Chapter 18: Err Like Human

North Shore, Staten Island

2:25 PM

It was a very beautiful home. It was certainly large, but by no means a mansion. A shower was running in the master bathroom attached to the master bedroom before shutting off. After a few moments the bathroom door opened as Madame Holly stepped out dressed in a terry cloth robe, drying her short hair with a separate towel. She was still feeling sick from the excessive amount of alcohol she drank shortly before playing the second stanza. The shower made her feel clean again for the time being, but she was still bothered by what had happened earlier in the day. That man who claimed he was Dan Shannon, but was not from this world…

She vaguely remembered Matthew pleading with her to not play the Stanza while she was beyond hammered. She couldn't remember what happened. All she remembered was slowly losing her consciousness while threatening one of her inner circle to… Actually, she couldn't remember that, either. The whole night was a blur, but Matthew's insistence in not playing the recorder… After the older Dan Shannon told her he was a different man than the one she knew and saying he was from another world…

"Yep, that's how he came here."

Holly stopped drying her hair as the voice came back. She walked to her vanity table quickly and looked in the mirror to make sure her eyes didn't change color or something weird like that. It knew what she was thinking, "How…?" "The more you dry out, the better I can hear your thoughts. I know, I know, it's disturbing. I'm not one to eavesdrop, Darlin', but it is rather hard to miss what you're thinking." Holly was becoming a little more bothered the more she had the ability to question her surroundings; lack of alcohol making her more inquisitive. She at least needed to know one thing, "Why is it I can hear you and no one else can?"

"Like the Ghostbuster said," the voice explained, "when you hit your head in that car accident, it altered the way your mind functioned. Between the physical and psychological trauma pushed on you it made your mind a powerful transceiver. Problem was, you kept hearing all those voices. They were spirits drawn to you by your mind."

"Wait," Holly was lost, "you mean ghosts were coming to me and talking at me because… because my mind was calling them?" "In a sense. They could hear your weakness. The nightmares were their thoughts intruding on your mind. When you lost your father and the police tried to pin you for murder, you were destroyed. A hurt heart and confused mind is like candy to some of the creeps of the paranormal world. It was only right that I step in and stop the pain for now."

Holly had by this time sat down at her vanity table and turned on the light so she could see herself. Even with her make-up and bright red lipstick removed, she was a very attractive woman, but she looked rather rough at current moment due to the stress that was etching on her face. After assessing she wasn't hallucinating she started talking to the voice again, "How long can you stop the other voices? How do I know I can trust you?"

"It's not me you need to trust," the voice said directly, "On top of that, its the matter of getting them to trust you. After all, you did kidnap one of them and beat the other one into nearly killing him." "Them to trust me? What're you…" she immediately knew what the voice was saying and promptly put her elbows on the table before putting her head into her hands, "You don't mean…" "I do. Mostly because to answer your first question, they'd be the best ones to help you get that mind of yours under control. I can't hold them off forever."

Holly ripped her head away from her hands and started shouting, "Why do you care so much?! Why do you give a rat's ass if this world implodes? You're already dead! Who gives a shit about me; they took everything from me!"

She heard the voice sigh. It was a sigh of patience that was ever extending; a voice that knew it was going to take a bit more time. The sound of the sigh was familiar, almost like she heard it before. It sounded like it came from a man that had the answer and knew it was the matter of getting someone to accept it. A bit annoyed, but only because it knew where the salvation lied and it all being a matter of accepting the answer. It spoke just a touch more softly, "I once did the same thing. I hated a world that - in truth - I couldn't see two feet in front of my face. I saw that same pain in you, Holly; that pain was there the moment you came into Angel Guardian all those years ago."

Holly jumped out of her vanity chair and backed away from her mirror. This voice knew her and it was alarming, "What…?! Who the fuck are you?!" There was a moment of silence. She looked around the room and tried to get the man in her head to talk again. There was another sigh, "Yeah, that was a bit too far. I didn't mean to scare you like that, but I've known of you for some time. Maybe it was fate I was to be the one powerful enough to help."

"You're not playing with me to hurt me, are you?" Holly asked in a frightened voice.

"No. I never want to hurt another person so long as I exist, whatever form I take." The voice fell silent again before saying one last thing, "Perhaps you should get some sleep. You still have too much of that junk in your body. When the time comes, we'll talk again."

