The sneaker prints Marcia had been following stooped at a shack, In side she found the outer clothes Sarah had been wearing when she left, but from the swinging clothes hook some thing else had been hanging their. She spots the sneakers in a shoes cubby, lifting the sneakers, Marcia sees groves like shoes had been taken and put back enough times to carve groves in the wood. Heels, at lest three inch, but what had been hanging here waiting for Sarah to put on. Some kind of hair was stuck in the wood of the shack, using tweezers, Marcia plucks the hair out of the wood, she touches the hair and gets a flash of a blue body suit with black tights and blue four inch wedge heels, the top only partly covering tan breasts. Sarah zips up a small jacket that covers the rest of her. Marcia shakes her head clearing it of the vision. What are you mixed up in Sarah? A mirror hanging in the corner, a lipstick shape mars the mirrors clean surface, she was here only moments ago. A changing room that is what it reminds Marcia of. Marcia leaves the shack and follows the heel prints around the shack and down a dirt road. The prints are even, confident, this girl has been wearing heels for some time. O crap, the stories she has heard of those woods, manors that are really private clubs some since probation, my be longer. Places that have been high class brothels for over a century. The dirt track merges with a wider road worn down with truck tire tracks the last less than an hour ago. Other tales of the woods come to mind, homes of formally wealthy families reduced to inbreed rednecks. Strange social clubs, human pony ranches, old hippie cults now on their third generation, hidden porn studios in old family homes. Families of generations of eccentrics making strange art. Marcia grown up in a high class family and had been to more than one social club in the woods.