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A shudder rattles your body at the thought of contacting the police again.  No way.  You walk over to the black garbage bag and pick it up, carrying it over to the coffee table.  You pour yourself a glass of wine and sit down, staring fearfully at the bag.  You take a long gulp of wine and force the knot in throat down to your stomach.   You carefully unknot the black plastic and open it up, folding the edges over the outside of the contents.  You take another large swig of the wine and  peek into the bag.  You immediately recognize Jen's cell phone. There is also clothing crammed into the bag, you see blood stains on a pair of jeans and the blouse she had been wearing.   A pair of tattered blood stained lace panties sit ominously on the top of the pile.  Tears begin to well up in your eyes.  You reach in with a shakey hand and pull out her cell phone.  You punch in her password and the screen lights up, a beautiful photograph of the two of you last summer graces the home screen.  You take a ragged breath, unsure if you are ready to accept whatever fate has befallen her.  You click on the pictures, hoping maybe you will find some answers.   You open the photos and sweep through the volumes of photos until you reach the last few.  You enlarge them and find several pictures she snapped of you and her and your two insideous companions from the club.  Their faces are clearly recognizable. You decide immediately that you need to call Detective Stone.  He has to listen to you with all the evidence you have sitting in front of you.     You put your hands on the arms of the chair and lift yourself to a standing position.  You are suddenly very light headed and a nausea sweeps through your body.  The feeling hits you like a ton of bricks.  You slump back into your chair, rubbing your temples.  Too much stress, you mumble to yourself.  You try again to stand and find yourself thrust back to a sitting position by a pair of heavy gloved hands on your shoulders. 





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