"Cora!" Richard said loudly. Nothing. Bette and Tina stood by the sofa where Cora lay. Richard brought his hands together again. Trying to rouse her with the harsh snap of his clap. "Please sweetie. Please wake up", Tina pleaded. Bette ran to the kitchen and soaked a dish towel in cold water under the tap. She wrung the excess from it quickly and ran back to the sofa. "Here. Maybe this will help." Tina folded it lengthwise and placed it on Cora’s forehead.

CLAP!!!! Again.

Cora’s head drifted slowly from left to right. Her dry lips parted to the faintest extent. A dim moan escaped. Bette and Tina breathed a collective sigh of relief as Cora began to come to. Richard, who had been stooping over the young woman in heated anticipation of her elusive stirring, fell back on his rump and silently thanked the god he didn’t necessarily believe in.

The words came softly and almost discernably from her mouth. The trio of onlookers eyed each other questionably. "What did she say?", Tina asked. Bette shook her head. Richard smiled. "Ball three", he whispered. Tina began to ask what that meant but was cut short by the louder groans coming from Cora. "Shh. Shh", Tina soothed, stroking the hair on the young woman’s head. "It’s ok. You’re ok." Tina was overcome with guilt at those words. Cora was not ok. She was a little girl lost. Practically living on the streets. With a twisted father. A dead mother. And complete strangers now as her only source of comfort.