-Miss Darreson, you couldn't have made this journey alone.

Now my head is spinning. I don't know what is causing this condition.

-Why are you silent?

Each time the interrogation is conducted in different rooms. They are the same in their decoration, but I am sure that these are two completely different cameras. I know this, I judge by the degree of their illumination. In one of them the light is dim, as if we are in the catacombs of Paris, in the other bright, daylight, as in the ward in which my bed is.

“Nevertheless, it is,” I answer, once again reminding myself why I am so stubborn.

Usually,...