What to expect from the brat bitch, he didn't know. Weasel Face would be there to ensure he said everything just as they'd rehearsed.

Yeah, he was sorry.

Yeah, given the time over, he'd never have hurt her lovely mother. He loved her, didn't he?

Something came over him. What, he didn't know.

He hoped she'd forgive him. He'd slash his own wrists if that helped.

Yada, yada, yada! Bullshit, fucking bullshit.

Still, if reciting this crap cut even a year off his sentence, good job.

The visit did not go to plan.

The kid was a psycho weirdo, and that was being damn polite.

No matter what he said, all the lines Weasel Face had fed him, she just stared. Stared, as though she saw into his insides or something; examining his pancreas, sizing up his heart and lungs.

Now he knew what they meant when they said giving the evil eye. She was giving it with both eyeballs. That wasn't right because he couldn't give it back.

No matter what, control yourself, Weasel Face had lectured him.

Look sorry. All I can say is sorry. Forgive me, please.

Sweat dampened Alan's armpits and he reached up to wipe beads of moisture from his forehead. He didn't want the little witch to know how much she unnerved him.

She'd changed.

She wasn't a little kid anymore. She'd become a hundred years old in the two years since he'd seen her in that room, running away after starting the whole thing.

Finally, Weasel Face spoke, interrupting the staring match, which he was losing, and badly. Alan could breathe again as if a window had been opened to allow fresh air inside.

"Miss Stratton, what Mr. West wants you to understand is his deep remorse for the events which took your mother's life. We believe he was depressed. This, brought on by losing his job, combined with too much alcohol and a possible chemical imbalance, made him mentally unstable."

Alan winced at the words mentally unstable, but held his tongue. The crapola meditation exercises they taught in this joint helped minutely with his supposed anger problem. He needed classes on increasing tolerance for stupid. Or make it easier for the world, how about classes on making the stupid less stupid?

While his attorney talked, Alan decided his best move would be to nod along and smile. He kept his gaze on the Weasel Face and avoided looking directly at the girl.

Those eyes of hers gave him the real heebie-jeebies. If he had the chance he'd reach across this table and in thirty seconds snap that neck of hers. Turn off those eyes.

He'd never noticed when they lived together what a truly creepy kid she was. Shame, because he might have hightailed it outta there sooner.

"Mr. West has asked me to emphasize how truly sorry he is and how much he hopes that one day you will forgive him. He knows this won't bring your mom back but since his incarceration he's found God. Going forward he wants to help with anything you need. He prays for you and your mother every night."