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Sleep Well Christine — Alice Brennan
Vague Memory of Evil
When the police found Christine at the side of the highway, she was almost dead. When she finally regained consciousness, she couldn't remember her own name, her husband, or the people who lived with them. But one of these strangers had definitely tired to murder Christine, and as her returning memory began to supply missing pieces of the puzzle, it became more and more important for the killer to strike again.
A Strange Homecoming to a House She Didn't Remember
The woman who stood frames in the door was small and round with a youthful face under graying hair. “Oh,” she said stretching both hands out to me, “he's brought you home, Christine, darling.” She grasped my hands in both of hers and drew me inward. “Oh, my dear child, the worry you've put us through.” She sighed, shook her head, “oh it wasn't your fault, of course. Do forgive me, my dead. Laurel, child, come see who's here. It's Christine, come home again!”
Footsteps sounded racing down the uncarpeted stairs. The child, a little girl of perhaps four, with long, blonde hair that streamed down her back, ran to me, to fling both arms around my waist. Stepping back, she stared up at my face and said, “I have a present for you, Aunt Christine. I saved it for you.” She slipped one hand into the pocket of her jeans and opened her hand for me to see. There, in the middle of her palm was a large, polished stone. Was it from someone's ring? I took the stone, thanking her for it. I was unprepared for the fierceness of Jeff's voice as he reached to take the stone from me and barked at the child: “Where the devil did you get this?”
When the police found Christine at the side of the highway, she was almost dead. When she finally regained consciousness, she couldn't remember her own name, her husband, or the people who lived with them. But one of these strangers had definitely tired to murder Christine, and as her returning memory began to supply missing pieces of the puzzle, it became more and more important for the killer to strike again.
A Strange Homecoming to a House She Didn't Remember
The woman who stood frames in the door was small and round with a youthful face under graying hair. “Oh,” she said stretching both hands out to me, “he's brought you home, Christine, darling.” She grasped my hands in both of hers and drew me inward. “Oh, my dear child, the worry you've put us through.” She sighed, shook her head, “oh it wasn't your fault, of course. Do forgive me, my dead. Laurel, child, come see who's here. It's Christine, come home again!”
Footsteps sounded racing down the uncarpeted stairs. The child, a little girl of perhaps four, with long, blonde hair that streamed down her back, ran to me, to fling both arms around my waist. Stepping back, she stared up at my face and said, “I have a present for you, Aunt Christine. I saved it for you.” She slipped one hand into the pocket of her jeans and opened her hand for me to see. There, in the middle of her palm was a large, polished stone. Was it from someone's ring? I took the stone, thanking her for it. I was unprepared for the fierceness of Jeff's voice as he reached to take the stone from me and barked at the child: “Where the devil did you get this?”
