Phoebe woke around noon feeling like she’d been chewed up and pooped over a cliff. It had only been a few hours since she said goodbye to Jake, but it felt longer. After they got to their new place in a seedy section of Denver, Dewey had insisted she try to sleep for a couple of hours. To her surprise, she had dropped off almost immediately, but now that a mental open season had been declared on her past, it was running amok through her dreams. She’d waded through blood and dodged Peter Harding for most of the night. And those were the good dreams. She struggled free of sheets she wasn’t sure were clean and headed straight for the shower.
It was almost as bad as her dreams. Dewey had chosen their new digs for anonymity, not amenities or décor. To call it gnarly was to imply it had at some
