It's just me. I'm Anita Collins. May I come up?" Without waiting for an answer, she heard light footsteps coming up the stairs and then a young woman ...ame into her room smiling. "Hi, Cindy, as you heard from my parade-ground bellow, I'm Nita Collins. I'm the Editor of Everything Else for The Deerfield Times. Can I do a story on you? It's not every day I get to interview a real live slave." She was grinning and her hand was extended in greeting.Cindy eased herself up in the bed and stuck out her. "But everyone's back over there," she said, trying to point the other way."That's okay," I said, "you and me have got something interesting to see in here."I opened the front door to the shack."Really, what?"I smiled at her and guided her into the dark living room. "You."If she understood what I meant, she didn't show it. We stumbled through the room, around the sofa and table, through the gap in front of the big black TV. "It's so dark," she complained."Its okay, just in here," I told her, arm. More

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