Sandra felt like hitting Detective Jason Broesch. Of course, she wouldn’t give in to her urges. There was no money for bail. But in her mind she could feel the crisp smack of her hand against his cheek and hear the pleasing sound of flesh contacting flesh. Maybe she was going crazy like her mother. Sandra felt like she was wound tighter than rung out mop.
Detective Jason Broesch was talking to her again and she had missed everything he said. His voice registered as a buzzing in her brain and a disturbing vibration of the air around her. It was like the death of her mother transferred “The Crazies” directly to Sandra. She wasn’t crazy before. She wasn’t, damn it. What the hell was he saying?
“I asked if you were ok?”
Had she spoken out loud? She didn’t know. She must have though. She needed to get out of her head. She felt like she was beside herself like the shadows on an old TV screen; like her life was previously recorded and she was watching it for the first time but on fast forward and she was missing every fourth frame. No, she was not ok.
“No. I’m not ok.”
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