As she sat on her living room couch watching House, he said for the millionth time, "Everybody lies." And as if in revelation, she realized, it was true. But she was addicted to the truth. Not to bringing it, of course, but to knowing it. To knowing was lies beneath. To knowing how things came to be. Like all addictions, this one kills. It's a silent murderer: asphyxiation, execution, suicide. And that night, as she read what she had written, she wondered aloud, "Why am I writing in third person?" Insanity.