The Librarian Ch 01

The Librarian
Michele Nylons

Author’s Note: If you haven’t read my story ‘There’s Something About Sarah’ I recommend you do so before reading ‘The Librarian’. That said, this story stands on its own merit, but ‘Something’ just puts this story into a better context. For my avid fans you will find this story is very character and plot driven; don’t worry there is plenty of sex, especially in the later Chapters. I do hope you enjoy this offering; I put so much work into it so please provide feedback by leaving a comment and vote how you see fit. I love you all my constant readers, your servant and hopefully your favourite author, Michele

Image Credit: The Librarian.

Part One – The Librarian

The man sat at the long oak table in the library of the small Mid-Western town and pretended to read ‘The Shining’ by Stephen King. The library was gloomy, the late afternoon light coming in though the large ornate windows struggled to find the corners or penetrate the rows of bookshelves.

The place was as quiet as a graveyard, just the rustle of turning pages and the odd cough or sneeze came from the half dozen or so mostly senior citizens reading books and magazines. School would be out soon and a few of the students from the local high school would wander into the library, pass the Reference Books, fiction and non-fiction bookshelves and fight over the four computer work stations in the ‘Online Resources’ room. Wiki, Google and Firefox were killing public libraries.

Not that the man gave a shit about the future of public libraries. He was here for the librarian.

He studied her intently whilst pretending to read his novel. He positioned himself so he could watch her but he wasn’t in her direct line of sight. The man had plenty of experience in surveillance.

The librarian could best be described as dowdy. She looked every day of her forty-five years. She had mousy unkempt hair and was wearing only a skerrick of makeup. The hem of her earthy, brown shapeless pleated skirt fell well below her knees and was worn in combination with an equally shapeless blouse and cardigan set. She was wearing brown loafers and no jewellery or accessories of any kind the man could see.

But there were a couple of small things that were incongruous to her tasteless dress style that perhaps only someone trained to be observant would notice. Her hosiery was sheer, possibly fifteen denier, and flesh-toned; obviously expensive. You couldn’t see much of her legs but what could be seen appeared to be shapely and her nylons enhanced the form of her calves. He would have expected her to be wearing woollen or opaque tights rather than sheer nylons with the ensemble she was wearing. Either that or no hosiery at all, as women nowadays tended to eschew nylons.

And her fingernails were long, manicured, and painted a ruby red; very un-librarian like. Small fragments of discord that did not sit right and that probably only a trained observer would notice.

The librarian would have been boring to watch for most men; she appeared shapeless and sexless but there were other little things about her that the man noticed the longer he watched her. She shuffled around the library with her head down and shoulders hunched but now and then she would stride confidently and lift her head and turn it at such an angle that she actually looked assured and almost aloof. She was tall too; even in her loafers.

At five minutes to closing time the man left the library and got into his car parked half a block away. He watched the librarian lock up and get into a nondescript Prius and drive to the small downtown area to the same Mom and Pop café where he had watched her have a bagel and coffee for breakfast that morning. She ate a salad for her dinner and drank water. She was not a big eater for a woman who appeared to be large framed.

As he had done for the last three days, he followed her home to the little cottage she was renting on the outskirts of town. It was full dark when she parked her little hybrid in the driveway and went inside. He noticed that she looked around before she opened the door and closed it behind her. He didn’t know if it was a nervous tic or if she was checking to see if the coast was clear.

For the third night in a row he watched her pull all the blinds and when she did he smiled. He had installed minuscule cameras in the house two days ago and he opened his notebook and fired it up and bought up the live video feed from the cameras.

The librarian went through what appeared to be a ritual. She kicked off her loafers and shucked out of her cardigan and blouse and unbuttoned and dropped her skirt so that it pooled around her stockinged feet. The blouse went in the laundry hamper and the skirt and cardigan went on hangers in the wardrobe.

Her underwear did not match her outerwear. She was wearing a black satin brassiere, the cups of which supported a pair of perfect size B breasts, she was also wearing matching black satin full-cut panties. Undressed as she was, he could see that her hosiery was indeed fifteen denier stay up stockings, a light beige or tan colour.

But the most noticeable thing about her now that she was out of dowdy librarian clothes was that she had an excellent figure and was not at all fat. She was tall, lithe, and lean. She spent some time looking at her body in the mirror; touching her face, rubbing at the fine wrinkles at the corners of eyes and mouth with her fingertips. She applied moisturiser and then surprisingly a little dab of lipstick and a touch of mascara.

