The Dark Somnium - "Theresa" Creepypasta | Scary Stories from Reddit Nosleep

Episode Date: August 17, 2021

This creepypasta scary story is from the nosleep subreddit, written by Sammy Scott--- Send in a voice message: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/darksomnium/message Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information. Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

This is not my story. It is my daughter's story. Her name was Teresa. She died two weeks ago, a suicide by overdose. She called me just prior to the act, informing me of her intentions and the reasons behind them. I of course pled with her, begging her through tears not to go through with what she had planned, but she was resolute in her decision. And with growing horror, I realized this was no bluff, no desperate cry for attention or reassurance. As she hung up the phone, I knew with certainty she was already as good as dead. I knew it from the moment she had said. Daddy, Ray is here.

I immediately phoned the police, knowing that they would be able to reach her well before I could, but I also knew they would be too late. They found her in bed, by all appearances, in a deep and peaceful sense. sleep. One hand draped across her stomach, the other outstretched to the side, palm up, fingers curled as if clutching something, another hand perhaps, but the other side of the bed, Ray's side, was empty. This is also Ray's story. He died a little more than a year before Teresa did. He was shot twice, once through his right hand, which he had held out defensively, the bullet piercing both his cell phone and his palm before lodging in the tile of the wall of the bathroom in which

he had made a final desperate attempt to hide. The second bullet found his neck, and he bled out quickly, alone on the cold floor. He was one of nine people who died in his office building that day. Eight of those people thought it was just another Monday at work, unaware that they would not be walking out alive at the end of the day. The ninth to die, the shooter, had no intention of walking out again. Ray had called Teresa on his lunch break that day. She was at home, and the side of his name lighting up her cell and causing it to buzz and made her smile. Married only three months, the pair was still in that young, fleeting honeymoon stage of marriage, and Ray would frequently find any excuse to phone his bride from work if time allowed.

Hello? She answered, a smile on her face. Why did the man always get hit by a bike on his way to work? I don't know. Why did he? Teresa responded. Because he was stuck in a vicious cycle. Teresa chuckled.

The joke wasn't really all that funny, but Ray had always delighted in corny humor, and his joy in telling these awful jokes brought Teresa more pleasure than the punchline itself. Case in point, he had used a ridiculous pickup line to win her over in the first place. He had said to her, a stranger in a sea of people crammed into a mix or. at one of her girlfriend's apartments two years ago. Do you know what it's made out of? Boyfriend material. Teresa had laughed out loud.

One, because the punchline was genuinely funny. And two, because Ray, tall and attractive in a goofy kind of way, was so ridiculously happy to use it on her. His smile, contagious and immediately endearing. And as bad as the line had been, it had worked. They had been together ever since. How was your day? Teresa said, sitting down at the kitchen table.

Live in the dream. Ray responded with some sarcasm. Actually, my presentation went well this morning. I'm supposed to present it again to senior staff on Wednesday. Things are looking promising. That's great news. It really is. Ray said, satisfaction in his voice.

You know, if this proposal goes through, we should celebrate. Go away somewhere. There was a pause on Ray's end. That sounds like a wonderful idea. He responded, only now he sounded slightly distracted. Do you have some place in mind? I don't know. Teresa said, thinking,

Cheryl has that cabin that she said we're always welcome to use. We ought to take her up on that sometime. She and Brad will end up selling it before we ever use it. It would be nice to get away. Ray didn't respond. Babe? A moment's hesitation. Did you hear that?

Hear what? Teresa said, but before he could respond. She heard it. A loud report, a distant bang coming over the phone. Ray, what was that? I don't know. He said, and from the sound of his voice, he was walking. His voice sounded shaky.

There was a second loud report, still distant, but closer. And Teresa felt her hands go cold when she thought she heard a woman scream. I'm going to find out what's going on. I'll call you back. Ray? Teresa said, but he was gone. She set the cell phone down on the table and stared at its black screen. She got up suddenly from the kitchen table, walked to the sink, and filled a glass with water, which she downed.

Staring over at the phone, she willed it to ring again, to show Ray's name. It did not. Teresa rushed over and picked it up. She called Ray's cell phone. It went to voicemail. She called his desk phone. It too went to voicemail. She called reception at his office.

No answer. She slammed the phone back down on the table, hands trembling. She found it hard to catch her breath, to not imagine the worst, to convince herself that what she had heard did not mean what she thought it meant. An interminable moment later, her phone rang. She snatched it up. Ray. Baby? He said, whispering, his tone urgent.

