Pat, the neighbor, came over to mediate. "Doris, sweetie, you used to hold your mom's hand walking to and from school every day. Remember when she was late picking you up once, and you cried your little eyes out? You two were so close—there must be some misunderstanding..."
Aunt Naomi sneered from the sidelines. "Can't tame an ungrateful wretch."
A woman in the crowd couldn't take it anymore. "These two are still bleeding—shouldn't someone call an ambulance?"
But the mob had packed in three layers deep. There was no way out.
I stared at the sea of phone cameras, took a deep breath, and spoke.
"You all want to know so badly, don't you?"
"Why this ungrateful wretch turned out the way she did?"
I turned to the reporter. "Ms. Monroe. Are you brave enough to come with me? I'd like to invite you and a few witnesses to see the 'hospital' where I've been getting treatment."
Rachel froze for a beat. Then her journalist instincts kicked in, and she nodded.
Ten minutes later, the news van pulled up.
We drove toward the outskirts. The roads narrowed. Buildings crumbled. Sewage pooled on the ground.
Comments flooded the stream:
[Why would anyone come HERE for medical care? Is this a drug den?]