Chapter Eight
It’s a dark and stormy night. Stop groaning. It is. The rain provides just the right touch of atmosphere—the special effect our little film noir requires. It hammers on the roof of the van like someone frantic to be let in.
I am Dr. Helen Cornell B.S., M.S., P.H.D., historian, philosopher, anthropologist, and student of the human heart. Those who know me will know my story is true. I have no need to titillate others with some fiction. I do not seek notoriety.
I write in order to capture the memory of this time, lest some precious detail escape. When I am finished; I will lock this journal away. The executor of my estate will know what to do with it. If you are reading this; I am probably dead. Shed no tears. Just bring a rose to my grave, long stemmed and bristling with th
