*Ashley*
The moment the woman’s hand grips my arm, a chill courses through me. “What a pretty little boy… he should have been mine.” Her voice is raspy and unsettling. I quickly turn to look at her. She’s disheveled, her clothes ragged and unkempt, with hair that looks like it hasn’t seen a brush in weeks. But there’s something about her that seems oddly familiar, a shadow of recognition that I can’t quite place.
She looks like someone who has seen a hard time, and at first I belive her to be middle aged, but on a second looks she is probably not much older than me.
Before I can muster the courage to ask her anything, Mark is on the scene, moving swiftly between us. “Hey! Get away from her,” he barks, his voice firm and commanding. The woman stumbles back, her eyes wide with surprise, a
