Chapter Twelve
Molly had been in a daze as she was checked into her new accommodations. It had been a flurry of questions; she had been asked her name, address, and date of birth more times than she could remember. Every man she had passed glared at her, and she was sure they wanted to spit. They had fingerprinted her and taken a swab from her mouth. If she didn’t like the cops before, she hated them now.
Now she sat alone in a room, staring at the painted grey walls around her. The Formica-covered table at which she sat dug into her ribs and the plastic chair was numbing her butt. Her shoulders were starting to ache from her wrists being locked in the cuffs, which were bolted onto the table. It was obvious that no one cared very much for her wellbeing. The lack of movement sent tingles
