Excerpt: Arrest That Woman

I wasn’t home from China long before I met Guzal in my living room. She was sitting on the couch in her straight back Uyghur dancer posture looking peeved. Half her hair had been burned off and that side of her face was charred black with spots of fresh blood. She raised a hand, its fingers fused together toward me. I grabbed the back of the couch to keep myself from pitching onto the floor, until I remembered my propensity for seeing ghosts. Then, I stood up. I took a deep breath. I was stronger now; I would not be intimidated by her and her hard luck story. We all have a fate that is hard to accept. She had hers; I had mine.