Holly heard that and started to tense up again, "What? No, wait! Can I at least ask you one more thing? Please?!" There was silence. After a moment she felt abandoned again. She began tearing up…

"Go ahead." Now that she got the voice's attention she felt a bit hesitant. Nevertheless she asked, "Did you regret it?" There was another long silence. She knew the voice didn't leave; what she asked was a hard question to answer. After what felt like an eon the voice came back, "Did? Still do. Every day. From the moment I did it to right this second. Sometimes death doesn't end the guilt. Sometimes putting it right takes stopping another not through force or threat, but through reason and explaining your experience. It's difficult to do, but it's rewarding when you achieve it. Just keep an ear out for me."

Looking up Holly nodded and spoke softly, "I will." Perhaps it was the jolt of fear she felt when the voice mentioned she was at Angel Guardian, but it was becoming more clear this voice wasn't just some figment of her imagination or her going insane. It felt too… comforting a voice. Just a few hours ago she was confronted and now she was actively conversing with this strange voice. In truth, it was the most sense she felt in a long time.

She walked to the window and looked out toward Manhattan island. She spent her whole life in and around this city. Until the accident she never took any responsibility for anything. Her father wasn't particularly rich, but was well off enough to do what she wanted almost with no recourse. When she was expelled from school, it was one of the few times her father was absolutely livid at her. She didn't know why he was so high strung, but she doubted it was strictly because of her expulsion or even the refrigerant that was dumped into the car. City life was hard for a business owner, especially in the lucrative construction market. She knew her father was going against powerful people, but alas.

If what the Ghostbuster said was true, and that the voice was also confirming that, then her father was going up against more than politicians. If Sack of Nickels really did kill her father…

But where did Matthew fit into this whole thing? Just before he stepped into the room that other version of Dan reacted like he sensed something. When she was sober enough the voice asked if he could be trusted. The other Dan clearly saw something wrong with him. She remembered when she first met Matthew several years ago…

January 10th, 1994

Angel Guardian Home

Dyker Heights, Brooklyn

10:47 PM

A set of police officers stepped into the orphanage and approached the front desk. After asking to speak with a social worker the two officers walked the halls of the orphanage to the worker's office and are now walking back toward the front. One of the officers spoke candidly, "Yeah, she's been rather messed up since the accident. From what we were told she was pegged for the second degree of her father. We found she was forcefully removed from her home when the bank foreclosed. That was about a year ago."

The social worker spoke in a soft voice, clearly concerned, "What happened to the charges?" "They were dropped due to a mental incompetence plea. Girl says she hears voices. She has no one else and we found her absolutely blasted in an alleyway in the Bowery."

The Social Worker asked, "Where's the girl now?"

68th Precinct

Central Processing

Holly's hair had still not grown all the way back after her surgery; it was still at shoulder length. It was messy and uncombed. Her whole appearance was that of a homeless person. She was strapped onto the bench being processed for her to be routed out. She was dreadfully sick. After being thrown out of her house and with no one left to care for her she managed to get a hold of enough food and supplies - and alcohol - to survive on the streets. This time she stole enough cough syrup to attempt to subdue the voices she kept hearing since the accident. Unfortunately, there was only so much alcohol in the syrup to get her calm. She felt dizzy and sick because of the sugar content in the syrup. She spent over a year stealing what she could to survive and shut the violent voices up, but this time it caught her in serious trouble.

It was painful and terrifying for the 17 year old. She spent her sweet 16 in a hospital bed still under medical observation. None of her classmates came to visit; she had no other family. She was all alone with no one to turn to.

Once the insurance lapsed due to her father being gone, the hospital discharged her even though she was having severe psychological issues. She was then hounded by reporters and media outside her home harassing her about the situation. It wasn't until the reading of her father's will did she learn she lost everything. A number of the men that were her father's trustees had filed an order of incompetence usurping her power of attorney. It ultimately cost her her inheritance. Although the charges against her for her father's death were dropped, it wasn't necessary anymore because of the claims she made with her hearing the voices.

The men on the board… her and her father trusted them…

The more she thought about it the more she became upset. That wasn't the only thing. "Hehehehe. How did it feel, sweetie? You felt good when you saw his body, didn't you?" Holly tried to ignore it like she had several times before. She kept dismissing it but it kept egging her on, "You can't avoid me! His dead eyes staring back at you? Tell us: it got you all hot, didn't it?"

