by Joel Stottlemire

Created on: July 05, 2007

This needs a little explaining. In the rest of this novel you learn that Peter has multi-personality disorder and all the other characters you meet are a part of him. His mother is violent and Martin, one of Peter's characters eventually kills her. The question at the end is; "Is Peter a murderer?"

1984

Trisha stepped off the front porch and skipped down the concrete steps. The sun was hot on her shoulder and she hummed happily to herself.

"Onesies, twosies, Mep sees bluesies." She repeated it again and again as she skipped down the street toward the post office.

On her way she passed a tall man her father knew. "Hi Peter." The man said good naturedly as they passed.

Trisha ignored him. She hated the fact everyone called her Peter. She wasn't Peter. In fact she hated Peter.

The post office was only two blocks away and she went to it quickly passing cars in driveways and moving under the shadow of well developed oak trees, which towered above her as if a thousand feet tall.

There was a bell on the door and a cool brush of air conditioned air tickled her skin as she breezed into the post office and up to the bank of Post Office Boxes. She had a key in her hand and slipped it neatly into box 1118 on the lowest row of boxes. It opened to reveal a folded magazine and a few envelopes.

She tucked them uninspected up under her armpit and went back out the doors behind a kind looking, elderly woman.

Instead of turning and going back the way she'd come, she went straight across the street and headed home down the alley that ran behind the houses all the way from the post office to Tutbury Lane.

The alley was old. It had a brick floor and walls of stone and cement holding back yards up on either side. It was always deeply shaded and reminded Trisha of something out of a fairy tale. She moved down it easily, at home.

She crossed the first block and was moving toward her house when a dog wandered onto the path ahead of her. It was a largish dog with shaggy, yellow hair.

Trisha froze, with a sharp intake of breath. She and the dog eyed each other, she with stark terror, the dog with lazy interest.

Trisha began breathing again, sharp, gasping breaths. The dog took a casual step toward her and she shuttered, her world going suddenly dark.

Andrew opened his eyes. As usual he didn't know what day it was, but her recognized the alley behind his house. There was dog approaching him slowly. He knew it well.

"Hey Max." He said, "What you doing out of your yard?"

The dog wagged its tail on hearing

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