Suffering is permanent, obscure, and dark, and shares the nature of infinity. -William Wordsworth
Memories of being shackled to the bed in the cottage flood my mind. They swirl in my head, merging with the image of Natasha and the other women tied up or charred.
Oh, God, that could've been me, I silently think.
My stomach lurches. Every muscle in my gut contracts into a tight ball. I reach for the black metal trash can next to the detective's desk. A plume of partially digested food slides up into the back of my throat. It spews forth into the bottom of the lined can. When my stomach is empty and the heaving stops, I take hold of Drake's hand.
"Detective Jackson, I think there's something you need to know," I say.
Drake and I explain the information we uncovered pertaining to my grand