"Shut up!" She screamed. The voice laughed again, "Oh, shut up? Naw, I don't think I will. Come on, monkey, dance for me!" "Stop fucking torturing me!" Holly was screaming at the room she was in. The others that were waiting to be processed as well as the officers in the room recoiled in surprise as the young girl shouted at everyone and no one. No one else could hear the voices. She was becoming sober enough that the voices were loud like they were talking right in her ear. The voices all started talking, antagonizing her and hazing her as she sat there on the bench with her hands handcuffed to it.

She wanted to put her hands over her ears to deafen the sound of the voices but her restraints kept her hands at her sides. She started to thrash against the handcuffs to get free and fight the voices. They were speaking obscenities at her:

"Does the bondage get you off?"

"Why not find a few old ladies to run over?"

"Let's torture a little kid's cat! Afterwards, we can cut it up and throw it in a trashcan full of salt while it's still alive!"

"STOP!" Holly was becoming hysterical, her tears flying from her face as she whipped her head around. A few of the female officers started rushing toward her to calm her down as she kept screaming at the voices to stop talking. She kept repeating, "They won't stop, they won't stop" as she was being handled. The two officers and the social worker came in and began backing the others off of her.

After a few moments Holly started to notice that the voices were starting to subside and now all she could hear was the social worker's voice, "Ms. Bautista? Ms. Bautista, can you hear me?" That was when she realized it was an actual person talking. It was a soothing voice; it almost reminded her of Elvis Presley or Johnny Cash. She looked to him with soaked eyes looking into his. She felt a calm start to overtake her quickly. She was scared and the social worker could see it clearly in her gray eyes.

"Ms. Bautista," the man spoke again, "I'm a social worker. I work at the Angel Guardian Home. They call me 'Mr. Dub'. I heard you've been having a hard year. Will you be willing to come with me to the Home to talk?"

He was a taller man with blue eyes, dirty blonde hair with sideburns, and square jaw. He spoke softly as he asked the young girl to come with him. She could feel something about this man that made her feel accepted. She could also feel there was a dark side to him; a guilt that lay just under the surface.

After a while, the police officers and the social worker known as Mr. Dub worked out the paperwork to have her moved. She still had the handcuffs on to make sure she didn't run, but they released at least one hand to drink water provided to her. She put down her cup and proceeded to wipe her eyes with her dirty sweatshirt sleeve. She was so tired and still sick from the cough syrup. She wanted to get off this cold bench and out of the freezing police station.

"Excuse me, Miss?" Holly pulled her sleeve away from her face to see a set of black dress shoes and black slacks before her field of vision. She jumped and backed away as she looked up to the person before her. He was an above-average height man who wore a black suit with a black undershirt. The last guy sounded like Johnny Cash, but this guy dressed like him. He could have been a dead ringer if it were not for his perceived age of his late 20's, but there was another trait about him that was out of place…

His silver hair.

The man stood over her and spoke in an even, calm tone, "I apologize, young lady, I didn't mean to startle you, but you look like someone who needs help."

Holly wiped one of her eyes again as she asked, "What are you, a lawyer?" "I've been known to argue a case now and then. Along with that skill set in my repertoire, I also offer general counsel, public relations, and general managerial delegation capabilities." Holly was starting to look a little green as the room was starting to spin, "Ugh, the big words are making me wanna hurl." "I'm someone that makes things happen. If you are ever in need of help," the man reached into his suit jacket pocket and fished out a business card, "be sure to let me know." He proceeded to take the business card and placed it beside the drinking cup on the bench. Holly turned to it and picked it up. The card was printed in a matte black and all it had printed on it was a phone number with silver foil lettering.

The young girl looked at the card and saw how barren it was. She started asking, "Wait, why doesn't this card have…" she looked from the card and saw that the man was gone, "...your name on it?" She looked around and saw no sign of the man that was just in front of her. How did he leave without making a sound? If it weren't for the physical business card left to her she would have sworn she just hallucinated the man before her.

November 14th, 1999

It was a terrible 5 years. Holly had moved from the Angel Guardian Home back to the streets of the city. In that time she had been turned down for placed work due to the scandal and stigma of her father's death, and whatever work she could secure her drinking and outbursts against the voices had her eliminated. She was living in an old heavily run down Chevrolet Suburban that she had to move every few days. Today was the day she was to meet with Mr. Dub, the social worker from the Angel Guardian Home who had been helping her try and get back on her feet.

