It was surprising how quickly the phone call was diverted, and not to Moretti's desk, but to him home number, and the man answered with a pleased tone, his smile evident even down the phone. "Good morning, Aiden." He said, sitting down. He had slept, slept the sleep of the dead for the first time in what felt like days and had in fact been over a week. "You're up early, aren't you? Late to bed and early to rise, as they say." He teased gently, cradling the phone between ear and shoulder as he poured himself a coffee. He had been awake long enough earlier in the day to arrange the hamper's card and read the newspaper, but then he had gone back to bed, back to soft warm sheets. The dreams had been terrible, but they were always terrible now, and in the morning light filtering in between the blinds, the horrific twisted faces and the voices had all faded into nothingness.
"Tell me you're not allergic to breakfast?" He said, leaning back again against the headboard, smile growing wide again.