up her jacket to get at her back pocket, and he caught a flash of pale skin. The girl found a quarter and redialled.
“Brian, it’s Debbie again…” She stole a look at her watch and threw her hand in the air when she saw the time. “It’s eight-forty already. I don’t know how long I’ll stick around, but…” She trailed off. “Just get here.”
The Hunter waited until she hung up and quickly stepped out behind her.
“Hey, Debbie? I thought that was you…”
Many hours later, Debbie Melmeth woke to an unsettling quiet. It was so quiet she felt as though she had drowned and was tangled in weeds, wrapped up and trapped underwater in a freezing lake.
Nothing.
A breath.
It was her own breathing and it was ragged. She opened her mouth to see if water would come in. It didn’t. She hadn’t drowned. She wasn’t dead.
She rolled her head to the side and tried to keep her eyes open. She was disoriented. Everything felt terribly wrong, and she didn’t know why. The silence around her was disturbingly foreign. Even so, as she struggled back into consciousness, her ears began to pick up sounds. They were small, mysterious sounds, but they were something.
Debbie wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. She felt dizzy and drunk. She remembered that Brian hadn’t been at the bar. She had called him and he wasn’t home. But there was a charming man there. He spoke to her. She must have drunk a lot after that. Did he buy her drinks? Something was wrong. Her inebriated mind could not fully comprehend her circumstances, but she knew something was definitely wrong.
She tried to relax and concentrate on her breathing. She didn’t know how long she stayed that way, listening to her own breathing, her mind spinning slowly in circles, taking in her body’s confused signals, before she heard a new sound.
Clink.
Clink-clink.
It seemed to be coming from another room.
Her eyes did not want to focus, but she could make out that she was sitting in a chair in some kind of dimly lit room. It smelled odd, unfamiliar.
She heard the clinking again and fought a wave of nausea. She felt the urge to laugh, but a great blanket of blackness leapt up inside her and shut off the lights. Unconsciousness stopped her short.
Some time later, she tried to speak. She knew someone was there, someone who would know what was wrong with her, someone with answers, and she tried to ask, “What am I doing here?” It took all her effort to form the sentence, but still, the result was little more than a slurred string of incoherent vowels and consonants.
“Whhaaaayeee?”
Unintentionally, she laughed out loud. Her own ridiculous attempt at language seemed funny for a moment. But this wasn’t funny. Nothing about it was funny. Why the laughter? Shut up and concentrate.She couldn’t move her arms or legs— Why in God’s name can’t I move my arms and legs? —and it seemed to Debbie that her mind had failed her. It had turned to jelly. She had never been drunk like this before. How could she have let this happen? She couldn’t even move her limbs! It was as if she were glued to the chair.
She tried to look down. Her vision was blurry—not working right at all—and now she could see why she was unable to move. Her ankles were secured to the chair with some sort of metal cuffs. It felt like her wrists—which she could not see because they were secured behind her back—were also handcuffed.
Someone had done this, and they were not far away. She had no concept of who or when or why, or even how close they were, but she sensed a presence and she tried talking to them again, this time more loudly.
“Whaaaaaaaa haa…?” She stopped and tried again, confused at her inability to speak properly. What is going on? She tried again and it came out as, “Waaa waaa yaaaadee!”
She attempted to take in her surroundings, and that’s when she first saw the animals. They were everywhere—bears, cougars, wolves, foxes, elk, deer. They were
“Brian, it’s Debbie again…” She stole a look at her watch and threw her hand in the air when she saw the time. “It’s eight-forty already. I don’t know how long I’ll stick around, but…” She trailed off. “Just get here.”
The Hunter waited until she hung up and quickly stepped out behind her.
“Hey, Debbie? I thought that was you…”
Many hours later, Debbie Melmeth woke to an unsettling quiet. It was so quiet she felt as though she had drowned and was tangled in weeds, wrapped up and trapped underwater in a freezing lake.
Nothing.
A breath.
It was her own breathing and it was ragged. She opened her mouth to see if water would come in. It didn’t. She hadn’t drowned. She wasn’t dead.
She rolled her head to the side and tried to keep her eyes open. She was disoriented. Everything felt terribly wrong, and she didn’t know why. The silence around her was disturbingly foreign. Even so, as she struggled back into consciousness, her ears began to pick up sounds. They were small, mysterious sounds, but they were something.
Debbie wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. She felt dizzy and drunk. She remembered that Brian hadn’t been at the bar. She had called him and he wasn’t home. But there was a charming man there. He spoke to her. She must have drunk a lot after that. Did he buy her drinks? Something was wrong. Her inebriated mind could not fully comprehend her circumstances, but she knew something was definitely wrong.
She tried to relax and concentrate on her breathing. She didn’t know how long she stayed that way, listening to her own breathing, her mind spinning slowly in circles, taking in her body’s confused signals, before she heard a new sound.
Clink.
Clink-clink.
It seemed to be coming from another room.
Her eyes did not want to focus, but she could make out that she was sitting in a chair in some kind of dimly lit room. It smelled odd, unfamiliar.
She heard the clinking again and fought a wave of nausea. She felt the urge to laugh, but a great blanket of blackness leapt up inside her and shut off the lights. Unconsciousness stopped her short.
Some time later, she tried to speak. She knew someone was there, someone who would know what was wrong with her, someone with answers, and she tried to ask, “What am I doing here?” It took all her effort to form the sentence, but still, the result was little more than a slurred string of incoherent vowels and consonants.
“Whhaaaayeee?”
Unintentionally, she laughed out loud. Her own ridiculous attempt at language seemed funny for a moment. But this wasn’t funny. Nothing about it was funny. Why the laughter? Shut up and concentrate.She couldn’t move her arms or legs— Why in God’s name can’t I move my arms and legs? —and it seemed to Debbie that her mind had failed her. It had turned to jelly. She had never been drunk like this before. How could she have let this happen? She couldn’t even move her limbs! It was as if she were glued to the chair.
She tried to look down. Her vision was blurry—not working right at all—and now she could see why she was unable to move. Her ankles were secured to the chair with some sort of metal cuffs. It felt like her wrists—which she could not see because they were secured behind her back—were also handcuffed.
Someone had done this, and they were not far away. She had no concept of who or when or why, or even how close they were, but she sensed a presence and she tried talking to them again, this time more loudly.
“Whaaaaaaaa haa…?” She stopped and tried again, confused at her inability to speak properly. What is going on? She tried again and it came out as, “Waaa waaa yaaaadee!”
She attempted to take in her surroundings, and that’s when she first saw the animals. They were everywhere—bears, cougars, wolves, foxes, elk, deer. They were
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