“What happened?” she said, in a panicked tone.
Kneeling down next to Seymour and inspecting his scalp for the source of the blood, there was no answer to her question. She repeated herself and as she turned to look at the vet for an answer, he grabbed her from behind with his left hand, reaching around her waist pulling her close to him, almost lifting her off the ground. In his right, he held the cloth saturated with chemical and covered her mouth and nose with it. She tried to scream but the muffled sounds could not carry to the landing below. Blanche kicked and fought but the drug took its affect quickly and her limbs soon hung limp.
Lester left the cane; he would have no further use for it. He had both arms wrapped around Blanche, under her arms and over the top of her breasts, dragging her backwards toward the emergency door. The door opened with the applied pressure from his back and he hefted the woman out of the door, leaving Seymour dripping blood from his head and unaware of what had happened to the beautiful librarian. A cane and a spectacle case lay on the ground nearby, the only remnant of the attacker and the harm he had caused.
Once on the landing outside the library, Lester pushed the knocked out woman into the chute and started her on the journey to the ground below, he followed quickly behind, landing on his feet, just barely missing Blanche directly under him. He looked around for possible witnesses but saw none. It was dark and the streets were quiet. The Stalker opened the rear doors of the van and lifted his conquest into the back, looping a quick tie around her wrists, securing her hands behind her back. He had no idea how long the ether would be in effect but didn’t want her attacking him from the back of the van on the way home. He did the same with her feet, immobilizing the librarian for the time being.
The rush of adrenaline that had propelled him through the last few minutes began to subside and the pain in his abdomen returned with a vengeance. Before he climbed behind the wheel he pulled his shirt aside and looked at the blood soaked bandage again. Fresh blood now ran down his skin and into the top of his pants. The Stalker had not noticed the trail of blood leading from the bottom of the chute to the van. Events were happening too quickly to stop and deal with it now, by the time they were able to identify him they would be out of the state and on their way.
Seymour lay unconscious for nearly two hours and when he finally came to the lights of the library were almost blinding. He squinted to make out gross objects and could feel his eyes working to bring things back into perspective. His head ached and he could see dried blood on his hands and the area where his head had lain. He tried to recreate what had happened but could not remember the events, just the sudden incredible pain not once, but twice, and then nothing. He tried to stand up but wobbled, crashed into a bookshelf that gave way and almost tipped over before it supported his weight. He brought his hand to his head, he could feel his scalp matted with blood but his eyes were coming around and the fuzziness in his brain was clearing.
“Blanche. Where is Blanche?” he said, looking at his watch, almost midnight.
He looked around and realized he was alone. The library lights were still on but no patrons. He went to the lower floor and found the same thing. Seymour looked for Blanche’s things and found her purse behind the counter on the shelf where she always left it. It became readily apparent to Seymour, even in his confused state, that whoever had busted his skull had taken his love.
“9-1-1, what is the nature of your emergency?” the operator at the Valdosta Police Station asked.
“My girlfriend’s gone, somebody’s taken her!”
“Where are you and who has taken her?”
“I’m at the library but they’re gone! He’s taken her!” he said, still having trouble filtering information through his aching head.
“Sir, it’s midnight, I suspect the library has been closed for hours. You’re not making much sense. Who is missing? Can you give me a name?”
“Yeah, Blanche, her name is Blanche. I don’t know where he’s taken her.”
“Last name, can you give me a last name?”
He was having a difficult time staying focused and the pain was ebbing and returning making it hard to think clearly. Seymour searched but could not pull Blanche’s last name from his memory. He could see it plainly but could not speak it.
“Excuse me sir, is this a joke or something? This is an emergency service and you can be arrested for misusing it,” she warned.
“No, I know. She is missing I just can’t think of her name. It’s Blanche D. D…. or something like that, I got hit on the head and I can’t remember. You’ve got to believe me!”
“Okay, so your girlfriend is Blanche DD and you can’t remember it cause you got hit on the head, is that right?”
“Yes exactly.”
“K, I’ll play along, and your name?” she asked.
“Seymour, ah ah Wood,” he finally got out.
“What did I tell you?” she said authoritatively. “This is not a service for pranksters. My heavens, Seymour Wood and your girlfriend is Blanche Double D? Couldn’t you be a little more creative than that?”
“I’m telling the truth, my head is killing me, I’m just not thinking clearly. Call the Sheriff; he’ll vouch for me. You’ve got to send help, there’s no one else I can call!” he said, emphasizing his need for help.
The operator knew that Seymour Wood had been arrested earlier in the week and, was indeed, sitting in the county lockup as they spoke. She would confirm that with the Sheriff’s Office when she had time and she wrote a quick reminder on a sticky note and sat it aside.
“Oh, I’ll confirm it alright but I’ll caution you again, this is not a line for fun and games.”
The line suddenly went dead when the dispatcher got tired of the caller’s antics and hung up.
“Crap, now what do I do?” he questioned himself. “Look for clues.”
The things he’d learned in his hours in classes were pulled involuntarily from his memory. His strength somewhat rejuvenated he returned to the second floor and the blood spot where he had lain. He opened the nearby emergency door, noted that the alarm did not sound, and looked to the ground. Nothing there but his old truck parked in the lot and no Blanche to be seen. He turned his attention back to the library and the items on the floor. A cane with blood and hair on it, as well as a spectacle case, rested on the ground near where he woke up. He followed a trail of blood from the spot near the exit, across the floor that led him to the table where he had been shelving books. His memory was coming back, he remembered conversing with the vet, put some books away, then ‘crack’, the first blow to his head. He had turned to see his attacker, the veteran directly in front of him before ‘crack’, the second blow to his head and lights out. The Gulf War Vet, who was he and how could he find him? The authorities would obviously be no help tonight. He would find her on his own. If it was the last thing he did, he would find Blanche and rescue her from the cane wielding maniac!
Seymour picked up the wooden cane and inspected it closely. It appeared to have been hand carved from a piece of natural wood, the grain ran the length of the medical device, alternating dark and light bands of wood fibers. There were no plaques or identifying marks, it would be no help. His own blood and head had marred the workmanship, along with a crack in the material near the impact point.
'Hit me pretty damn hard, jerk!' Seymour said.
He laid the cane aside being careful not to handle it too much in case some fingerprints could be raised from it later, if needed. He next picked up the spectacle case, opened it and inspected the contents. The glasses were single vision, of the convex variety, meaning the lenses were thicker in the middle and thinner towards the edge. The frame itself appeared to be older with some wear marks on the metal and the lenses slightly scratched. He remembered seeing the frame on the disguised veteran earlier in the night. Seymour put the glasses back in the clamshell style case and slipped it into his pocket but just as he did something caught his eye.
He opened the case again and in very faint gold lettering on the blue lining of the case there was some text. He strained to see the print but could not make it out completely, only a letter here and there but nothing that made any sense. Seymour moved to where the lighting was brighter and tipped the case back and forth but could still not read the emblem. It occurred to him that the glasses inside the case would possibly help, convex lenses should magnify the image, he remembered from his high school science course. The glasses, once on his nose, caused everything across the library to blur and distort, but when he looked back to the case the smallest details were brought into view. The very fibers of the backing were visible and the gold that clung to them. Straining to make it out he managed to identify the words Dr. D Camp, and under that, Optometrist. An address was listed below, in much smaller print, that was completely faded away and he could not read it.
