We talk about something else?

Can we talk about something else? So, Hello. Hello, out there. Small towns may make small mines, but not much escapes the memory of a little place. Anything unusual is

collected, poured over, run through the grapevine, sipped on slowly in the coffee shops, patted down greedily at the bars, what little

does go on stands out, and as a result is maybe more appreciated.

But when something terrible happens in such places, it tends to get stored away,

like a skeleton in the back of a closet that a whole community works to pile junk on top of.

It's whispered about. It becomes that thing that happened.

That thing that we don't like to speak of and of respect for the family.

When 11 year old J.C. Lee Dugard was hit with a stun gun then stolen from roadside in June of

1991 while walking to the bus stop in her favorite pink outfit, Tights in a

t-shirt with a kitten on it that soon would be burned by her

self-appointed owners.

The people of Myers, California, a small town if there ever was one, took notice.

They hung missing posters and pink ribbons all over their little spot on the map.

A quaint community that sits in the Sierra Nevada on the edge of South Lake Tahoe, known for being a former stagecoats stop and treading post.

Known as a nice place to veer into for lunch while traveling the Tahoe Basin.

Known, maybe most of all at least to crime buffs as an old mob hangout and a little more

recently as the area were two little girls, both only midway through

their elementary school years, called home, before they were kidnapped. Not together, mind you, no.

One was taken and the other grew up in the vacuum of that first theft,

before being sucked up herself by a more sinister force.

Freak. of nature.

...