The truth. “The truth doesn’t matter.” The voice—Savvy’s voice—is so clear now, clearer than it’s been in years. It’s always been Savvy talking to me. Since the first few days after she died, when her screams were so loud I thought my head was going to explode, to later, when she quieted to a murderous constant companion. To now, when she’s apparently had enough of me ignoring her. “Let’s kill—” I close my eyes, willing the memory away, but it won’t go. She’s been there for days now, on the edge of every thought I have, yelling at me to notice her. The memory forms, bright and clear, like it
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