There's a man with a gun. Teresa sank into the chair. Where are you? I'm in the bathroom down the hall from my office. Reese, he killed Mark. I saw it happen. His voice was trembling on the verge of tears or panic. Ray, hang up and call the police.

I did. He insisted. They're on their way. Okay, just be calm. She said this as much to herself as she said it to Ray. Where is he? I don't know. I saw him at the end of the hallway.

I saw him shoot Mark. I came in here because it was the closest door. I don't know if he saw him. me. Did you lock the door? The door doesn't lock. He said, a small sob hitching in his voice. I'm in one of the stalls. It's locked. Teresa began to cry silently, the hopelessness of Ray's situation sinking in. Who is he? I don't know. He's wearing a mask, a ski mask. I think he's... Ray stopped talking suddenly at the sound of a loud bang, disturbingly close. Ray hesitated and took a long, shaking breath. I love you, Reese. He whispered. His voice even

quieter now, barely audible. No. There was another loud banging sound, but this time it wasn't the report from a gun. It was the sound of a door being kicked open and hitting a wall. Ray took a sudden, gasping breath. Ray? Teresa whispered. The sound of the door of the bathroom stall being kicked.

No! Ray cried out, and the sound of his desperation made Teresa's entire body go numb. Ray? Teresa said, louder. The sound of the stall door crashing open. No! Ray screamed. Ray!

Teresa yelled. The sound of a gun. And then, everything was silent in the house for several seconds as Teresa struggled to take in a breath. Finally, she screamed. The shooter was a man named Vincent Holland. He had worked in the engineering department just one floor down from Ray's office in marketing, a textbook disgruntled employee with manic depressive issues.

At least that was the story that the story. the press was reporting. Vincent had managed to kill eight of his co-workers, and then he turned the gun on himself at the first sound of approaching sirens. The following 24 hours were a blur for Teresa. Through a haze of shock, she had answered police questions, had identified her husband's body, his face pale, but still unmistakably his own, and had made necessary phone calls to friends and family. And, in the moments between, Teresa had wept. Her body crushed under the weight of a grief that was nearly unbearable, the physical pain of it enough to make her welcome the thought that perhaps it might kill her.

What a mercy that would be, she thought. The night of Ray's death, she had slept the deep and artificial sleep of the drugged, her body succumbing to whatever cocktail her best friend Cheryl had insisted on giving her. Teresa had not asked, and did not even care what the pills were, but had taken them all and quickly slipped into the warm embrace of sleep, where her grief at least briefly could not reach her. When she woke the next day, she wondered briefly why her chest hurt so badly. It took but a moment for her to remember, and the tears were immediate.

She rolled over and put her palm on raised side of the bed, where the mattress was cold and empty. Behind the sound of her crying, she could hear voices down the hallway. Cheryl and Teresa's mother were speaking in somber tones. Teresa looked at the clock. It was shortly afternoon. Cheryl's sleeping pills had caused her to sleep for more than 11 hours. Teresa sat up in bed and wiped the tears from her cheeks, consciously pressing the sorrow deep down into her stomach. She picked up her cell phone from the nightstand, more out of habit the necessity, and she shuffled toward the bathroom, flipping a switch. The light assaulted her eyes, and for a moment she absorbed her own pitiful reflection.

Eyes swollen, cheeks, splotchy, nose red. She took in a long, shaking breath. Then her phone buzzed in her hand and she jumped. The screen said, Ray. Teresa stared at it, a mixture of disbelief and confusion coursing through her brain. He answered it. Hello? Why did the man always get hit by a bike on his way to work?

Ray said. Teresa struggled to take a breath, and when she was finally able, it came in a rattling gasp. She took an involuntary step away from the mirror, as if retreating from what she was hearing. Her mind raced as she felt a sudden surge of hope warring against her lingering sorrow, and she wondered if perhaps the events of yesterday had been nothing but an incredible dream. Because he was stuck in a vicious cycle. Ray concluded.

Ray? Teresa said. Yeah, baby? He responded. What's wrong? The joke wasn't that bad. Where are you? I'm at work.

He said, with a slight chuckle. I just got out of a meeting. My presentation went well. I'm supposed to present it again to senior staff on Wednesday. Things are looking promising. Teresa didn't respond. Reese, are you okay? He asked.

