It was particularly difficult for Howie to remain in a silent darkened room without waking back to real time. As he said, it took a strong concentration on his part to do so. The child, an eight year old girl named Marcia Stonehurst, was still in bed at one o'clock. Howie had nearly reached his limit when he heard someone enter the room! Something was placed over her nose and mouth and after a silent struggle; a stocky figure carried the child downstairs. According to Martha who remained with Howie, he thrashed about the bed, frightening her. He later related how incredibly difficult it was to watch that happen and be powerless to intercede.
The man jogged from the house carrying the young girl. It was pitch dark and rainy. An outside light wasn't operating making it impossible for Howie to describe the man except to say he looked strong and was medium height. He reached a dark van and left, without lights before Howie could make out a plate number. We conveyed the meager information to a national tip line, fearing it might be too little too late.
Howie was distraught over the encounter and Martha, apologetic over wasting the day. Betsy was irritated because her logic didn't prevail. I was annoyed at the bickering that followed as it was counterproductive to any chance of long time success. Quinn agreed with Betsy, much to Martha's dismay. Even the women were at odds, almost for the first time since they'd met. We decided to take the evening off and have a nice meal in Boston. In more serene surroundings perhaps we could come to some understanding and move forward in a mutually peaceful way.
Maryland. I prefer not to cross state lines with my prizes, but Delaware is such a small state I'd left its boundary before I realized. I've chosen the sea shore as the final resting place for my little beauty. Alas, I couldn't keep her long as I wished. She was far too frail. I'm on the road once more with only my memory of sweet little Marcia for company. Dixie, here I come. Who will be my petite southern belle?