For the criminally insane, there are only a few type of days: they have their bad days, their worse days, and then they have the kind of day when they wake up covered in someone else’s congealed blood, with a bloody knife tucked under their pillow like a gift from the murder fairy. Eight-year-old Jillybean was having that kind of day. To make matters worse, she couldn’t remember who she had killed or why? The previous night was a complete blank. A normal person might have embarked on an investigation to clear their name—the thought never occurred to Jillybean. All she cared about was finding that damned body and hiding the evidence before the people of Bainbridge realized that she was crazier than any of them guessed.