It’s been eight months since I breathed free air. Eight months since I saw my best friend. Six months since I thought of stirring rebellion. Four...months since I lost hope of escape. Now I fantasize about killing Michael. I kill him. The guards hear the shots. They bust in the door, and gun me down. I hit the floor, watch my life flow out in a thick red on the scuzzy hotel room carpet – just adding to the stains – and it’s all okay. Because now I’m free. And he’ll never make me feel like. " I encouraged,my voice again rising in pitch as I almost willed her to answer. Shedidn't and I didn't get another squeeze. She'd always been the moreobstinate of the two of us. "Another squeeze?" asked Wendy. "Yes. It was a bit stronger this time." I replied without looking up. "I think I saw a smile," said a familiar voice behind me. "Dad!" I said with a jump. "I didn't hear you come in." "I've only been here a few moments and I didn't want to disturb you.You're doing so well and it seems. More

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