She’s awake by now. Has to be. That half-milligram doesn’t last forever, and they’d have shaken her out of it sooner rather than later. New York cops aren’t exactly known for letting a person sleep through their own arrest.
I can picture her fear all too well. Her mouth dry. Her hands cuffed. Some mustached lifer across the table from her with a folder full of photographs he’s going to slide her way one at a time, watching her face for every little micro-tell.
She’ll ask about me. She won’t be able to help it. Whatever he tells her about where I am, whether true or false, she’ll hear it and her stomach will drop in a way that I will, if there is any justice in this world, get to apologize for in person. One day.
Will that day come soon? I have no f*****g clue.
I’m here, dikarka, I thin
