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Unformatted text preview: begun. He gently rolled again and rested on his back. He pulled the sheet down to his waist. "Look, Sandy," he said, waving his hand across the two nasty burns on his chest. "Here's the proof." Sandy leaned a bit closer and inspected the evidence -the red sores surrounded by shaved skin. "Who did this?" he asked again. "I don't know. A bunch of people. There was a whole room full of them." "Where?" Patrick felt sorry for his friend. He was so eager to know what had happened, and not just about the torture. Sandy, as well as the rest of the world, wanted the irresistible details. It was indeed a wonderful story, but he wasn't sure how much he could tell. No one knew the details of the car crash that burned John Doe. But he could tell his lawyer and friend about his seizure and torture. He shifted his weight again and pulled the sheet up to his neck. Drug free for two days now, he was coping with the pain and trying mightily to avoid more injections. "Pull that chair closer and take a seat, Sandy. And turn off that switch. The light bothers me." Sandy hurriedly followed orders. He sat as close to the bed as possible. "This is what they did to me, Sandy," Patrick said in the semidarkness. He started in Ponta Pora, with the jogging and the small car with a flat tire, and told the entire Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html story of how they grabbed him. ASHLEY NICOLE was twenty-five months old when her father was buried. She was too young to remember Patrick. Lance was the only man who lived in the house, the only man she'd ever seen with her mom. He took her to school occasionally. They sometimes ate dinner as a family. After the funeral, Trudy hid all photos and other evidence of her life with Patrick. Ashley Nicole had never heard his name mentioned. But after three days of reporters camping on their street, the child naturally was asking questions. Her mother was acting strange. There wa...
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- Spring '10