Her red-tipped cane entered the screening room first, where she listened with an officer to the anonymous tips – each deepening her macabre nightmares. Every voice hid the grotesque lack of certitude and had a scenario, but all were missing the surety to comfort her.
A modulated voice juxtaposed the droning monotony: “I’m sorry – it was an accident. I couldn’t bear what you would think of me forever, if you knew it was me. She’s buried in the park beneath the red geraniums. Forgive me.”
Tears rolled at the realization that she’d never see the offering at her service dog’s grave.