I roll my eyes. "Dad, it’s only the beach. I’ll sit on the stones and play for a bit."
His face is uneasy, but I turn away and walk off the patio, leaving him sitting there, still looking thoughtful and kind of uneasy.
But as soon as I reach the beach again, I hear that same sound I couldn’t figure out earlier, but I ignore it for a moment and focus on the last verse of my song, but the notes just won’t fall into place, and it frustrates me.
That sound keeps repeating, and finally, I can’t take it anymore, so I set the guitar down and decide to check it out.
About a week ago, one of our neighbors lost their dog. They put flyers up all along the street with his picture. I wonder if that’s what I’m hearing. Maybe he got stuck somewhere in the bushes. I like our neighbors and their dog, so I want to help.
Soon I reach the edge of our property. The bushes grow thick around the fence, and I push my way through, then climb over to the other side.
There’s an empty lot next to ours, about fifty yards wide. It belongs to our neighbor, but he never does anything with it, justkeeps it mowed. Beyond that, though, there’s a dark little grove, thick and shadowy.
I start walking that way, squinting because the sun’s behind me and everything ahead is drowned in shade.
Something feels wrong.
A twist of unease coils in my gut, and that weird itching on my skin gets even worse.
I stop for a second. It’s like something dark is shifting toward me, like a thin, rippling black veil. I blink, but there’s nothing there. Maybe it’s just a trick of the light after staring toward the sun too long.
The itching spreads over my skin again, sharper this time. What the hell is this? Some kind of stupid irritation or what?
Then I see it again, or at least I think I do, a dark, drifting shape moving toward me from the grove, like a tattered streak of smoke floating through the air. I blink hard, and it’s gone. Damn it, am I seeing things?
With cautious movements, I approach the grove, reaching the first line of shrubs.
There, I hesitate. Every instinct in me screams not to go in. Something deep down is warning me: stay out!
But why? I try to think logically. What could be in there? A bear? A cougar? I’ve never been the type to get strong gut feelings, that’s more of Snow’s thing. He’s famous in the family for his supernatural intuition.
I squeeze my eyes shut, take a few deep breaths to calm myself, and still try to reason it out. It’s just a grove, nothing special.
But that’s when I make the biggest mistake of my life. I let my guard down.
A tall man steps out from behind the bushes. Before I can react, he grabs me by the shoulders. Another man appears right after him, grabs my legs, and with one hard jerk, they lift me offthe ground. In a blink, they drag me into the bushes with them. Branches whip across my face.
I try to yell, but the first man clamps a hand over my mouth. I thrash, kicking and twisting, trying to claw his arm, maybe scratch his face, but the other one pins my arms down.
They drag me deeper into the trees, farther and farther away from the grove. About a hundred yards ahead, I can see the edge of the state forest stretching for miles to the south.
Those moments when they’re carrying me are a blur of shock and disbelief. It doesn’t even feel real. My life has always been calm and safe, boring, even. The only real drama I remember was when River ran away.
So maybe that’s why my brain can’t process what’s happening. It’s like I’m watching a scene from a movie, like reality just glitched.
They stop in the shadow of tall trees.
I’m thrown to the ground, and when I try to get up, a brutal kick slams into my chest, knocking the air out of me.
"Don’t move, or you won’t get out of here alive," the taller one says coldly.
"What do you want? Money? My parents can pay you!" I shout.
The shorter man laughs, a rough, throaty laugh. His head’s shaved, a few teeth missing, and there’s a faded tattoo on his neck.
It’s the first real look I get at them. I don’t recognize either. Both look around fifty, still strong and broad-shouldered. There’s no way I could fight them off.
I’m a skinny fourteen-year-old still in the middle of a growth spurt. Fighting isn’t an option. I’ll have to talk my way out of this.
