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Is that it? You want to know who made it out, and who didn’t.
And I don’t know why I’d think that. And I don’t know why I don’t know the answer.
There’s something wrong with me, isn’t there?
—
What happened in the dark?
INTERVIEW
SARA DONOGHUE
May 9, 2017
ASHFORD: What happened in the dark?
Sara doesn’t answer. She hunches her shoulders, sitting almost sideways in the chair to point her body away from him.
ASHFORD: That’s what you wrote, at the end of your statement. “What happened in the dark?” But you were there, Sara. You’re the only one who was there for all of it. You’re the only one who knows for certain.
SARA: But I don’t. I can’t remember.
ASHFORD: I understand, Sara.
SARA: You do? Because I don’t. Why can’t I remember? I can’t remember what happened, and I can’t remember Nick, and I—there was something I forgot, and then I remembered, and now it’s gone again, but I told you, didn’t I? I told you?
Her voice is pleading.
ASHFORD: You mean Miranda.
She lets out a sigh, shuts her eyes.
SARA: Yes. Miranda. I—there’s something important. Something she told me.
Her fingers tap on the table.
ASHFORD: When did you write those words on your arm, Sara?
She looks down at her arm, pushes the sleeve up a few inches, frowns at the writing on her flesh.
SARA: I don’t remember.
ASHFORD: Do you remember why you did it?
SARA: I was trying. To remember.
ASHFORD: But you don’t rememberwhatyou were trying to remember.
Sara lets out a hysterical giggle and rakes her fingernails over her scalp.
ASHFORD: There’s no need for that, Sara. I want you to look at me a moment.
She lifts her eyes to his reluctantly.
ASHFORD: You’ve been tapping out a pattern. You repeated it verbally earlier, when you said you wanted to tell me about Miranda. And you’ve written it on your arms.
