August 16, 1965
WRAPPED IN A BLANKET, the naked redhead sat on a sagging chair in the center of a dank, cluttered room. The man, who said his name was Norman Bohn, explained his plans for her with large gestures and wild eyes. She hid her shock and fear behind an expression of loathing.
“You are magnificent!” he crowed. She glanced around the dimly lit space, looking for a way to escape, but he didn’t seem to notice. “You’re the first, but there’ll be more. I’ll be famous!”
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