Something ahead caught her attention—a splash of white against the dark wood of a park bench.She slowed her pace, curiosity piqued.As she drew closer, the white blur took shape, and Patricia’s breath caught in her throat.
An origami swan.
It perched on the bench’s center, impeccably folded, its graceful neck curved in an elegant arc.The paper gleamed under the nearby lamp, too pristine to have been abandoned there for long.Patricia stopped completely, her run forgotten as she approached the bench.
“Hello?”she called, her voice sounding unnaturally loud in the park’s stillness.No answer came.She scanned the surrounding area—empty paths, silent trees, undisturbed shadows.
Patricia reached for the swan, hesitating before touching its delicate form.This was no beginner’s attempt; the folds were crisp and precise, the proportions mathematically perfect.
But why would anyone leave such a beautiful creation here, on an empty bench in a deserted park?The strangeness of it sent a sensation of unease across her skin.
She gently lifted the swan, turning it over in her palm.It was just pure white paper folded with meticulous care.
The park had grown too quiet, Patricia suddenly realized.The constant background symphony of crickets and night insects had ceased, leaving a vacuum of sound.Even the distant traffic seemed muted, as if the world beyond the park had fallen away.
Patricia placed the swan back on the bench, the desire to continue her run suddenly urgent.As she straightened, the fine hairs on the back of her neck rose in silent warning.She wasn’t alone.
The sense came to her with such certainty that she nearly gasped.Someone was watching her—had been watching her, perhaps, since she entered the park.The origami swan wasn’t a coincidence or a forgotten art piece.It was bait.
She took a step back from the bench, her runner’s instincts calculating the fastest route to the park exit.The southern entrance was closest, just beyond the copse of maple trees to her right.
That’s when she heard it—footsteps close on the path behind her.Not the steady rhythm of another jogger, but something more deliberate.More predatory.
Patricia turned, her heart hammering against her ribs, adrenaline flooding her system with the primal command to flee.But before she could complete the motion, she saw the figure that was already too close to her.Then she felt it—a sharp, sudden prick in her upper arm, so quick and precise that for a moment, she wondered if she’d imagined it.
“What—?”The word barely escaped her lips before the first wave of numbness spread from the injection site.A cold sensation, like ice water flowing beneath her skin, raced down her arm and across her shoulder.
Patricia stumbled back, her hand clutching at the spot where the needle had pierced her skin.She found nothing—no blood, no puncture wound visible in the dim light.But the numbness continued its relentless advance, flowing down her torso, pooling in her legs.
Her knees buckled.Patricia tried to reach out, to grab the bench for support, but her arm refused to obey, hanging uselessly at her side as if it belonged to someone else.The paralysis was swift and terrifying, stealing her body piece by piece while leaving her mind cruelly alert.
“Help,” she tried to call, but her voice emerged as a whisper, her vocal cords already succumbing to the paralyzing agent.
The world tilted sideways as Patricia collapsed to the ground, her cheek pressing against the cool asphalt of the path.Above her, the park lamps blurred into golden smears against the night sky.Her vision remained, along with her hearing and the horrifying awareness of her own helplessness.
Footsteps approached again, unhurried now.A pair of shoes appeared at the edge of her fixed field of vision—ordinary shoes, the kind anyone might wear.
Patricia tried to scream, to move, to fight against the chemical restraints binding her body, but nothing responded.She couldn’t even breathe.She could only lie there, conscious but immobilized, as the shoes stepped closer and a hand reached down toward her.
Her last coherent thought before darkness began to creep into the edges of her vision was of the origami swan—perfect in its construction, patient in its placement.Waiting for her, just as its creator had been.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Margaret Brogden fastened the thin leash to Daisy’s collar, the terrier-mix already dancing in impatient circles by the front door.Dawn hadn’t quite broken—just a pale suggestion of light softening the eastern sky—but this had been their routine for years, rain or shine, weekday or weekend.The neighborhood slept around them, house windows still dark.These precious minutes before the world awakened belonged to Margaret and Daisy alone, their private communion with Liberty Meadows Park before joggers and commuters reclaimed it for the day.
“Patience, little one,” Margaret murmured, zipping her windbreaker against the morning chill.September had brought the first whispers of autumn to DC, crisp mornings that gave way to pleasant afternoons.She checked her pocket for the small flashlight—a habit from her teaching days when preparedness had been second nature—and tucked a handful of biodegradable waste bags into the other.
Daisy’s nails clicked eagerly against the concrete as they descended the three steps from Margaret’s porch.The street lamps still cast pools of amber light across the sidewalk, their glow still comforting in the gathering dawn.Margaret inhaled deeply, savoring the particular stillness of early morning.
The entrance to Liberty Meadows Park was just two blocks away, marked by wrought-iron gates that stood perpetually open.As they passed through, Daisy’s pace quickened, her compact body vibrating with familiar excitement.Margaret allowed a small smile to creep across her face.Sixty-two years old, retired from shaping young minds, and here she was, finding great joy in these simple morning walks with a creature who loved the world without reservation.
“Where shall we go today, girl?The pond?The rose garden?”She spoke aloud, her voice carrying in the quiet.A chickadee answered from somewhere in the trees, its distinctive call piercing the dawn chorus just beginning to swell around them.
They followed their usual path, a winding trail that curved through groves of oak and maple, past carefully tended flower beds now fading with the season.Margaret nodded to the single jogger they passed—a young woman with wireless earbuds who acknowledged her with a breathless smile—then continued toward the western edge of the park, where a small meadow offered Daisy room to explore within the constraints of her leash.
The first indication that this morning would diverge from routine came when they approached the cluster of ancient oaks that bordered the meadow.Daisy, normally content to trot slightly ahead, suddenly stiffened.Her ears shot up, her nose twitching rapidly as she sampled the air.Before Margaret could question the change, the dog lurched sideways, yanking the leash toward a dense grove of trees set back from the main path.
“Daisy, no,” Margaret admonished, tugging gently to redirect her companion.“That’s not our way.”
