The End of the Cold
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

She knew what it was. The drug had that effect. One minute you are walking down the street and the next minute a sharp pain in the neck, you feel woozy, and then blackness. And then the recovery is like this was – just fuzzy images and slight dizziness and then you can focus.

It was the living room of the apartment she had rented right in the middle of the small French town. But she had been brought here – up from the street perhaps.