I’d seen similar cuts on Lizzie’s body in the past, but not for a very long time. The faint scars that adorned her inner wrists had appeared in the months that followed her sister’s passing. After her parents put her in counseling, it seemed to stop. I thought she had it under control. Apparently not. “On what?” I demanded, gaping at the huge, jagged, freshly scabbed cut going the entire length of her thigh. “A chain saw?” “No, on a barbed-wire fence I was climbing over, actually.”