It was getting colder. She awoke this morning to droplets of water dripping on her face. The headliner of the Suburban was missing, all that was above her in the cargo area was the bare metal of the roof of the vehicle. The condensation collected on the cold metal of the roof and splashed on her face jolting her awake.

After undoing her sleeping bag she rolled over and put her head in her hand. It was another rough night. She rolled down the window, gathered the empty bottles, and dumped them out the window into the alley. It seemed like the voices were worse at night, but there were moments in the day where she'd have a flare up. She was so afraid of hearing the voices she started drinking during the day. She had been working with the social worker to stop the voices and find ways to ignore them. Above all, he was trying to coach her to stay off the alcohol. It was a slow process.
She started the vehicle, its motor choking and bogging in the cold air. She again went to move the only home she currently had to another borough. She pulled out of the alley she was parked in onto the streets of Tribeca when she decided to rub the blur from her eyes again.

A horn blew and she took her hand away from her eyes to see a black Chevy S-10 coming at her. It locked its brakes and came to a dead stop before hitting her passenger door. The truck was equipped with a ram tunnel-type supercharger sticking from the hood. The driver stepped out. He was a tall man with blonde hair wearing a black tee shirt, carpenter pants, and a Chicago Blackhawks hat turned back. He screamed at her, "What the fuck, lady? Pay attention where you're going!" Holly felt a twinge of panic rise inside her as she saw the man's green eyes…

"Maybe you should have sobered up beforehand."

Looking into the man's eyes and then hearing the voice speak, that twinge became a wildfire of panic in its place. The man in the street looked intently at the young woman in the oversized and deteriorated SUV and took notice of the look on her face. His face started to contort into a look of confusion and concern as he yelled through the exterior of the vehicle, "Hey, are you…" before he could finish his sentence Holly grabbed a pint-sized bottle of Jim Beam that sat under a pile of clothes in the passenger seat and hastefully opened it. She started drinking it in front of the pickup truck driver.
Gasping for air Holly threw the empty bottle to the floor and started gunning the engine. Nearly spinning out, the man in the truck watched as she recklessly pulled onto North Moore street flying past an old firehouse with a cartoonish symbol hanging outside the main doors. The man took off his hat and scratched his blonde-haired head in confusion. He shook his head and put on his hat as he sighed, "Yep, I'm in New York. Welcome back, Dan."

Holly walked into central reception and told the woman at the desk she was there to see her worker. The receptionist had a very bothered look on her brow. At first, Holly thought it was her breath. It took some time but after the receptionist made a phone call and spoke quietly to the person on the other side, she spoke to her after hanging up, "Ms. Bautista, your social worker's superior is coming down to speak with you."

She was bothered by that. She slurred out, "Is there something wrong?"

The receptionist had that same look on her face, but it seemed to have intensified, "You'll have to talk with her, Honey. I donno if I can explain it properly. Just wait here for Dr. Gale, please?"

20 minutes. It took some time as she sat in the waiting room and waited, feeling the effects of the pint she consumed taking full hold of her. She again felt unclean, but at least the hangover was gone again. Ol' hair of the dog.

"Holly?" She looked up and saw an older woman with a slender frame and white hair by the desk. She adjusted her glasses and slowly walked toward her, "Holly, I'm Dr. Malinda Gale, Mr. Dub's manager?" Holly went to stand, but stumbled a bit as she attempted to get to her feet. Dr. Gale came up and helped steady her as she tried to speak to her, "I see you're still having issues." "I-I'm sorry," she stuttered, "there are these voices and they started when I woke up…" "I'm familiar with your case file. There's something we need to discuss. Are you going to be okay to walk?"

In Dr. Gale's office Holly sat before her desk and waited for the woman to get herself ready to speak. She looked a bit conflicted on how to talk about it. She began with something simple, "Holly, I know you and Mr. Dub have been working on your situation for some time and he has mentioned that you have made significant progress despite the relapses. I can only imagine how hard it is to go through these episodes and then suffer not only the effects of not being able to quiet these voices, but to also be let go of the occupations he helped secure for you in embarrassment and humiliation."