Teresa looked at herself in the mirror at her Halloween. mask of grief. The floor felt like it was tilting under her, and her brain, still kicking off the last remnants of Cheryl's pills, was a swamp of conflicting thoughts. Rees? He said again. What day is this? What? It's Monday. What's going on? What's wrong? It's Tuesday. No, it's...

Ray began, but then he stopped. There was a silence on both ends of the phone for a moment. Then, Ray said... Did you hear that? Hear what? She asked, then she heard it, and a sick feeling of deja vu swept through her. There was a loud report, a distant bang coming over the phone. What was that? Ray said, and from the sound of his voice, he was walking.

Ray, wait. Teresa said. There was another loud report, still distant, but closer, and Teresa heard a woman scream. I'm going to find out what's going on. Ray said. I'll call you back. Don't! Teresa said, but he was gone.

was gone. Teresa put her phone down on the bathroom sink and stared down at it. Her hair cascading in front of her eyes. She shook her head violently, trying to shake off the confusion that made it difficult for her to focus. She ran her fingers through her hair and then pulled at it in frustration. She picked her phone back up and called Ray's cell, voicemail. She called his desk phone, voicemail.

She called the reception at his office. The outgoing message informed her that in light of yesterday's tragic events, the office would be closed for the remainder of the week. Teresa furrowed her brow and put the phone down on the sink again. Seconds later, it rang again. The screen said, Ray. She answered it without saying anything. Reese?

Ray said, his voice whispering panic. Listen to me. There's a man with a gun. Teresa began to sob and her hand shook so violently that she could barely hold the phone to her ear. I'm in the bathroom down the hall from my office. Baby, he killed Mark. I saw it happen.

Ray's voice trembled on the verge of tears. Teresa said nothing. I called the police. They're on their way. He took a long, trembling breath. Teresa sat down on the floor and brought her knees up to her chest. She began to rock back and forth. I don't know where he is now.

I saw him at the end of the hallway. I saw him shoot Mark. I came in here because it was the close. closest door. I don't know if he saw me, but the door doesn't lock. I'm in one of the stalls. There was a long moment of silence. Reese, talk to me. Ray demanded desperately. Ray. She said through her sobs. She could manage no more words than that.

I don't know who this guy is. Ray said. He's wearing a mask, a ski mask. I think he's... But Ray stopped talking suddenly at the sound of a loud bang, disturbingly close. He hesitated and took a long, shaking breath. I love you, Reese. He whispered. Over the phone, Teresa heard the sound of a door being kicked open and hitting a wall. Ray gasped.

Teresa relived the sound of the bathroom-stalled door being kicked open. No! The sound of Ray's desperate objection and the final sound of the gun being fired. And then, in the ensuing silence, Teresa relived the grief of her husband's death for the second time. She told no one about the call, not Cheryl and not her mother. She couldn't explain it to herself, much less anyone else. The two had continued to keep her company throughout the day, answering phone calls, dealing with concerned well-wishers, attempting to get Teresa to eat, and managing the details

of Ray's viewing and funeral, which were scheduled for Saturday evening and Sunday morning respectively. But mostly, the two of them were there simply to make sure that Teresa was not alone. In her waking moments, they treated her like an antique porcelain doll, delicate and fragile. Teresa slept for most of the day, even without Cheryl's chemical help. She ate hardly at all, a fact that distressed her mother. She had still been in bed at noon on the following day, Wednesday, two days after Ray's death, when her cell phone rang.

The screen said, Ray. Her body went numb and she quietly began to cry. She answered it. Ray. Why did the man always get hit by a bike on his way to work? He said. Teresa ended the call immediately and then shut her phone off completely and tossed it aside. She lay in bed and wept.

On the third day, Thursday, Teresa was alone in the house. Cheryl and her mother had other things to attend to and hadn't been outside the house since Monday evening. Teresa had showered, brushed her hair, and even put on a bit of makeup. Her arms felt weak and heavy as she did so, but she attempted a tired smile as she insisted that she would be fine if her mother and best friend left her alone for a little while. When her cell phone rang shortly afternoon, she was sitting at the kitchen table, the bright sunlight through the windows, making her headache after so much time spent in the darkness

of her bedroom. She answered it, her voice weak. Because he was stuck in a vicious cycle. There was silence on the other end, and for a moment, Teresa wondered if Ray was really there. Finally, he laughed and asked, How did you do that? I'm not sure. Are you okay?

