CHAPTER 2
The following morning, Lisa awakens to the sound of a garbage truck thundering down the street. Confused as to where she is, she sits up. After rubbing her eyes, she glances about the space. My bedroom. No … no … no. It can’t be true. My nightmare wasn’t a dream.
My bedroom. No … no … no. It can’t be true. My nightmare wasn’t a dream.Fully dressed, and still holding the doll she’d grabbed the night before, Lisa checks the time. Half past seven. In less than two hours, she must meet with an appointed psychologist. When she recalls the murder, her lips tighten. I wasn’t myself. They should have understood. I don’t need counseling sessions.
I wasn’t myself. They should have understood. I don’t need counseling sessions. Lisa cringes when she considers her behavior. After the poli
