“You’ve got the wrong girl.” I stepped back from the crumbling walkway.
He looked at me, his baby blues switching from glazed and unseeing to defiantly crass. “No, it’s you, Veronica. We used to skate down at the Roller Lounge. You were so elegant, so beautiful.”
My mind was racing; was he just confused? “Sorry, sir,” I said. “I’m not Veronica.”
His face flushed a dark plum. “Don’t lie to me! I heard you that night. You … you were wrong. I had to correct you.”
He moved closer, and suddenly I knew what became of Veronica Kristal all those years before.