Not to be one to dance in shadowy corridors with unwanted strangers, Millie looked at her watch and saw that the hand was next to midnight and the mysterious visitor who handed her that letter was still nowhere to be found.

In the east wing, far corner passed the room with the broken vending machines, out where the lights always seem to flicker. Be there around midnight.

The note was pretty clear in its request (or demand), even if it was completely devoid of any reason as to why he requested her presence in such a seedy place.

Could be a rapist, or a killer! her mind said. But, she didn’t agree,

“He don’t look like no killer,” she said to her thoughts. “Not a rapist, neither.”

But, as her cousin had learned, violent offenders of any variety didn’t exactly come with a stamp. They were bred in all forms, molded in the muck of the most malevolent mires imaginable to man. And her cousin was the only reason she was here. The pictures that she had received had nearly ripped her heart out. To see the innocence beaten out of that poor child by some evil unknown who just happened into her life made her want to weep and smash testicles at the same time.

This swarthy, inexplicable individual who had handed her this note that day in the crowd of those disembarking from the scuzzy shuttle-bus looked at her with sorrowful eyes, like he knew her pain. He thrust the paper at her and said, “Take this. You must.” After taking it involuntarily, she watched him vanish into the alleys, holding his black fedora down in the wind.

Now here she was, waiting on fate to change directions.




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