Janice removes her dark glasses to reveal the bluish bruises under her eyes that are a constant reminder of the attack she suffered a few days earlier. Though ready and willing to press charges and withstand a public trial, she was unable to positively identify the toughs who carjacked her. It was night, their faces were in shadows, their clothing was dark, their hands were strong and rough. They were boys, however. That she did know, by their voices. Older teens, but still boys. Her car was found the next morning stripped and abandoned on a side road leading out of town, and the case was chalked up to random g**g violence.
Aunt Dorothy touches Janice"s arm compassionately. “I"m just so sorry for what you went through, Janice. You know this is not what Port Avalon is about. We won"t toler
