I’m crawling and crawling, but not actually moving anywhere. My knees slide on the oriental rug. Oh my god, I think my idiot uncle is finally going to succeed in killing me when it won’t even help him anymore. I think I’m still crawling toward the phone, but my cheek is pressed against the carpet, so I can’t actually be moving. I feel cold. Very cold. I wish Raylan were holding me. There’s nothing warmer than his arms. Goddamnit. What a sad way to go. With so many regrets in my heart . . .
