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Stacy gulped. She had no idea what to do, but three things she knew for
certain: She was afaid of that gun. She desperately wanted her memory
back. And she could not let her discovery fall into the wrong
hands. One part of her wanted to defy this man, make a brave speech about
how she would never cooperate. Another part wanted to beg him not to hurt
her, to promise him anything he wanted. Get control of yourself, Stacy, she told herself. Handle the situation. With all the apparent coolness she could muster, she said:
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12/29/1999 9:38:19 PM
Extending Enabled
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