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She sobbed openly as she fled, keeping her eyes to the ground, with no idea where she was going. But each minute that passed without a gunshot was a great relief.Was he tracking her. She’d seen no sign of him for an hour. Or two. She didn’t really know. Was it still morning. She collapsed into the grass of the open field as a wave of agoraphobic panic over took her. She threw her head back, screaming in terror and shame. Then she collapsed to the ground, hoping the tall weeds kept her out of sight, and cried as quietly as she could for a while. ?I don’t want this,? she kept sobbing, almost in a whisper. ?I really don’t want this!?In time she got to her feet again. She was able to look at the endless landscape without getting dizzy, but she headed a new direction, into higher, rougher land. It was her only chance of getting away. To survive the killer she had to avoid the killer. For the next hours she stayed low, even waddling on her knees to stay low and avoid noise. Her knees were. Zoe stared, mouth gaping open, unable to move, or think or feel. She witnessed her mother’s fruitless attempt to explain, she saw the evidence and while only being thirteen years old was by no means a dummy. She knew her mother had just shot up with heroine. Zoe, without making a sound, reached up, grabbed the bathroom door handle and slowly closed it behind her. She walked, step by step to her room. She crawled into bed, reached out, pulled Roger’s furry body into her own, rolled to her side, stared blankly at the wall and began to weep. It wouldn’t be the last time Zoe found solace in the embrace of her purple monkey Roger and the solitude of staring at the wall. For the next three months, every time she saw her mother and knew she was high she would slowly walk to her room, grab Roger and continue her position staring at the wall and sobbing. This would happen three to four times a week for the next three months. She would come into the kitchen, see her mother with that drugged.
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