The change was amazing. She looked ten years younger and she her attractiveness was revealed. She had gone from an ugly ducking to a swan.

The librarian pulled on a gauzy black lace and satin robe that flowed around her and she tied it at the waist. She went to the kitchen and stood on tippytoes to open the door to a small cupboard high up in the kitchen cabinets. She pulled down a pint of Jack Daniel’s and a carton of Marlborough Menthol Lights. She extracted a pack of cigarettes from the carton and opened it. She poured three fingers of Jack into a tumbler, lit a cigarette and took a drag and drank the Jack in three swallows.

The man watched her settle into an easy chair and turn on the TV but she didn’t seem preoccupied by it; she seemed to just stare into space. She smoked nearly a full pack of cigarettes and drank over half of the bottle of the Jack Daniel’s before she retired. She slipped into bed in only her panties and a satin negligee.

The man checked his watch. It was eleven o’clock. He pulled out a cell phone and punched up a number.

“I’ve found her.”

“Yeah I’m ninety-nine percent sure.”

“No I haven’t seen it and I’m not putting a camera in her bathroom. I don’t like the bitch, but even she deserves some privacy.”

“Tomorrow night.”

“If she says no she’s finished in this town. I almost hope she does say no; I don’t like her one bit.”

“It won’t influence me one way or the other. I’m telling you it won’t. If the money gets transferred into my account I’ll make the proposition tomorrow night and we’ll take it from there.”

“I know the clock’s ticking but we gotta do this right; you know the consequences if we get it wrong.”

“Good night.”

The man broke the connection and stared at the darkened house for a while.

“Got you, you bitch!” he whispered and started his car.

The man waited for the librarian to come home from work the next day. He’d removed the cameras from her house and he waited the appropriate amount of time for her to settle in before he walked over to the darkened house with only thin slivers of light escaping the sides of the blinds. He used a tool to pick the lock on the front door.

He smiled to himself and slowly opened the door. He had oiled the hinges during the day so it wouldn’t squeal. He padded softly down the small hallway to the lounge where the librarian sat in the easy chair with her feet on the coffee table sipping Kentucky Bourbon whisky and smoking a Marlborough Menthol Light.

The librarian didn’t turn around; she spoke to the television.

“Finally. It took you three days but I knew you wouldn’t wait much longer,” she said.

Her voice was sultry, sexy, with a smokers rasp.

The man was taken aback but he quickly got over the shock and smiled.

“When did you know?” he said.

“The first day I was suspicious, the second I was almost certain, and yesterday I was positive,” the librarian replied.

The man moved into the room and stood in front of the librarian and smiled at her, but his smile was cold and mirthless.

The librarian turned off the TV with the remote and took a cigarette from the package on the coffee table.

“May I?” the man pointed at the cigarettes and whisky.

“I’m sure you know where the glasses are,” the librarian said with a wearied tone.

The man took a tumbler from the kitchen and poured himself a double and topped off the librarian’s drink. He took a cigarette from the packet and lit her cigarette and then his own.

He sat on the coffee table facing her.

“When you do it; do it quick. If you’re going to do anything to me sexually first, knock me out so I won’t have to suffer through the indignity,” the librarian blew smoke at the ceiling.

“Who do you think I am?” the man looked nonplussed.

“I think you have been sent from someone in my past to punish me. To end my life,” the librarian looked pointedly at the man.

“You couldn’t be more mistaken. I have been sent from someone in your past, but I’ve been sent to get you to help them,” the man said swirling whisky around in his glass.

Now it was the librarian’s turn to look perplexed.

“Who sent you?” she asked.

“That’s not important. What’s important is that you can help someone in a desperate situation,” he drank off his drink and poured another.

He offered the woman a top up and she leaned forward to offer her glass and her robe opened exposing her breasts cupped in a white satin bra, matching panties and her thighs clad in gossamer hose. He didn’t know if this was a deliberate ploy by the librarian to distract him or not, but it didn’t matter. Rather than being aroused the man was repulsed.

The man reached across and closed the librarian’s robe and she flinched, not sure if he was going to hit her. She breathed a sight of relief when he simply closed her robe and topped off her drink.

