WAKE UP, ALLISON.
THE SCENT OF ROSES suffuses the air, spiraling tattered on dirt-speckled feet. Black and white, dark and pale buried beneath the soil, rich and bloodied with dead roses. It"s time to wake, Allison! A gun pops. A force releases me from captivity. I spring upright ripping the I. V. from my arm, twisting my head much too fast, as the I. V. ping and drip on the metal bed frame. I grimace with the throb drumming my skull and wince with the stiffness seizing my neck. The room whorls in a dizzy haze, but urgency outweigh all physical discomfort.
I have to get to Ryan. He needs to know the truth.
The fragrant scent of roses lingers. The rose garden, I was there. I have to tell Ryan Franklin didn"t kill Patrice. He"s only guilty of covering up a crime and burying the body in hi
