When the word “FREAK” appeared scratched in the persimmon colored paint on her locker, she knew that in some fragile young woman’s mind a war had escalated from imaginary to physical. 272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. Part 2 The next morning was as dark and foggy as if it was mid-November instead of early March. But if you wouldn't have me positively dislike Jack Sheppard, you'll never mention such a subject again.
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