And shit.
Shit.
I’m still here. In the room. With the cot and the bucket and the stains on the floor.
I’m still dizzy. Nauseous. And now my hands and tongue hurt, along with my head.
And I don’t think I can deny the truth anymore.
It’s not a nightmare.
Oh, God.
This is real.
And I’m in trouble.
I sink to my knees as the memories I’ve been shoving down deep come surging to the surface, one image after another.
I remember parking around the corner from the diner because the small parking lot behind it had been paved yesterday. As I drove down Main Street, past the entrance to the parking lot, I noticed the orange ribbon still blocking the entrance, the lone streetlamp nearby catching the reflective surface.
I remember getting out of my car, feeling a little uneasy about being alone on the street when the sun hadn’t yet risen. It was peeking over the horizon, a watercolor of pinks and golds and ambers spreading from it. But there were still more shadows than light, and at six thirty in the morning, there was no one else around.
But there’s nothing to worry about,I reassured myself. The diner was just down the street. I could see the awning from there, the light already on inside, with Doug no doubt inside prepping for breakfast.
And Ken couldn’t hurt me. That was the most important thing.
But only steps from my car, a man came out from seemingly nowhere. Dressed in sweats and wearing a baseball cap and large headphones, he just looked like an ordinary jogger, but I still moved to the side to put distance between us. Habit, for sure. But maybe instinct, too? My body somehow knowing he was dangerous before my brain realized?
As he came up beside me, I tensed. My hand dove into my purse, searching for the pepper spray Webb insisted I carry. Not that I thought I’d need it, but just in case.
Then he smiled at me. Just a polite smile, like you’d give to anyone on the street.
It’s fine,I told myself. Nothing to worry about.
But it wasn’t fine.
And oh?—
A small, keening sound makes its way up my throat.
My arms come around my body instinctively, hugging myself.
I start shaking as the next part comes back into focus.
Not a nightmare.
I can see him, spinning around to face me, his courteous smile sliding into something more sinister. Cast in shadow fromthe brim of the baseball cap, his eyes were black and menacing. He seemed to grow at least a foot as he loomed in front of me, and I staggered back, adrenaline surging as I prepared to run.
Then he pulled out the gun.
It was small. Mostly black with bits of silver. And it made a snicking sound when he cocked the trigger, a noise I recognized immediately from the few times Webb brought me down to the shooting range to watch him practice.
“Don’t move,” the stranger hissed. Because hewasa stranger. Even in the half-light, I was certain I’d never seen him before. “I’d rather not shoot you, but I will. And if you make a sound, I’ll kill anyone who comes out to investigate.”
I was already reaching for the small necklace Webb gave me—the one with a button I could press to let him know I’m in trouble. But the man grabbed me before I got the chance, spun me around, and pinned my wrists together while he marched me back to my car.
From there, it’s a blur of terror and confusion.
