Chapter Twenty-Five
Lacie had visited home for a couple of months at the start of the year. She visited every year. Sometimes for one week, sometimes for eight. Being home was nice. The place was modest but familiar, she’d grown up there, gone to school in the area. It was supposed to be home.
Sorcha had launched herself into local life and had embraced the “quaintness.” Nothing could have prepared her friend for, as she referred to it, “the perpetual cold.” Lacie got over her dehydration and was eating again, only what her mother put in front of her, and she struggled to eat more than a few bites, but it was something.
As and when she needed to, she’d visited doctors and kept in touch with the US police. Things were getting better. Except at night. She didn’t sleep. The dark took her b
