“When you get where you’re going,” Oracle told Officer Pruitt. “You call this number and ask for Barbara. She’ll do right by that poor girl and see to it she’s cared for. She’s gonna need a bed in the psych ward.”
“Will do.” Pruitt put the card in her breast pocket. “Do you think she’s dangerous?”
“Very. But you treat her gentle, she’ll be okay. Just keep talking to her. Poor thing—she’s shattered.”
“That your professional opinion?”
“No, baby. That’s my spiritual one.”
© 2018 Dellani Oakes
