Progress Report, in which I invoke Doris Day

Banged out another 4.8K on Wet Work.  Quoth Magic Meter:

Staying on schedule for October.  Good thing it has 31 days. 

My second act is winding down, so it behooves me to figure out how this thing ends.  Sure, I have some ideas, but much fuzziness abounds.

Unless something major and unforeseen pops up–and that’s certainly a possibility–this thing is gonna come out shorter than I thought.  I might have to struggle to meet 80K.

Well.  Like Doris Day says, it’ll be what it’ll be.  Or something like that.

Anyway, your snippet:
She managed to sleep in a small park on the edge of town.  She hadn’t meant to; she’d only stopped there intending to rest her feet for a few minutes.  But exhaustion had slipped over her while she sat with her back against the trunk of an old maple.  The next thing she knew, she’d woken shivering and filmed with cold dew, muscles aching.

Disorientation caused momentary terror–until full memory returned.  Then the shock she’d held at bay for so long finally set in.  Deep disbelief took hold of her, becoming a malign voice in her head, arguing that it had only been a dream, that none of the past twenty-four hours had actually happened.  Only when she noticed the dried blood on her hands–Galatea Phillips’ blood–did the voice lapse into silence.


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