I was older, but still of indeterminate age. Her face flashed into my mind. She was dressed for an outing, waiting at the front door for my father to ...ick her up and take her out. There was a tendril of memory, floating at the back of my mind, of a babysitter and my unhappiness at having this particular sitter stay with me.The still picture of my mother was engraved into my memory, because, instead of my father come to pick her up, there were two police officers and a clergyman. There words. I touched mycheek with my fingertips and then gave it a little squeeze. The skin andnerves duly passed the sensation to my brain.The face that studied me while I studied it was copied from an actresswho lived in my home reality, unaware of what had happened to me. Shehad once played this character, read out the lines others had writtenfor her and cashed her paycheck, eventually moving on to other things.This life had been nothing but a job for her. The demons she had facedwere only other actors. More

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