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I posted this for the guess who/guess what challenge.  The answers are on the forum . . . but that's cheating!

As the police officer pulled into her driveway, he gave her a kind look.  “Are you sure you don’t want to press charges?”  The young officer just didn’t understand.  He didn’t understand about the pain, the fear, and the guilt that she’d lived with for so many years.  He didn’t realize that she’d spent decades wondering what had gone wrong, what more she could have done to save her friend.  He didn’t see what had happened to her as she saw it; as a logical extension of the old guilt.  She couldn’t make him understand, so she just shook her head.


It had been a long day.  The police had questioned her for hours.  She’d repeated the same things over and over:  no, she did not know the man; no, she had no idea what he wanted; no, he did not seem sane.


She hadn’t told them about the man mentioning the Centre.  She didn’t want anything to do with the place.  After all, her friend had died there.  She’d tried so hard to forget her friend, but you don’t just forget someone who saved your life.


As she crossed the threshold of her home, she breathed a deep sigh of relief.  The nightmare was over.  Now all she had to do was reassure her guests—the guests who had had to leave when the media arrived earlier.  Putting on a falsely cheery voice, she called out, “I’m home!”  But the house was empty.

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