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Chuck dated Misty Meyer,
The next day an army of walkers would beat the woodland to find a purple eye patch with a silver star.
A local, Pattie Rayburn, had seen the van. It made a right turn onto Highway 35. Patch was gone.
In the state of Missouri two high school girls and a college kid had gone missing in the past eight months.
but sometimes Saint thought the truth was less palatable.
Dr. Tooms,
Sammy, the drunkard owner of Monta Clare Fine Art,
“Every winter people say Monta Clare is too beautiful. It’s like a bigger crime, right? Because it happened here. It’s like none of us were prepared for the outside creeping in,” Misty said.
A poor girl who had no sense of style, or femininity, no chance of finding a boy and then a man. A girl who looked to books for answers to questions that would never be asked of her. Weighed questions that had nothing to do with fashion or baking or making a goddamn motherfucking home.
Her breath caught a little. “My grandparents named me.” “Because your mother died before she could.” She nodded. “But the name…” “They said I was every good thing, Patch. Can you believe that?” He turned his head to look at her. “Sure, I can. Entirely and absolutely.”
“He’s a creep.” “Why?” Saint said. “More than once I saw him sitting in his car outside our high school.” Saint stared at Tooms. “Doing what?” “Watching the girls go by.”
As they strolled in the snow Jimmy pointed to the stems and told her of crownbeard and dittany. “Why did you bring these?” she asked. “I just wanted to show you that sometimes things survive despite the harshest of odds.”
“If you ever get the chance to make someone smile, or better yet, make someone laugh, then you take it. Each and every time,” Norma said.
Eli Aaron Photography
Saint took the photograph from its housing and flipped it over. She did not flinch when she saw the stamp. Eli Aaron Photography