Now, I was focused on finding more about the little girl. It had been hard to find, but I was able to pull the original article. I wasn’t even sure that it mattered, but I needed to know what happened there. Eight years had passed since I’d seen it, but when I was in therapy, when I first met Noah and first moved to Port Orchard, I had kept a private, online journal. While my memory was not all that sharp, I was certain I had written something about all of this. I went to the website I’d been using and tried my old standard password: 20Tommy05. It worked, and my memory was correct, I had written about everything in detail.
Molly had four locks of hair in a silk heart-shaped pouch inside of a black, hand carved box. It looked like some kind of voodoo. The locks of hair had been secured wit
