Chapter 6: Shoot Me First
June 17, 20—
Phyll, I couldn’t wait to get back to tell you the most wonderful news. I’ve made a friend. A young friend. Her name’s Atlanta, but she likes to be called Lanta. Remember the myth? The one about the daughter no one wanted and the she bear who raised her from an infant. But it wasn’t Atlanta. No, Atalanta. But that’s close enough. Lanta’s about sixteen or so. Not much more. She’s new here at St. Catherine’s, works like a kind of gofer but she’s nice. Friend. I love the sound of that word. Is this the sign I’ve been waiting for? If so, thank whoever’s responsible in the great beyond. Tell them I appreciate it.
Three months ago I thought my life was over. Every day, I kept asking myself how the hell it happened, how I ended up at St. Catherine’s. What
