>>11021246part 6
Without realizing what he was doing, James went to the bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror. He stared long at himself and undressed, his clothes feeling as if they were a prison. He tore through the cabinets, discarding whatever he found, in search of something greater, though he wasn't sure what. And as he reached the back of the drawer below the sink, the innocuous drawe filled with half used bottles of toothpaste and hair ties, James found a remnant of his father, or perhaps of one his mother's lovers. He grasped it tightly, and ventured into his sisters room.
Her room was like a sanctuary. So neat, prim, and proper. Everything organized in a way that was graceful, if not logical. Pictures pinned to corkboard illustrated her social life, books on her shelves defined her thought, or atleast the image of it she wished to project. But to James, all of these things were peripherary. Above all else, the one thing that was truly rapturous about the room was the scent. It wasn't overpowering; it wasn't even a scent. It was not something as haphazard as an odor, or a byproduct like an aroma. No, this was methodical, chosen for its properties, something to add personality to the room. This was a fragrance, perhaps the fragrance he associated with his sister, and he had to know the source.
