As long as a person has breath remaining in their body, hope should never be counted out. Sondra hung stuck in that window, just waiting for her soul to depart from her body. It never did. Instead, Ms. Sillow was the one who lay dead on the wooden floor behind her with a gaping hole in back of her head. Stuart Cople had damn near blown her entire brain out of her skull with his Winchester M1887 shotgun.
Sondra’s decoy son had saved her life. Those months of chatting with her over the phone had involuntarily made him come to love the woman he deceptively referred to as “mother”.