Twenty-Two Years Ago
A woman in uniform approaches a large building, holding the hand of a small ginger-headed child. Steps lead up to solid timber double-doors with the kind of locks suggesting that once closed, these doors do not open again easily.
The child is perhaps six years old, and the hair, beyond ginger, is, brilliantly orange, straight and short, sticking out at different angles, none of which have much to do with the angle of the head.
There is a thin pale face under attack from a swarm of freckles which threaten to merge into one large freckle. The child is small and slight, and it would be uncertain if it were male or female except that the enormous green eyes say this is a girl.
And she's crying.
She struggles to break away, digging in her heels and having to be dragged up every step. "Please, no... no."
"Come on, Jennifer. Behave yourself for once."