Chapter Eighteen
“Your name?”
“Marianne.”
“That’s not what I have here,” the matron looked through the paperwork again.
“Melina?” she asked.
“Yes, that’s it.”
She sat in a hard straight-back chair inside an otherwise empty room. A bare light bulb hung from the ceiling. She was chilled to the bone even though she knew that outside the air was humid and warm. It must have been the nightmares that scared her—an overwrought imagination. She dreamt of a place just like this…the end of the road for a woman like her. Still, she had every reason to fear her surroundings. Although it was dark when she arrived at her destination, the place was lighted well enough to see that she was in a compound, of sorts. All Spanish architecture with adobe walls and a tiled roof. She assumed she was in Me
