She tried to comb her hair, instead she threw up into the toilet. Darn it, Aubree! Think! She fell back onto her bed. The clock read 6:17. Okay. I can...get through this. I have to strike up some kind of deal. I have to get those pictures back. Who cares about the pot? Let him go to the police. It’s my word against his. Isn’t it? Okay? get the pictures back. Get the pot back. Pay him whatever he wants. He’s a maintencance man? he can’t be rich. I can come up with a thousand dollars. Surely, money. Maybe Willard hadn't even had a stroke, down in the mine. Maybe whatever killed all these people had killed him, too.Or maybe the only reason I wasn't dead was that I'd been down there, trapped underground in Uncle Willard's mine.None of the dead people I saw was marked in any way. It was like poison gas had gone through, or some kind of death ray. Yeah, right. A death ray. I'd been reading too many comic books.I figured whatever it was must have happened late in the night. Last night. That. More

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