Chapter Twelve
There I was again, sisters and brothers, in a bleak and barren interview room – being stared at by, not a bored city bull but, for a change of pace, a bored county sheriff's deputy – in the sleepy community of Barrelton, Wisconsin. Well, sleepy until now. The stabbing, strangulation, and bloody mutilation of Sybil had awakened it. At least that part of it that represented the law. A full bottle of aspirin stood in the middle of the otherwise empty table – untouched. I would have loved to imbibe but, being allergic to most pain killers, couldn't. I sat holding a bag of ice on my splitting (and nearly split) head waiting to die, hoping to go to heaven, while a humorless sheriff somewhere in the building prepared for his return and another round of questioning designed to drag
