly hunched - as if trying to make herself smaller.
They hadn't said anything for a long while.