“So what’s this desperate situation?” the librarian blew smoke and sipped her drink.

“You don’t seem too surprised or concerned?” the man said.

“I have a past. There isn’t much I haven’t done or had done to me,” the librarian replied.

“Ok. Enough bullshit. You remember the name Devon Devine; his real name is Lyle Brinkman and another guy Raffe Ignesman?” the man asked.

The librarian furrowed her brow and shook her head.

“What about Tina Anderson?” the man asked with a grim smile on his face.

The librarian blanched and dropped her drink. The man smiled; using Tina’s name had the effect he wanted. He picked up her glass, poured more whisky in it and put it in the librarian’s shaking hand.

“Don’t drop it. I’m not picking it up again,” he said.

The librarian gulped down the drink and held out the glass for more and the man gave her another.

“I haven’t heard that name for twenty years,” the librarian said, her voice quavering.

“Then you’ll remember Devon Devine,” the man said.

The librarian nodded.

“Now that you’ve bought up Tina, I remember Devon. The Raffe guy; I can’t place the context but I think Tina mentioned him to me once and I might have met him at a party,” the librarian finished her drink and lit another cigarette.

She held out her glass for another drink and the man looked at her disgustedly.

“On top of everything else, you’re a lush,” he snarled.

The librarian sighed and wiped away a single tear and nodded.

“Yes as well as everything else, I’m a lush,” she kept her hand out until the man filled her glass.

“We’re leaving tomorrow early so this is your last drink,” the man said.

“Where are we going?” the librarian sipped her whisky, she had to make it last.

“To LA where else? To find Tina, Devon and Raffe but more importantly to find your niece,” the man said lighting another of her cigarettes.

The librarian looked at the man like he was from another planet.

“I don’t have a niece. I can’t have a niece,” the librarian whispered; her voice hoarse.

“I don’t have a niece because I don’t have any siblings,” she mumbled.

“Except one,” the man drew on his cigarette and expelled the smoke in a steady stream.

“Sloane Grayson.”

This time the man caught the librarian’s drink before she dropped it. She had fainted. She fell out the chair, knocking it over and the man grinned and after wiping the rim, he drank her drink.

She had fallen to the floor legs akimbo with her robe open to reveal her silken-clad thighs, white satin panties and her pert breasts. Her stomach was flat and her skin pale. Lying there like that, it almost looked like a staged scene from a B movie.

“What a fucking waste!” the man said and poked the librarian with the toe of his boot.

She didn’t move so he filled her tumbler with water from the kitchen and threw it in her face. She woke up spluttering.

“Go to bed you lush. You’ll need the sleep; we’re hitting the road early. I’m staying the night so don’t get any ideas about running away,” he snapped.

“Where are you sleeping?” the librarian said clambering to her feet.

“As far away from you as possible, but close enough so you can’t run. You disgust me,” the man said and picked up the overturned chair.

The librarian woke with a start. She was hoping she’d had a bad dream but the man was sitting in a chair close to the bed. He’d been watching her sleep. He was sipping coffee and dawn was sneaking in through the slats in the blinds.

“There’s coffee,” he pointed with his chin towards the bedside table.

The librarian sat up keeping the bedclothes wrapped around her and scrambled for the coffee. The cup shook in her fingers and she had to use both hands to keep it steady while she sipped. After a few sips she scrambled on the bedside table again and looked alarmed when she couldn’t find what she was looking for.

“You looking for these,” the man shook her cigarettes and the librarian nodded.

He lit one for both of them and handed one to her.

“Ok listen carefully. Get up, shower, do what you have to do and put on some makeup; enough so you look decent I don’t really care. Fix your fucking hair; put some colour in it. Get into some travelling clothes; jeans and shit…whatever.”

“But don’t pack that librarian shit. I’ve been through your house and I know you have some nice clothes and lingerie. Make sure you pack that; you’re gonna need it.”

“Your rent has been paid for a month and arrangements made to cover your absence and your mail has been stopped. You do this job right and you can come back to your shitty life as a shitty librarian in a shitty town and you can drink yourself to death for all I care. Probably doing the world a favour by doing so.”

The man crushed out his cigarette.

“Ok get out of bed,” the man said.

The librarian got out of bed and looked at the man who was standing by the door.

“Why do you hate me? Do you know me?” she asked.

“I know what you are,” the man said and left the room.

