Philippa Dixon, in person. But... he had the distinct memory that he had come in to talk to a Dr. Philip Dixon, a distinguished grey-bearded gentleman...in his 60s, wearing a conservative double-breasted gray suit with an old-fashioned pocket watch dangling from a heavy gold chain. Dana shook his head. More of this "unreality" shit (awareness displacement, one or the other Dr. Dixons had named it) that had been bugging him ever since he'd started having that damn dream.1953 was going to be a good. Tara knew all to well she could not possibly survive, that her once superb body had suffered irreversible damage. Even though she had little knowledge of anatomy, she knew that with her urethra destroyed and seared she would be unable to urinate. Once her bladder filled, it would rupture, flooding her abdomen with her own toxic waste. It would not be a pleasant death, but still, Tara wished for it. If she died, nobody could hurt her anymore, and no one would find out about Ella. Her. More

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