Jane, standing in front of her house Blanche owned, searched the mail hoping for something addressed to her. Not the power bill, or coupons for the diner down the street. She longed for a letter written from the heart, made with love with her name on it. Not Jane Hudson. BABY JANE.

Alas. It never did come. Instead she was awoken from her self-loathing stupor by the buzzing button of Blanche, her paraplegic sister.

"Five more minutes, Blanche!" Jane rudely shouted up at the disturbance.