Sheri didn't know how long she lay there; hours, days, she didn't know. She couldn't move, was afraid to. She knew she was bloody and beaten and then passed out again. During the weeks that followed she began to physically heal. She ate very little, kept mostly to her bed and never answered the door, she didn't have a phone to worry about answering. She saw no one. When her strength had returned enough Sheri started to paint. She painted the walls and windows black, leaving only a tiny circle of light to shining through. Then she started cleaning everything including herself, over and over again. Sheridan was still physiologically on the edge. She could still smell him and feel his touch on her and inside her. She would sit within that circle of light days at a time. Her arms encircling her legs and tears would run down her cheeks as her body rocked back and forth and the screaming inside her head turned into the whimper escaping from her lips.