You sound strange. Teresa took a deep breath. Do you know who Vincent Holland is? Yeah, he works down in engineering, I think. I don't know him real well. I do know that every day at lunch he eats an onion. like an apple. Never really seen anything like it. Ray, he has a gun. Teresa said, What? How do you know that? Don't ask me that right now. He has a gun and he's going to start

shooting people. You have to get out. Reese, I don't... But then Ray stopped as they both heard the sound of a gun being fired. What was that? Listen to me. You have to get out of the building. Ray was silent for a moment. Then he said, Okay, okay, I'm going. And then the phone fell silent. Teresa put the phone on the table and stared at it. Dust floated silently through a sunbeam that cascaded through the window and landed in the warmth on the back of her hand. She wondered how the sun continued to shine, as if the entire world wasn't enveloped in grief like she was.

Her phone rang again. Ray. She answered. Baby? I saw him. Ray whispered. Where are you? I'm in the bathroom down the hall.

from my office, baby, he killed Mark. Teresa ended the call and slammed her phone back down on the table. She put her hands over her eyes and cried. Friday, shortly afternoon, Teresa sat at the kitchen table with Cheryl and her mother. The three of them were quietly nursing cups of tea, the kitchen counters and nearly every other available surface covered in gift baskets and flowers. Mrs. Mother and Cheryl made quiet small talk as Teresa sat silently, her eyes intently focused on her cell phone, which sat like a dumb blank slate on the table in front of her.

1203 came and went without a call. Teresa chuckled mirthlessly to herself. She had intentionally made sure she was not alone for today's phone call from Ray. If he did call again, this time she wanted witnesses, but part of her knew that he would not call her. if she was not alone. Is everything okay, Reese? Cheryl asked. Teresa peeled her eyes away from the silent phone. Yes.

She whispered and sipped her tea. I flew in from a cross-country for Ray's viewing and funeral. Teresa's mother and I were cordial towards each other, but also avoided each other as much as possible for Teresa's sake. I was shocked at how she looked, tired and haggard and grief-stricken, of course, but also troubled in a way that did not look like simple mourning. I held her tightly several times over the course of those two days,

always had a loss for words, wishing there was anything in the world I could do to remove the weight of sorrow pressing on her shoulders. Teresa told me later that she had tucked her phone away during those two days of activities. She had thought that maybe going through the ceremony of remembering Ray's life, seeing his serene face as he lay dead in his casket, and then watching with surprising detachment as his body was lowered into the ground, would bring a final end to his daily calls. But on Monday, alone at home for only the second time in the week since Ray had died, her phone rang again. She considered not answering it, but could not resist doing so, a sense of both the longing

and hopelessness in her chest. Ray? She said, Why did the man always get hit by a bike on his way to work? Ray said, and Teresa burst into tears. For the next several days, Teresa lived in a fog. She always took Ray's call. Some days she let the conversation play out like it had on the first day,

relishing in those first fleeting seconds when Ray was still happy and alive. Other days, she interrupted his joke in order to ask him a question, like where he had put the key to the safety deposit box or where he had filed insurance papers. Confused, but cooperative, Ray always answered her questions. Some days she used those initial seconds to convey her deep love for him, and she sobbed as he had expressed his love for her in return. But then, all too quickly, the sound of a gun would bring their conversation to an abrupt end. And then, one day, weeks on, the first of the first time,

phone had rung and Teresa had said, Hello, baby. And waited for Ray to launch into his bicycle joke. There was a pause, and Ray had said, Reese, did, did I call you earlier today? A coldness spread through Teresa's chest that she couldn't understand. What? No, you didn't.

That's so strange. Ray said, I picked up the phone to call you and got this sudden sense of deja vu, like I already called you today. A tear fell silently down to Risa's cheek. She couldn't find words. Is everything okay? Ray asked.

I miss you, baby. Ray chuckled. I miss you too. He responded, more of a question than a statement. I'll see you in a few hours. No, you won't. She said. Reese, what?

And then he stopped. Did you hear that? Teresa hung up the phone. Her thoughts stirred with confusion and an odd sense of hope. Every prior conversation had been laden with a heavy sense of the inevitable. No matter what Teresa said to him, Ray would always end up dead on the floor of his office bathroom. But today, today he had seemed to remember something. And their conversation had taken a different course at Ray's direction.