Tears started to gather in Holly's eyes as she heard that. She knew she was doing the wrong thing, but this wasn't some isolated or controllable problem. Despite her failures, "Mr. Dub has been helping me so much. I know what I'm doing is not really helping me, but he has helped me. He has never given up on me. I would have taken myself out by now if it weren't…" that was when Holly noticed the look on Dr. Gale's face. Her facial expression was one of sadness. She didn't like it, "What's wrong? Is Mr. Dub…"

The doctor cut her off, "Holly, I've had to tell a lot of his cases this, but you were the one I was dreading having to tell the most. I know he was rather fond of you and even helped you beyond the sphere of the Home's obligation as far as your age, but…" "Why are you speaking in past tense?" Holly may have been drunk, but she was by no means a stupid woman. She caught the language being used and it began to worry her, "You didn't fire him, did you?"

Dr. Gale closed her eyes. An upset look came across the older woman's face as she took a breath. She sighed, "No. I don't know how to tell you," she finally faced the young woman before her, "But he won't be able to help you anymore. Last night, we found out…" she started to choke up. Holly saw the woman's reaction and realized what had happened.

Mr. Dub had died.

As hard as her life was now, Holly felt like she was starting to regain what little hope she had. In one incomplete sentence, it vaporized. She stumbled out of the chair and started to back out of Dr. Gale's office before running into the back wall. She slid down and went into the fetal position, her messy hair draping over her eyes. Dr. Gale rushed from her seat and tended to the young woman on her floor.

Holly was in the commissary of the Home with a lot of the other kids that lived there. She sat there prodding her food, still emotionally distraught over Mr. Dub's passing. The alcohol in her stomach made her not want food for fear of it coming back up, especially around these kids. She felt so detached and helpless. Her eyes were continuously filled with tears as she was torn.

A little boy walked up beside her, "Are you okay?" She turned to him; a little black boy. She locked up. She didn't realize how she looked to the room she was in, but truth was she didn't care until she was brought back to reality. She tried to clear her throat, but all she got out was a very soft and small voice, "I lost a friend today. The only one I had left." "Where did he go? Under the bed?" Holly tilted her head to the side in confusion. The little boy continued, "I lost my friend once. I lost him for a week. When I finally cleaned my room I found him again," he lifted up a stuffed sheepdog wearing a red winter cap, "I thought I lost Charlie forever. When I found him, I learned something. We never really lose our friends," he hugged the little stuffed dog, "they are closer than we think."

Holly sighed in annoyance, "It's not like that."

A much larger black man came up from behind the boy and put his hands on his shoulders, "I'm sorry miss, is this lil guy bothering you?" She looked up and saw that the man wore a Cliff Huxtable-style sweater with a very short haircut. Although a large man, there was nothing harsh about his body language. Holly shook her head while looking away, "No. Your son's okay."

"Oh, he's not my son; he's my brother." Holly looked back up confused. The man explained, "Every year, me and my family come here to deliver food from the church collection drive for Thanksgiving until this guy wandered off," the man playfully shook his brother, the little boy giving a giggle, "We came a little later than usual this year because we just received a new manager at my work today."

The little boy said out excitedly, "Rollie's a ghost catcher!"

A flare of embarrassment came across the man's face as he heard his brother blurt that out. He quickly knelt down, "Okay, Roosevelt, that's enough. Go find mom and dad and help them with the turkeys. Alright, buddy?" He ruffled the kid's hair before sending him back toward the kitchen, watching as he toted the sheepdog with him toward the back of the room.

"He's a cute kid," Holly said softly. The man turned back to her, a sigh on his breath, "We barely scrape by a living. Trying to go to school and also work my way through it, I do it for my family," he looked her in her gray eyes, "I see all these kids and I see nothing but pain. Some of these kids know reality way too early. It's not fair to them. Me and my folks do what we can to ease that pain, even though we barely have enough ourselves. Nevertheless," he looked back to the room and saw the kids eating their lunch, "we have to help each other in order to make a better world."

"HA!" the man turned back to the woman surprised, "Help? All the help in the world will never work unless the scum of the Earth gets flushed first!" The black man before the drunken unwashed woman started to inch back as she continued, "These assholes take and take until you're broken and deranged! I made a mistake!" Holly grabbed him by his sweater and shook him, "Have I not paid for it yet?!" The kids in the commissary saw the woman getting crazy and heard her screaming at the black man knelt down before her. Some of them started calling for help as staff and volunteers ran in.

