Without thinking, I bent down and picked up the bracelet, then slid it onto my wrist. It was cold against my skin; the day had turned cloudy and dark, the temperature dropping with it. I even thought I felt the first spatter of a raindrop or two against my face.
Or maybe those were tears.
I saw other items scattered around — a lone earring, a trinket box of carved stone. For some reason, I began to pick them up, gathering everything I could find and then taking it into the nearest store, a shop that seemed to have specialized in high-end western gear. It had been hit, too, but not as badly as the jewelry stores.
Again the voice asked, Jessica, what are you doing?
“What does it look like I’m doing?” I asked angrily. “I’m cleaning this up.”
A long pause. Why?
“Because — because someone
