CHAPTER 3
Buddy was gone, but he visited me at night. He did then, and he does now. It would have been easier if he was angry in my dreams, but with his rough tough love, he tried to convince me that it wasn’t justice, that it wasn’t justified. It was.
He would crash about my subconscious, his boyish face looking irritated, which was always a short jump to anger. He was sometimes the life and soul of the party – loud, fun and affectionate – but could just as easily be sullen and short-tempered. He was an unpredictable drunk, something his friends knew well, but that I knew better. I had to be ready for when he might slip into the worst side of himself.
I wasn’t all that bad, Penny, he muttered in my dreams. You make me sound like a monster. I mean, didn’t we both get carried away? Did
