They found me.
It was probably the first place anyone would look, but I didn't have anywhere else to go. Her headstone was as far as I could make it.
With my sister's blood drying on my fingertips, stumbling around in the darkness of the thunderstorm, I couldn't think; I just let my feet carry me.
I knelt down and told my mother what had happened.
How I was finally able to get her to sleep, and the waves of anger from his vengeful silhouette, his face under my fingernails, the lock, the climb,
the determination to keep her safe from that terrible man. The unfamiliar weight of the gun and no comprehension of how things went so terribly wrong.
By the time the officer's lights found me, I had grown silent. I had run out of things to confess and tears to cry.
Were they there to help? How had they known I needed it? But soon it was clear to me that they were not on my side. Their whispers were unwelcoming, and he was with them, led them to me.
They wrapped me in blankets and injected me with something to help me rest. I slept too deeply. It was as if I blinked and I was somewhere else, with men in crisp uniforms pulling me from a car.
I was disoriented and they didn't give me time to adjust, so I resisted, but I was exhausted, and it was easy for them to grip my elbows and hauled me around.
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