Tim and Sara

“My cat was spying on me,” Sara says. She sits on my bed, chin resting on her knees and skinny arms wrapped around her legs. “Before I realized that, I talked to myself all the time. They thought it was an easy way to stay one step ahead of me.”

I lie spread-eagled on the floor, watching her watch me. Her too-big hazel eyes peer out of a bony freckled face framed by choppy mousy hair. I nod.