Jacob was affected by the epileptic attack.
He was thinking about the Roadhouse.
He had settled the medical insurance bill by using his credit card. That was fine. It was $390.00. He had a second lease on life, and his doctor, Hal Pierson, MD, would have to be informed; he was concerned about his patients. The seizure was bad. He suffered from amnesia.
Maybe it was the road.
It had played tricks on him.
Especially at night time.
He watched the Roadhouse.
He was looking forward to seeing Roberta.
***
The Pulse came.
It was shifting...shifting.
Jacob saw the sign to the Roadhouse.
Written in bold letters were the words: BEST WISCONSIN HAMBURGERS. It was 9:00 AM.
Fear gripped him.
Then he saw Roberta, and the terror passed.
'Are you alright?', she asked him.
'Yes, it'll pass', he answered.
'Good. Because if it doesn't, I'll take you to hospital myself in my car'. He saw her 1978 Ford, and nodded.
'Okay'.
The matter was settled.
***
Craig Wells breathed in and out.
He gazed at the Wisconsin Beach.
He threw rocks into the ocean.
For a long time, he knew what he wanted to do.
The girl was there.
He walked over to her, and knocked her unconscious. He dragged her into his old 1974 year old white van; he closed the door with his gloved hands. The past couple of nights had been full of dreams; the dreams hurt his head. He looked around. There wasn't any police around; there was just silence. Soon, the visitors would come. He hadn't much time to commit the crime.
Craig closed the driver's-side door, and put his seatbelt on. He drove away to his house, where the other girls were held captive in the cells.367Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡxcyQGarBo3
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