![]() No, it had all happened, as hard as it was to believe. Had it really happened? Or would she wake up at the sound of the alarm, squint at the reflected rays of light on the smog-coated windows and realize, as she wiped sweat from her forehead and threw off her blanket, that the last four months had been one incredible nightmare, the hospital, the funeral, the agony and despair…while waiting and eventually hoping for Father to die…all of it…and that everything she’d experienced and seen would dissipate like visions, as they had when she’d left home seven years before, forever, or so she’d thought. ![]() ![]() Her head lay against the window her mind wandered. The taxi fought its way up First Avenue, past the United Nations, the Fifty-ninth Street bridge and the singles bars that lined the avenue. The folder was opened and the paper inserted.Īnother folder, labeled Therese, was placed on top of the Parker file and the desk light was flicked off. A piece of paper, which contained a detailed resumé of Allison Parker’s life, was held over the desk by a pair of well-groomed hands. In the upper right-hand corner the name Allison Parker was printed in bold-face lettering. A plain manila folder lay on a briarwood desktop. ![]()
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