I didn't know her name the first time I saw her.
It was raining, and she had just walked out of a therapist's office downtown. Head high, umbrella forgotten. She looked… misplaced. Like someone who didn't belong to the world around her. I followed her, of course. That's how this started.
But it was once I had her here that things changed. She didn't scream, didn't beg. She listened. And then she started asking me questions. About my past. About the murders.
I didn't tell her everything. Not at first. But she knew things. Things I hadn't said.