The librarian came out of her bedroom an hour later and she could have been a different woman. She had coloured her hair and straightened it. It was cut in a shoulder length bob with bangs; brunette with discreet cerise streaks. Her makeup was perfect, a hint of blush, some eyeliner and mascara and pink lipstick. She wore black skinny jeans, long sleeved T-shirt and kitten-heel pumps. She had a silver bangle on each wrist, matching necklace and earrings. She looked sort of bohemian.

The man did a double take when she walked into the kitchen. He had seen pictures of her before she became the librarian but they didn’t do her justice. A scintilla of perfume wafted past him as she went to get more coffee.

“I’m packed and ready. When are you going tell me what we are going to do in LA?” she leaned back against the kitchen sink and the morning sun framed her features.

She did not look forty-five.

“Get your suitcases. I’ll tell you what you need to know in the car,” the man said gruffly.

The man had parked her Prius in the little garage and locked it and he helped her put her suitcases in the trunk of his Ford Mustang. He looked like the kind of guy who drove muscle cars.

Outside in the early morning sun the librarian was able to appraise the man properly.

He was tall, at least six feet. He was lithe too, and obviously strong. When he hefted her suitcases his muscles flexed. He was wearing tight bluejeans, a white T-shirt and snakeskin boots, she saw a tattoo on his neck but couldn’t make out what it was. His thick black mane had an odd grey strand of hair here and there; it was well cut and rested just above his shoulders. On another man his age it might have looked pretentious but he carried the look well. She guessed he was in his mid forties too.

He pulled on a beat-up black leather jacket.

“There’s no smoking in the car so smoke one now,” he said.

She smoked and watched him while he checked to see that the house was secure; he walked with an easy powerful grace. He reminded her of someone from long ago and she pushed down the memory. She dropped the butt and squashed it with her high-heel.

“Get in,” he said as he opened the driver’s side door for himself.

“You’re not going to get my door for me?” she attempted some dry humour.

“You’re no fucking lady,” he replied and got in and slammed the door.

The librarian had to push the seat back to accommodate her long legs and she kicked off her heels. He noticed she was wearing little sheer anklets and he could see her red painted toenails through the gauzy nylon.

“Jeez!” he snorted and started the car.

They drove in silence for about half an hour and then he snapped on the radio and tuned it to a rockabilly station. Lynard Skynard were berating Neil Young for writing a song about his home state and telling him that a southern man don't need him around anyhow and the librarian began to tap her toes to the beat.

The man noticed and snapped off the radio.

“Here. Read this,” he dropped a file in her lap and stared ahead concentrating on the road.

The librarian opened the file and found a facing folio pinned inside the cover. There was a picture of her that someone had taken with a telephoto lens. It was a head shot but you could see she was walking up the steps of the library. She read the entry under the passport sized photo:

Name: Sarah Grayson
Age: 45
Sex: Undefined - But this had been viciously scribbled out and the word ‘Freak’ written in red pen.
Marital Status: Single
Occupation: Librarian
Education: MBA, Masters of Financial Engineering, Haas School of Business, University of California, Berkeley
Family: Mother: Amanda Grayson (deceased) Sister: Sloane Patterson Common Law Husband: Andrew Carter (deceased)

The librarian sighed when she read the last part and the man looked over at her.

“This is just background stuff we paid for. We know the family stuff is technically wrong but Amanda adopted you in Texas and pulled that bullshit with your birth certificate so we left it on file. But I know what you are,” the man said.

The librarian just started ahead.

“Sloane Patterson. That’s a new last name. Last time I saw her she was hanging around with that skunk Billy Kettering,” the librarian said.

“Like you of all people can call anyone a skunk; but you’re right he was a skunk. Read on,” he replied.

And she did. She became immersed in the file, reading sections, then re-reading them and cross-referencing them, analysing the file like a true librarian.

“I have questions,” she looked up and saw they were pulling into a roadside diner.

She looked at her watch and saw it was after one in the afternoon and her stomach began to growl. She was hungry…and she needed a drink. At the library she would eat a sandwich for lunch and drink a bottle of water but the water was actually half vodka.

“You can ask questions over lunch. When I tell you to,” the man said pulling into a parking space near the door to the diner.

He turned to look at her; once again surprised at her appearance.


