She would take the items with her; bury the items and her bloodstained clothes in one of the many sinkholes in the huge landfill/garbage dump on the south side of town. She backed away, amazed as the thing buzzed loudly in the center of the room. “You are not going out—this evening, I trust,” that lady asked, a trifle dismayed. When the word “FREAK” appeared scratched in the persimmon colored paint on her locker, she knew that in some fragile young woman’s mind a war had escalated from imaginary to physical. “I will make all things possible. But they will also find you. org/license). Leaving the library by the same door she had first used to enter it earlier that day, she crossed the two little antechambers and moved on through the rooms. He gave glimpses of possibilities.
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