Chapter .48.

A painting is not a picture of an experience.  It is an experience.  -Mark Rothko *** Daisy hands me her coat. Like a caretaker, she pulls it over my head, careful with the fabric, and making sure it does not hit my face. Then she helps me up. "My father?" I whisper out my question. "Unconscious," Daisy says. I nod and we silently walk out of my prison. I look around, taking in what looked to be a shed. My father's body is there, unconscious and tied up. Daisy still has her arm around me as she pulls out her cellphone, pressing it to her ear. She waits several seconds before I hear the other line click and the sound of Jay's voice faintly coming through. "Little Moon, where are you?" Daisy smiles into the phone, but it's a sad smile. "Hey, hot stuff. We found her." There is a pause. I hear a shuffling on th