"𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄'𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐘 𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍." - Reba McEntire. "Fancy". 1990.
🐻Fancy🐰Mike🐤Ness🦊Vanessa✨
In which, Francine Jenkins is a Yale pre law and criminal justice major completing her senior thesis...
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"By the way," Mike said as he walked with Fancy out of the Pizzeria, stopping to lock up.
"What are you doing later today? Like three o'clock ish?" He asked. "I'll be at the library." "Seriously?" "Seriously." "Doing what?" "Research for this case, what else, Mike."
"Do you think you could uh, babysit?" "babysit?" "Yeah." "for how long?" Mike hummed as he thought. "Just for a couple of hours. I have to go talk with Vanessa about some of the security systems at the pizzeria, one of them has been malfunctioning. If you could just babysit until Max- my other baby sitter can come over." "And what time is that?" "like seven?" "babysit for four hours? Hmmmm...." "I'll pay you.... At some point." "It's fine, Mike. I don't need your money, my father is a brain surgeon." "Damn." "Yeah. But I can babysit. Can you pick me up at the library?" "Yes. Thats on the way back from Abby's school so that works perfectly." "So I'll see you then?" "Yeah. three o'clock. Library. I'll meet you there, Fancy."
He walked her to her car. Why? Was it to make sure she got there safely? Or was it malicious. Was he blocking her from seeing something. Another clue? Another note? To grab her when her back was turned and tape her wrists together, her mouth shut, and force her into the trunk of his car? Again? Seriously? She was fine, she was okay. Mike wasn't going to hurt her.
Mike said goodbye to her and returned to his car to head home to his little sister while She prepared to head to her only sanctuary she had left, the library.
˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗
The poor librarian had to think she was crazy.
Who else comes in for three days straight and asks to see newspaper articles from the towns only cold case from twenty years ago? Fancy, that's who. She pulled open the drawer with articles that the librarian had pointed her to and pulled out a stack, ready to head to the microfilm viewer when something brushed against her leg.
A folded piece of paper, newspaper. She must have dropped it. She hoped she hadn't messed it up. She reached down to pick it up and walked over to the table with the microfilm viewer and unfolded the newspaper she had dropped.
Her blood ran cold and all the color drained from her face. This article wasn't from Hurricane Utah. This one was from Bear Forest Tennessee. Her own picture stared back at her. A younger her, a twelve year old her.
