SHE WAS HIGH on analgesic morphine. She smiled a lot and was giggling softly to herself with her eyes closed...

Little Roberta was floating like the teacup carnival ride she had with Laura at the county fair. She looked up at her parents each holding her baby, twin brothers, who were watching and waving back at her. The teacups rotated and whizzed on the floor tracks, Spinning voices of Johnny and Jimmy, were calling out her name. "Robbie! Robbie!"

The Chief Police Commissioner had visited her earlier that morning — where there was a public-relations request by the police department, wanting Roberta to appear on TV cameras to comment about the shooting incident, happened a few days ago.

Despite being in pain, Roberta did the interview but she could not look straight into the camera lens — it was more of the shame and her own guilt from the lies when she had revealed to the media about Mandy Thompson being her guiding mentor. It felt detrimental at that moment, when facing the eyes of the world, when in fact, it was a letdown — as she could not save a good, 'clean' cop that night — whereas, an ambidextrous cop like herself had survived the shooting ordeal.

Later that same evening, Roberta had another visitor...

Roberta giggled when she slowly opened her eyes — seeing the albino girl sitting beside her bed, smiling back at her. She was in a princess costume in Roberta's hallucination state, as she herself was in her ten-year-old person — where she grew up watching lots of Disney tales on the TV network at the farm with her sister Laura — making fun of her sibling's fascination of fairy tales' princesses.

"I know you — you are...fucking Snow White."

"That is my street name, but my real name is Lilya Devon."

Lilya doubted that Roberta will recall her name later, judging by the drug stimulated agog-state that she was in.

Roberta was chuckling and slurred...

"Snow White yeah you, I shot...and shot and killed your...fucking dwarfs — those-Black-shemale-Niggering-bastards...fuck shit Niggers..."

"How are you feeling, Roberta?"

The cop's eyes were now closed when she replied in a slur. "I feel good, really...good, I like the morphine...they drip me with — it takes...away from the pain. They shot me, you know, your...fucking dwarfs. Them, Niggers...shot me...

"Niggers shot Manny too, Manny is in...dog heaven now...and she is happy over there, you know — she is happy... wherever there is...free food."

Roberta snickered and when she reopened her eyes and stared at the emblem on Snow White's dress — the dress then transmuted into a black, motorcycle jacket with the sewn gang-emblem. It made the cop squint in seeing the vivid transformation...

"Eh! That is my jacket ... you are wearing, how you get it?" Roberta uttered in a slur, swallowing most of the words.

Lilya confessed. "I am staying at your house, Roberta. I found the spare key, and I let myself in."

"Why did you do...a thing like that? Your family, they are looking...for you — they made a ...missing-person report." The debilitated Roberta was slowly drifting back to sleep...

"Manny went into all the...trouble, to, get you to reunite — you with your, family — I got no family like you — but why...are you, still hiding? Why there? Why... at my place?"

"I have to go now, Roberta."

Lilya Devon stood up.

It was no point explaining about the actual realities concerning the streets, which were her home for almost four years — the Serbian prostitution ring now officially owned her because her Black pimps had owed them some substantial amount of drug-related-money. She was now like a commodity in their trade-off — their collateral for the loan. But when Bing the 'Prince of Ponce' refused to pay them back, the Serbs made a false police missing-person report to make their claim on her.

"Rob — call-me-Rob."

Lilya touched her arm. "Okay, Rob."

"Wait, Snow White — my sister...Laura — you go and see her...there, she is, all alone. Talk to her — call her...Mimi, she likes that, yeah, she likes fucking Disney too..." deliriously Roberta blabbered...

"Mi-mi..."

Lilya heard her say again of her sister's name like before — after the gunfight in the streets, drifting back insentient then.

The thirteen-years-old looked around before she bent forward, and she gently kissed Roberta's chapped lips. She left Roberta's driver's license on the bedside table — and like a ghost, the albino girl disappeared, from the patrolling watch guard and nurses in that ward.