There were even snacks to eat.
The conditions of this kidnapping were almost too good to be true.
Norris Moore sat on the bed, legs crossed and wrapped in a blanket, nibbling on a sausage while listening to the man eat.
Approaching noon, the sunlight was fiercely hot, but the temperature inside the room was just right.
After having lunch, Norris leant against the wall, drowsy and close to sleep.
Shouts and gunshots could be heard in the distance—trouble must have flared up somewhere again—but with this man present, she oddly felt no fear whatsoever.
By the time he finished eating Norris's leftover food, Norris had fallen asleep sitting up against the wall.
She was still draped in that brown blanket, her small face askew, a sliver of sunlight illuminating her disheveled hair, casting a golden glow. She looked like a meticulously edited photo from a magazine, naturally exquisite and delicate.