And Teresa began to wonder what would happen if she tried pushing harder, made more of an effort to get Ray to take a different course of action. The next day when Ray called, Teresa immediately took charge of the conversation. Ray, I need you to listen to me carefully and answer me as fast as you can. How many different ways are there out of your office? Out of your department, I mean. What? Answer me.

There's the main door straight through goes to the IT department, and to the left takes me down to the main hallway. There's a second door that goes through HR, but it just meets up at the main hallway at the other end. And there's the door to the balcony. Why are you asking me this? Grab your keys. Don't grab anything else.

Go through the IT department. Do not go down the hall. Get to your car and come home now. There was a pause and then Ray said, Okay, okay, I'm coming. And the line went dead. Teresa found herself out of breath while she waited. She paced.

Moments later, her phone rang again. Reese, listen to me. There's a man with a gun. Teresa screamed in frustration. threw her phone across the room where it hit the carpet and slid across the floor. The next time he called, Teresa asked. Ray, the balcony outside your department. Does it have steps that go down to the courtyard?

Yeah? Why do you ask? And you can get to the parking lot from there. Yes. What's going on? Go. Don't ask me anything. Just go out the balcony doors into your car. Do it now. Come home. Teresa insisted. Is everything okay?

Go! A minute passed. Then two. Teresa barely breathed as she stared at her phone. Five minutes passed without a call from Ray. She was finally able to take a breath. Teresa was on her bed. Her back ached as she sat arched over her phone.

For the first time since the day he died, there was no second phone call, and Teresa had no idea what to expect next. She was lost in a nearly thoughtless days when she heard the front door open. She jumped and nearly cried out. The door closed and she heard footsteps. She jumped from the bed, racing from the bedroom and down the hallway to the foyer. And impossibly, there he was. His tall, gangly, goofy-looking, yet handsome self, although his skin was deathly pale to the point

of almost being blue. He smiled at her, although his brow was furrowed and concerned. His mouth formed the beginnings of a question, but she ran to him and leapt into his arms. He was cold, deathly cold, and Teresa gasped, Is everything okay? He asked. His voice sounded like it did on mornings when he had first woken up, rattling and unused. Everything is okay now.

Teresa said, weeping into his shoulder, holding him tighter than she ever had before. And in return, Ray held her tightly as well, but his hands were like ice on her back, body stiff against hers, and although her ear was pressed firmly against his chest, she could not feel his heart beating. A fact that she dismissed just as quickly as she realized it. Teresa decided to tell him everything. Sitting at the kitchen table, she held his icy hand in both of hers, as she recounted everything from the initial shooting at Ray's office, his death, his funeral, and his daily phone calls.

He stared at her blankly. face registering no alarm, confusion, or even recollection as she spoke. She sat back in her chair and considered him for a moment. She thought, dully as she looked at him. He wasn't hungry. He wasn't thirsty. He was content to sit quietly until Teresa gave him directions to move. Her heart ached with the dueling emotions of relief and terrible confusion, and she watched

him closely. unable to hide the obvious bewilderment on her face, and yet Ray never asked her what was wrong. That evening, Teresa led Ray to their bedroom, where he stood dully by the foot of the bed, and looked at her as if he had never been in the room before. She undressed him, and as she did so, she realized he was wearing his work clothes, not the suit he had been buried in, the suit he had worn on their wedding day. She pulled back the covers and told him to lie down. He did so with silent obedience.

She slid in beside him and kissed him. His kiss was both familiar and foreign to her. His lips were soft and passive, where they had always been firm and insistent before, and there was no warmth there. But the texture and the taste of him was the same. They made love, Teresa initiating and leading where Ray had always taken charge before, and while her heart overflowed with the joy of being held by her husband once more. her body shivered at the iciness of his touch.

When Teresa woke the next morning, sunlight touching her eyelids, she reached out without opening her eyes, but her fingers encountered nothing. Ray's side of the bed was empty. The covers pulled up as if he had never been there. She sat up abruptly. Ray? There was no answer. She searched the house, calling out for him several times, but he was gone.

She returned to the bedroom, feeling both confused and sorrowful. Where had he gone? And would he not come back? And then, shortly afternoon, her phone rang. The screen said Ray. She answered it. Ray? Rees.

