The minutes ticked by, long and suffocating, like shadows of endless darkness. Helen sat huddled at the back corner of the cell against cold concrete. Her breathing was the only gauge of time, the only thing anchoring her to sanity. No visitors to feel guilt, sorrow, or anger toward anymore; no more confrontations, no more promises of deliverance. Nothing but silence. And in that utter silence, the echo of Jamaica's words."It's never too late to change, Helen. But you have to want to." But what if she didn’t want to? What if, deep down, she knew the life she had fought for, clawed her way toward, was a lie? That everything she had built up in her name, everything she had destroyed for control and power, was an illusion? She shut her eyes, trying to push the thoughts away, but they lanced her brain like thorns, digging deeper with each passing second. The faces swam before her mind's eye-Charles, Fiona, Jamaica, Candy. Memories of their pain, their betrayal, their hate. But most damag
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