“Dad staggered in, eyes eerily lit.The corners of his mouth foaming spit.His demons planned an overnight stay.Mom motioned to take the girls away.hide them in their rooms, safe in their beds.We closed the doors, covered our heads,as if the blankets could mute the sounds of his blowsor we could silence her screams behind out pillows.I hugged the littlest ones close to my chest,till the beat of my heart lulled them to rest.Only then did I let myself cry.Only then did I let myself wonder whyMom didn't fight back, didn't defend,didn't confess to family or friend.Had Dad's demons claimed her soul?Or was this, as well, a woman's role?”

“How about a midnight swim?""Swim?" On a sigh,Shelby closed her eyes and let the sensations take her. "I didn't bring a suit.""Good." Alan led her down the hall to two large double doors. After pulling them open, he nudged Shelby inside, then closed and locked the doors behind them.”

“The mad sometimes drilled holes in their own heads to let the demons out. To relieve the pressure of thoughts they could no longer bear. Jude understood the impulse. Each beat of his heart was a fresh and staggering blow felt in the nerves behind his eyes and in his temples. Punishing evidence of life.”

“Well he didn't treat my mother very well. He did some horrible things.""Like..." I hesitated. "Blood-whore things?""Like beating-her-up kinds of things" he replied flatly."Oh God," I said "That's horrible. And she...she just let it happen?""She did." The corner of his mouth turned into a sly, sad smile. "But I didn't""Tell me, tell me you beat the crap out of him"His smile grew, "I did.”

“My dad didn't find me - I found myself. So that's when I figured out that the only person who could take care of me was me.”

“Rather than sleeping myself, I practiced. I practiced taking everything I'd seen in the last few days-every horror, every drop of blood-and locking it away, so deep in my mind that I could pretend that nothing had happened.And then I practiced letting it out.This time, I didn't start with a specific memory. I didn't walk myself step by step through a scene. Instead, I built a room inside my head-a tiny room with white walls and no windows and no doors. No way out.In that room, I put the sound of screams, tearing flesh, and heavy breathing, the smell of rancid blood. Everything I'd been holding back, everything threatening to devour me whole was there-in the ceiling of that room, the corners, the floor.”