Soonthe looping late, late news came on again. Most of it was filler andScott struggled to stay interested. Then an eerily familiar photoappeared on the screen.The anchorwoman continued, "Also police are searching for CrandallSmith who was last seen at Riley's Bar and who has been missing forover two days. Police are searching for a person of interest describedas a Caucasian female who may have been a prostitute. Witnesses wereoddly unable to provide any details, and the police are asking anyonewith information on Mr. Crandall Smith's disappearance to comeforward,"Scott recognized the mug shot as the weasel like man in Riley's barthat had led a blonde towards the rear of the building. He concentratedand then realized that despite having looked directly at her, hecouldn't for the life of himself describe any of her features. It waslike she was a ghost in his mind. A note of fear crept into his voiceas he asked the universe in general, "What the hell is going on?" Anexceptionally loud. Paloma came into view. She looked up at me and froze. I almost did, too. My eyes drank in her form. She wore a strapless, red dress. The bodice seemed to hang from her small breasts, just covering her areolas. The skirt was cinched right beneath her bosom and fell in a fine layer of cloth down to her mid thighs, each one seemingly translucence but when combined were opaque and hid her body. Her hair fell in a mass of curls around her cute face, her golden-brown skin almost glowing. She held a small box in her hand.“Mi sirenita,” she breathed in awe. “You're gorgeous. I'm having trouble breathing.”“Me, too,” I said as I kept descending. My feet were moving on their own, thank Goddess, or I would have been stuck in place.I reached the bottom and stopped before her, swallowing. She had such a big grin as she opened the box and pulled out a purple carnation on a stretchy band. I smiled and held out my hand, letting her slip the flower over my wrist before she kissed me.I shuddered against.
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