In 1992, Los Angeles erupted in the worst riots of the twentieth century. More than five thousand buildings were destroyed. The apartment building across from the one where Angela Warren lived with her grandparents had been built after the riots subsided, and it was visible through the open window of Angela's bedroom.
At first glance, it was an ordinary teenage girl's room. Celebrity posters covered the walls, and there were plenty of cheap cosmetics. Textbooks and comic books were piled on her shelves, alongside a trophy and a group photo. Angela wore a cheerleading uniform and stood with the Dolphins football players.
She wore the same makeup as other young girls her age, smiling brightly with a lively, outgoing air.
Los Angeles was close to Hollywood. Even with poor grades, there were plenty of opportunities in Hollywood, and if all else failed, she could work at Disney. Beside the group photo was a picture of her dressed as a Disney princess.
Like every other young girl, she had squandered her youth freely. It was hard to associate her with suicide.
In truth, jumping from the third floor would not have killed her. If that car had not happened to pass by, she would at most have been seriously injured. It was an unfortunate accident; the driver had never expected someone to fall from the sky.
"Her grandmother said she put a statue of Saint Anne in Angela's room, but Angela smashed it," O'Sullivan said. "Then she drew these in her bedroom."
Mills and O'Sullivan looked up together. Many pentagrams had been drawn on the ceiling, making it resemble a star-filled night sky.
"Pentagrams don't represent the Devil," Mills said. "If they did, the Hollywood Walk of Fame would be covered with them."
"What the hell is wrong with you?" O'Sullivan