"Edmon!" Pierre shouted. He ran to the house phone and frantically dialed his brother's number.
"This is Edmon," Edmon answered.
"Edmon get over here she's gone she might be dead we have to find her or we're dead," Pierre blurted. There was a pause.
"I'm coming." Edmon hung up.
Ten minutes later Edmon arrived to a broken door. Pierre's eyes were glued to the television.
"Pierre! This is a crisis, why are you watching TV?" Edmon said, and then he saw what Pierre was looking at.
" . . . appears to have been killed several hours before the crash, and the man was a more recent murder. Police suspect that the killers were the same terrorists who bombed a school bus ramp, who's names they won't disclose at this time. The terrorists had been driving away from the Georgia school, possibly . . . "
"They . . . killed her?" Edmon asked in disbelief.
"They must not have known who she was," Pierre said, shaking his head.
A small grin appeared on Edmon's face. "At least she didn't fall into the hands of them. We did our job, Pierre. Come on, let's go back home." He put a hand on his brother's shoulder, but Pierre shrugged it off and kept staring at the television, at the dead bodies and the car, and wondered who these terrorists were.
He was going to find them and kill them.