He said, his voice sounding even more raspy and unused than before. Don't worry. I know there's a shooter. I'm coming home. The line went dead, and Teresa set her phone down. Her chest nodded in a cacophony of emotions, sorrow, hope, frustration, and even fear that she realized she could hardly feel anything anymore. But come home he did, and this became their new pattern, the new vicious cycle they were stuck

in. Every day he would come home, every day looking even more pale and feeling even more cold to the touch. His personality receding even further into the empty shell that he was becoming. a vacancy behind the eyes that had once been so passionate and full of life. Teresa had to tell him to sit, to eat, to bathe himself. He was like an elderly man who was losing use of his faculties, and Teresa evolved into his loving, but confused and somewhat terrified caretaker.

And every morning, Ray's side of the bed would be empty again, and he would call Teresa from work shortly afternoon to tell her that he was coming home. Teresa noticed that each time his voice sounded more like it was being dragged over stones. Like his vocal cords are decayed, she thought. It was not long before his countenance began to catch up with his voice. He began to look more physically withered, his tall frame beginning to bend, his eyes large in their sockets as his face became even more wan and his cheeks more sunken. Teresa allowed their cycle to continue for months.

Her love for her husband locking her in a living hell, but she was rapidly reaching the point of collapse herself, her emotional and mental well-being withering right along with Ray's countenance. I'm coming home. He had said to her over the phone, his voice like dusty rocks being rubbed together, barely recognizable to her. Wait. She had said. Ray, don't. Don't come home.

Stay there. It's okay. Stay there. No. He responded, slowly and without emotion. No, if I stay here, I'll die. I'm coming home. Teresa had hung up the phone, wept, and waited once more for her husband to return.

She wept because her husband was dead. She wept because he was alive and yet dying more every day before her very eyes. She wept because she felt bound to him in whatever repeating loop that his death and their love had created. and she wept because they were together again, and yet she felt entirely alone. Finally, on the day that Teresa took her own life, she made a decision, a decision that came to her easily and without fear. In fact, the idea gave her the first comfort she had felt in the year since Ray had died. Perhaps the key to escaping this living hell was to die herself.

More precisely, to die beside Ray. as they slept together in bed, and in the morning, when he was gone, perhaps she could be gone too. Gone, but together. She called me that afternoon to tell me her story, to tell me her plan, and to tell me goodbye. I listened with terrified disbelief as she recounted the details of her miserable life in the months since Ray had died. Her story was one I could not accept as fact, and yet simultaneously I knew from the same. sound of her tired yet determined voice that my daughter was telling me the absolute truth. Is Ray there now?

I asked her. Yes. She said tiredly. Do you want to talk to him? I didn't answer, but then I heard Teresa say distantly. It's Dad. Talk to him. There was a shuffling sound, followed by a raspy breath.

Ray? I said, and I was surprised to find my own voice was trembling. didn't respond, but I could hear as he attempted to. All I heard was the sound of his laborous breath and the vaguely recognizable tones of his voice as he attempted to speak, but his words were garbled. His voice wasted. Teresa took the phone back. I have to go now, Daddy. Baby, don't do this. I said, crying but trying to hold myself together.

I love you. Your mother loves you. Let us help you. There has to be some other way. Teresa began to cry. There is no other way, Daddy. This is the only way. No! I insisted. You still have so much to live for. Let me take you away from there.

You can come here. Maybe Ray won't come to you anymore if you're not there. I felt myself playing along with her, even though I wasn't sure I even fully believed her. Daddy, there's something else. She said, taking a long and exhausted breath. I'm pregnant. You're... I started, then stopped.

A hard lump rose in my throat. I couldn't breathe. My mind pieced it together. Teresa was pregnant and Ray had been dead for more than a year. It's Ray's. She said, answering the question I hadn't asked. But it's, I don't know what it is. I just know I can't, Daddy.

I just can't. She wept. She said her final goodbyes to me, ignoring my pleading, and then the call was over. I already told you how the police found her. The autopsy revealed that she had died consuming a large number of sleeping pills left helpfully behind by her best friend, Cheryl. The autopsy also revealed that she had been several months pregnant. I insisted that this detail never be revealed to her mother.

Estranged and distant though we are, there are some horrors a mother should be spared when it comes to her own child. So this, as I said, is Teresa's story. and the story of her husband Ray. And you may not believe me, but it's an absolutely true story. As fantastical as that might sound, I believe Teresa now. Although two weeks ago when she told me her story for the first time, of course I had doubted her. I doubt her no more, not a single detail, because every day she calls to tell me all over again.