“Keep your mouth shut unless I tell you to talk. Don’t try to escape or tell anyone anything about what we’re doing. And no fucking drinking,” he growled.

The librarian nodded.

They took a booth right in back away from the dwindling lunchtime crowd. A waitress in the obligatory pink and white striped dress, white apron, tan pantyhose and comfortable white sports shoes came over to take their order. Her hair was big, her makeup heavy and she was chewing gum. She was a charactuer of a mid-west roadside diner waitress.

The waitress beamed her smile at them, lingering on the man. She was obviously taken by his handsomeness. The librarian noticed the man paid attention to the waitress’ legs; the tan hosiery shimmered in the light streaming in through the big windows.

“Whatchyaall havin’ sugar?” she said in her best mid-west drawl.

“Two burgers, medium rare, fries, slaw on the side and a chocolate shake,” the man grinned back at her.

“And for the missus?” the waitress asked.

“This thing ain’t my missus. She’ll have the same; and bring us coffee after,” the man said gruffly.

The waitress was taken aback but she regained her composure. All kinds of assholes come into a roadside diner.

“I can’t…” the librarian was about to protest.

“What did I say about keeping your mouth shut?” the man growled.

The waitress put her best fake smile back on her face.

“I’ll be right back with your order.”

“Asshole!” she whispered under her breath.

“I can’t eat that!” the librarian whispered impatiently.

“You’ve been living on booze and cigarettes for too long. You probably think you look good thin, but you’re actually emaciated and I need you to have some energy reserves for what I need you to do,” the man replied.

“If you don’t eat every bite I’m going to get the waitress to put it in a blender and I’ll put it down you with a funnel.”

“I need a cigarette,” the librarian said petulantly.

“There’s no smoking in here. You can have one after,” the man replied.

“Now. You have questions,” the man studied a sachet of Sweet n Low.

“Like I said, last time I saw Sloane was at the reading of Amanda’s will and she was hanging around with that skunk Billy Kettering,” the librarian began.

“She didn’t stay with him. When she sold the property she inherited, Billy tried to steal the money and he nearly got away with it. But he didn’t. Billy’s gone; no need to ask where,” the man replied.

“She looked like shit. She’d gone to fat and was drunk all the time,” the librarian mused.

“Like you can talk,” the man looked at her disgustedly.

“She wasn’t fat she was pregnant. She lost Billy, she lost twenty pounds, and she gained sobriety. She went back to hairdressing and doing makeup and nails. Set up her own store with the proceeds from the farm.”

“And she raised a daughter,” the man said.

“It was hard for Sloane; her mother had a bad reputation, Sloane herself had a bad reputation and the town was split in their opinion of you. Some thought you were brave and some thought you were a freak. Because of her relationship to you and the implications that she had something to do with what happened to you at the Prom it basically meant that both sides of the town hated her,” he went on.

“I don’t need you to tell me about my mother and sister,” the librarian snapped.

“But they aren’t really are they? Amanda was your aunt and Sloane is your cousin. Those bits of paper issued by the Texas Supreme Court don’t change what you are in my eyes,” the man replied.

“If you’re talking about my birth certificate and adoption papers they are valid not only in the state of Texas but in the Republic of the USA,” the librarian replied petulantly.

“Were valid,” the man replied.

“What does that mean?” the librarian replied, shock evident in her voice.

“Shut up here comes the food,” the man hissed.

They ate in silence for a while, the librarian struggling with the amount of food in front of her but the man’s glare told her he was serious about getting the blender.

“The daughter’s name is Stacy and she’s twenty. She’s a good kid but she carried a lot of baggage with her at her old school because of who her mother is.”

“Sloane met my boss, Steve Patterson, five years ago. He fell head over heels for her; she’s a great looking woman and she hadn’t touched a drop of booze or been with a man since Stacy was born. She didn’t get caught easy; she’s a feisty one that woman,” the man continued.

“Yeah I know,” a wistful smile appeared briefly on the librarian’s face.

“He landed her eventually and they made a family, Sloane, Stacy and he. He’s in construction and he counts his money in millions. They moved into his place in Austin to live the American dream; which they did,” he continued.


“There’s always an until,” the librarian said.

Her mouth was dry and she was finding it hard to concentrate. She needed a drink.

“Here!” the man looked around the diner saw the coast was clear and pulled a half-pint of vodka from inside his coat.

He dumped half the bottle in the remains of the librarian’s shake.

