Making fun of her. Telling her she’s bad. She isn’t bad. She isn’t bad, damn it! Working all night saving humanity. Then straight from work to pumping. Too much. Too exhausting. She was going to crack.

She was going to lose it!

Unable to move, she watched as Eric stripped off his street clothes until he was down to a G-string, the bulge inside well defined and big.

Eric turned and held her face. “Are you going to cry?”

“No…”

“Oh, yes, you are.”

“No, honestly, I’m okay.”

“Okay?” Eric’s face became mean. “You’re not okay, Tandy. You know what you are? You’re pathetic!”

And in an instant, she knew she had two choices—the first to remain pathetic like they told her she was.

Or she could get mad.

Kill him, said the low one.

Kill him, said the high one.

A smile appeared across her face. She belted his hand off her face, stinging her own palm in the process. “Do you want to know what pathetic is, Eric? Pathetic is you taking only second in the Mr. L.A. Dudes at Muscle Beach. Guy who won first made you look like a shriveled old worm! So screw you!”

Eric suddenly laughed. “Atta girl! Now that’s the Tandy I know and love. So fuck you and go get your gloves. I’ll do watch for you.”

Tandy closed her eyes, felt the wet heat on the palms, the thumping of her heart. She had no choice but to listen. If she didn’t, Eric and the others would make her life miserable. Then she’d start to feel out of control.

She knew Eric was only trying to help her. Unlike the others. The people who gave her life, then made it hell. Couldn’t call them parents. They were never parents.

Images popped into her brain—the times before the control. Lots of food. Piles of food.

Piles and piles—

“Go get your gloves now!” Eric yelled.

Piles and piles and piles—

“Tandy?” Eric asked. “Tandy, you okay?”

She took in a lungful of air, then screamed as loud as she could, her head throbbing even after the sound had vanished from her throat.

Then she went and got her gloves.

The small fresh red stains made abstract art in a pile of grease. Harlow had cordoned off the area with yellow crime tape. Nothing like an old-timer to do the right thing.

Decker said, “What makes you think these stains have anything to do with Marie Bellson, Bri?”

“I’ll tell you the whole story, Sergeant. One of my men comes to me. He’s doing the third-floor interviews. He talks to this nurse, gal’s name is Janie Hannick. Janie says she knows Marie Bellson but doesn’t really know her. My guy asks her what the hell does that mean? Only he doesn’t use the profanity, that’s my addition.”