Despite the fact she stands outside my bedroom window, Lisa is (no matter what the National Enquirer might like people to think) as dead as Elvis. I s...ould know. I’m the one who killed her. I’m the one who strangled the life from her and buried her deep in the woods behind the house. She loved those woods. And now, by all rights, she should be moldering in an unmarked grave, nothing more than food for the worms. Except she’s not. She’s standing outside my window and she’s driving me fucking. " My apartment?" Kris looked obviously curious. "I have an apartment?" You live in New York City," said Connel. "Everybody there has an apartment." And he didn't say I did anything ... wrong?" Are you SURE you don't want to talk to me about whatever it is that's eating at you?" asked Mitch. It wasn't his interrogator's voice he was using. It was just one man asking another man if he wanted to get something off his chest."It's complicated," said Kris. He thought about Lulu and how well things. More

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