“I know you can’t make a drunk go cold turkey without they get sick so I’m rationing you,” the man said, disgust evident in his voice.

The librarian started to gulp the shake and the man pushed it away from her face.

“Sip it goddamn you! Through the straw like a normal person,” he hissed.

The librarian looked up at him, guilt evident in her own eyes and saw only coldness in his.

“Until?” the librarian coaxed him.

“Until Stacy started hanging around with the wrong crowd and started doing dumb shit. Booze, drugs, boys. Sloane and Steve thought it was just the usual teenage rebellion; then she went missing.”

“I got the job of trying to find her but up until recently I couldn’t find a thing. I’d just about given up, figuring she was going to be like the thousands of missing girls on the milk cartons.”

“Then I found something. Something bad,” he looked away distastefully.

“So where do I come into it? Everything you’ve said makes sense with what I’ve read in the file but I still don’t see where you need me?” the librarian sucked up the last of the boozy milkshake through the straw.

“Your connection to Tina Anderson. Another like you,” he gritted his teeth.

“She’s living with Devon Devine; they’re business partners as well as lovers. They own Xavier Productions. It’s in the file,” the man said reaching for his wallet.

“It’s twenty each with a tip,” the man said looking at the check.

The librarian rummaged in her purse and found two fives and a ten which she added to his crisp new twenty on the Formica table.

“You can have that cigarette now,” he rose from his seat and librarian followed.

They lit up in the parking lot.

“So?” the librarian looked at him questioningly.

“It’s in file. You’ve got the MBA, figure it out,” the man flicked ash.

The librarian sighed.

“You want me to help you with Tina. I get that. But why?” she asked again.

“Get in; we’ve got a long way to go,” the man said unlocking the Mustang with his remote.

The librarian squeezed into her seat and fastened her belt. Before taking off the man took out an electronic tablet and put a flash drive in the USB port. He plugged a set of headphones in the device and handed it to the librarian.

“Open the file marked ‘X’, it will autoplay. You probably won’t want to watch it all but I want you to. No I take that back; you have to,” the man dropped the tablet into the librarians lap and put the car in gear.

The librarian put the ear buds in her ears, looked at the screen and opened the file marked X and the video feature started. The opening credits identified it as a Xavier Production starring a bunch of stupid porn star names, then the movie started proper.

A young girl was chained to the ceiling. She was heavily made up and her blonde hair had been styled into a big frizzy do. The dark mascara and eyeliner accentuated her green eyes, her full lips were coated with shiny red lipstick. She was wearing a waist-cinching corset which squeezed her voluptuous breasts, gave her a wasp-like waist and flattened her belly but emphasised her plump buttocks.

There were six garters hanging from each side on the corset clipped to the welts of silky black, fully-fashioned stockings. There was just an inch of bare white flesh visible between her stockings and the corset. She had on a pair of tiny lace panties and she was balancing precariously on six-inch, black patent leather high heels.

Her arms were stretched above her; her wrists shackled to chains that were fastened to a ring fixed to the ceiling. She could barely keep her balance.

The background appeared to be a dungeon but was easily discernible as a movie set.

The dialogue was the usual inane discourse one expected in pornography of this type. She was a naughty girl who needed to be punished said the first man to come into scene. He was dressed in black leather boots, chaps and vest; his large penis semi-erect. He berated the poor girl who cringed, begged and cried but all to no avail. He flailed her with a short leather whisk until she was sobbing. Then he spun her around on the chain, ripped off her panties and sodomised her while she thrashed about on the chain.

He pulled out and ejaculated over her body and left.

The next scene involved two hefty men dressed similarly to the first, they came into the dungeon and took turns whipping the helpless girl, who’s makeup was now a mess and hair was dishevelled. They pulled off her corset so they could whip the bare skin of her buttocks and her back, raising large red welts on her pale skin while she screamed. Before she could pass out they took her down and used her vaginally, anally and orally and then ejaculated on her face. Not happy with that they proceeded to urinate on her before they left the scene.

The movie finished with a panning close up of the girl lying on the floor sobbing, covered in semen and urine.

“Oh my god it’s just awful!” the librarian pulled the buds out of her ears and closed the file.

“That’s Stacy Patterson. And we’re going to get her back!” the man said through gritted teeth as he stared out the window.

To be continued…

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