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He lay in bed that night thinking about the glasses, trying to figure out what they were intended for. Even his addled adolescent brain doubted they h...d been invented just to see naked high school girls, though he did believe they could have no better use. He could discern no purpose for the glasses and no identity for their rightful owner. Maybe he should turn them over to the cops? Maybe there was a reward? But how could he explain the broken locks? What finally decided him was the thought of. I knew how the movies and radio dramas have the mysterious young wife desperately searching for her husband be blond, beautiful, and dumb; well scratch that one off your list. Mrs. April Hawthorn was short, skinny as a rail, had black hair, and appeared to have a sky-high IQ.She had last seen her husband about three months ago as he left to play golf at one of the poshest golf courses in the Atlanta area. He was a real estate developer and was going to play golf with a client. He was due back. Gordon. How about you listing me as a relative: her brother?" Mr. Wilson, ever hear of HIPPA? Short and sweet is that I can't tell you a thing about the patient or let you stay with her without violating a law that has become quite popular for the feds to enforce ... I'm not risking my license this close to retirement." List me as her brother, then. I'm telling you I'm her brother. I'll sign anything you want me to." Look, Mr. Wilson, you told the cop and our paramedic that you were traveling. “Cassie, it’s alright. Anything you ask me is completely alright, just relax and get it all out, and then if you want, we can talk about it.” ‘Wow!’ I screamed at myself inside of my head. ‘I could have done that a hell of a lot better,’ but before I had a chance to fix it, Cassie continued, still whispering softly in my ear. “Eric, I’ve had these feelings from the very first time we talked, and well, they’re just getting stronger, and now I’m pretty sure you’re feeling them too.” Cassie.
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