[RebelYell]

As tightly as the thorns appear to be wrapped around her ankle, there is something even more tightly wound around the young girl's hands, securing them behind her back. She is just laying at the bottom of the stairwell.

She is not breathing. Best I can tell, she may have been dead for some time.

I edge down the stairs with the baseball bat to help me balance my weakening legs. The girl's hands are an awful shade of purple and blue. Telephone cord has been used to cut off the circulation and it has cut into her wrists.

Across her back, there is a long mark and it's possible one of her arms has been broken.
I look at the bat in my hand and wonder if it was a weapon in this crime.

Below her sweater and hands is nothing but the milky white flesh of her bottom. She seemed so tan when I saw her for the first time on Monday. Now you can barely tell where her tan line began on her naked hips.

Around the back of her head is a piece of cloth. A bandana, possibly. It, too, is knotted, obviously used as a gag.

I move close enough to touch her and only reach for her hair, pulling it back away from her face.

Her mouth is stuffed with a washcloth which is held in by the bandana.

There's nothing I can do for her now. And even though I saw her when she was living and breathing and beautiful, I never even heard her name.

I run up the stairs for my room. I need to get to a phone.

I'm taking the bat with me.