Holly was forced to let the man go and was dragged out of the commissary with her screaming. Dr. Gale saw what was happening and ran up to the man, "Roland! Roland, what happened?" As she helped him up he straightened out his sweater, "I'm not sure. My brother started talking to her so I came up and sent him on. We were talking when… I guess I said something that set her off. Why?"

Dr. Gale moaned in sympathetic pain as she explained, "That young lady was accused of killing her father some years ago. She was an orphan. She learned today that her case worker… died last night. I think she lost the only friend she had."

Holly had reached the parking lot with security. They turned her loose. She watched as the guards turned and walked away from her, giving not one single care. The outburst she did in the commissary got her thrown out. As per the orders of the Home's director - against Dr. Gale's recommendations - she was to never set foot on the Home's property again.

Just when she thought she couldn't get any lower, the last lifeline she had to possible sanity was just severed. She had an anger start to well inside her unlike anything she felt before. She was slighted; scorn.

She needed to get her life back. She needed help unlike what Mr. Dub was doing. He was trying to help her build a new life; something she wasn't allowed to have, apparently. In that moment she knew she had to get her old life back and use it in a way she never even fathomed before. She needed help.

Help… Help… The word kept echoing in her head. Maybe it was because she was sick to her stomach… No, wait… the sickness to the stomach was helping her remember. A card; a black card; silver numbers…

She ran back to her Suburban and started tearing through the truck to find it. After nearly 20 minutes of looking, she found the card, bent up and creased from 5 years of being kicked around in her glove box. She climbed back into the truck and started it up to find a payphone…

"This isn't the way."

Holly gripped the wheel of the vehicle and forcefully closed her eyes as tight as she could. She started breathing rapidly and shallowly. She screamed at the top of her lungs in rage.

She broke.

Holly reached into the storage pouch on the back of the passenger seat and pulled a half full bottle of Jack Daniels from it. She chugged the final remnants of the bottle and coughed hard once she took the bottle away from her mouth. After her fit she threw the bottle out the window as she screamed, "I don't care if I have to stay drunk for the rest of my life, I never want to hear any of you ever the fuck again!" She slammed the truck in gear she ran straight through the fence and onto the street. She finally let go of the last scrap of decency she held onto. She became dangerous…

Holiday Jennifer Bautista had nothing left to lose.

Holly looked across the landscape from her house as she took in the looks of the city against the drab gray sky. There was this nagging feeling she knew who the voice was. If anything, it seemed obvious. Still, she wasn't in the best frame of mind to get to the bottom of anything considering the last thing she was getting to the bottom of was a liquor bottle.

She began to think of that day she was thrown out of the Home. Perhaps she needed to look into more about the people that were blocking her before meeting Matthew the second time.

She was still tired and sick. Whatever she was to do, it was going to have to happen later. Like the voice had told her, she needed to sleep it off. She turned away from her window and toward her bed, tossing the wet towel to the side and crawling in. She had been so intoxicated for so long she even forgot what it felt like to be in a comfortable bed. She began her heavy drinking long before she got a hold of the business and having her birthright back that she could never appropriately enjoy it. She was so consumed with hatred.

That day she decided to talk to the man in black she officially lost herself. She forgot about all of the faces of the kids in the commissary. The man before her with the little boy for a brother spoke the truth: those kids grew up in a hurry. The part that was different for them and her was she was accused of the murder of a man she loved very dearly. The worst part was, she believed it. She actually believed she murdered her father. She remembered thinking as she sat in her hospital bed after talking to the detectives that she would plead guilty. If that wasn't enough of a punishment, what did become certainly was, if it wasn't outright overkill. She couldn't even be a ward of the state because of what the Bishop family and her father's trustees did to her. 6 years of her life was spent in a bottle. The alcohol likely shortened her life horribly, to boot.

As she looked to the ceiling she felt herself drifting into sleep. She thought of all of the things she ordered others to do. She tried to think of Shannon's girlfriend. She was another one very much like her: lonely; hurt… But she had something she wished ever so badly to have. She wanted to think it was companionship, but that wasn't it. She knew very well what it was she needed, but she thought it was now out of her grasp. Even if it was, she still needed to tend to her wrongdoings; it was time to heal. She rolled over and clutched one of her pillows. She only said one thing before drifting off; a soft whimper…

"Daddy, I'm sorry."