At the end of the block, Christine slowed her pace, feeling uncertain. She knew she had to get somewhere, but where? No, not to somewhere. To someone. That's right. She had to find ... find ... Hera? Did she know someone by that name? The first time that name popped into her head, she was sure that she didn't. But as the seconds passed by, the more it felt familiar to her. Yes, Hera was her friend. No, more than a friend. Best friend. They had so much in common. They both loved poetry and all things dark and gothic. But more than anything else, they hated authority and people telling them what to do (ironic, considering Hera used to be Harold - a cop).
Chrystal smiled, thinking about Hera, but then became confused. After all, her name was Christine, not Chrystal. It sounded so ... strange. But, at the same time, it felt so totally right. What was happening to her?
Not wanting to just stay standing there, she headed off in a random direction, not even realizing that it would take her to Hera. Presumably, the cops were out looking for her, after that asshole called 9-1-1 on her. It didn't even occur to her that that "asshole" was her husband Gregory. Or at least he was. She was much more Chrystal the Goth girl than Christine the middle-aged woman now. The only thing on her mind was getting back to Hera.
