FAINT OF HEART

by Jeff Strand

Faint of Heart copyright 2012 by Jeff Strand

Cover design by Lynne Hansen http://www.LynneHansen.com

All rights reserved.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the author.

For more information about the author, visit http://www.JeffStrand.com

CHAPTER ONE

"Wake up, you lazy bastards! Get your lard-filled asses out of bed and greet the sunny new day! Except that it's not sunny, because the freakin' sun hasn't even risen yet! Get the [bleep] up anyway! I don't give a flying [bleep] if it's Saturday! If I have to be up, so do you! And call us and request a song so that we know what you lazy bastards want to listen to! Come on, pick up the [bleep]ing phone!"

Rebecca decided that she didn't much care for this weekend deejay, any more than she liked the way Gary left the alarm clock on the other side of the bedroom. His rationale was that actually having to get up to shut it off would keep him from endlessly hitting the snooze button every morning, while Rebecca believed that snooze alarms were a God-given right to everyone foolish enough to have a job that required getting out of bed.

Gary got up, tiptoed across the floor to make as little foot contact with the cold wood as possible, and shut off the alarm. His briefs had ridden up during the night and transformed themselves into a makeshift thong. She whistled appreciatively.

"Don't look at me like I'm some piece of meat," Gary said, in mock annoyance. "I have a personality too, somewhere."

"You can't bite into a personality."

He tiptoed over to the closet. "Why do we keep this house so cold?"

"Because the sane members of this household stay in bed on weekends. You should join them."

"If I could cancel, I probably would." He took a towel down from the upper shelf. "Do I need to save you any hot water?"

She snorted. "Do I look like I'm getting up any time soon?"

"I thought maybe you might make me breakfast, pick out my clothes, pack the car for me..."

"Good. Healthy fantasizing keeps a marriage strong."

He grinned and tiptoed into the bathroom. Rebecca snuggled deeper into the covers. She loved cold autumn mornings when she didn't have to get up. She particularly loved cold autumn mornings when neither of them had to get up, but for some deranged reason Gary wanted to spend the weekend camping with a couple of his buddies. She couldn't even call it temporary insanity, since they'd been planning it for over a month.

Weirdos.

She lay in bed, listening to the shower. She was briefly tempted to sneak in there with him, but unfortunately an extremely cold floor stood between her and the man to whom she'd pledged her eternal love. It might as well have been the Grand Canyon. She wasn't going anywhere.

About ten minutes later, Gary stepped out of the bathroom, hair combed and a towel around his waist. He hadn't shaved (probably going for the rugged outdoorsman look already) but he still looked damn good. Though he was on the thin side, playing racquetball three times a week was certainly keeping him in shape.

"Stop right there. That's an unauthorized towel," she informed him in a stern voice. "Drop it immediately."

"No way. It's freezing out here. I thought you were going to fix breakfast and get my clothes and pack the car and all that stuff?"

"The blankets overpowered me."

Gary walked over to the dresser and took a pair of socks and clean underwear out of the top drawer. Then he dropped the towel.

Rebecca sucked in an exaggerated breath. "Oh, gracious, what is this heavenly sight before my eyes?" she asked, adopting a Southern belle accent. "It would appear to be my darling husband's ass! Glory be!"

Gary stepped into his briefs. "So what are your plans this weekend?"

"Well, first I thought I might sleep in another ten, fifteen hours. Then I figured I'd get up and daydream about going back to bed. Then I'd make my dream come true."

"You know," said Gary, sitting on the edge of the bed, "if you ever tried camping, you'd probably love it."

"You're joking, right?"

"Yes. You'd hate its guts." He began to put on his socks.

"Anyway, you wouldn't want me out there interfering with you and your buddies getting in touch with your masculine sides. All that belching and scratching and spitting and tugging. No place for a woman."

Gary patted her foot, or at least the three layers of blanket on top of her foot. "Are you going to be okay by yourself?"

Damn. Why had he brought that up?

Of course, it was a perfectly legitimate question, but not something she wanted to think about while she was all warm and comfy in bed. She didn't want to think about spending the weekend alone.

"I'll be fine."

"You sure? You won't be too scared?"

Terrified...

"I'm twenty-eight, I think I can handle staying by myself for a couple of days." She tried to keep the edge out of her voice, but didn't completely succeed.

He frowned. "Are you sure there's nobody you can stay with?"

"Gary, I'll be fine, really. I've stayed by myself before." And jumped at every noise, and didn't sleep for a second, and nearly died of a heart attack every time the phone rang.

"But not for an entire weekend."

"Again: Twenty-eight. Not six. Don't worry about me. I want you to have fun." She grinned. "Now hurry up and get dressed!"

"I'll try to give you a call tonight. In case we have reception problems don't worry if I'm not able to, but hopefully the cell phone should work fine."

He crawled over her, gave her a quick kiss, then got off the bed and went to get his clothes out of the closet. Rebecca was going to have a good time this weekend. She was going to sleep, watch television, read a book or two, and contribute nothing of any productive value whatsoever to society. She was a mature adult, she didn't believe in the Boogey Man, and she'd be perfectly fine staying at home by herself for two short little days.

And one night.

God, she hated the dark...

* * *

While Gary threw his camping gear into the back of the car, leaving barely enough room for the unfortunate guy who got stuck sitting in the back, Rebecca hurriedly got out of bed, scampered into the cold kitchen, and went to work preparing a bagel with grape jelly. Let it never be said that Rebecca Harpster was a woman who didn't know the meaning of sacrifice.

She peeked through the window at the outside thermometer. Thirty-two degrees. A typical October morning in interior Alaska, which meant that you'd have to be completely nuts to want to go camping. She and Gary had already been through one Alaskan winter, so she knew that much colder temperatures were on their way, but she was still a thin-blooded Florida girl at heart. At least there wasn't any snow yet.

She handed Gary the bagel as he walked back inside. "Wow, thanks!" he said. "I knew you loved me."

"Yes, I do." She gave him a kiss. Followed by another, longer one, with a bit of tongue.

He pulled away. "You're making it really difficult to go out wandering through the woods with a couple of ugly guys."

She kissed him again. "Is that so?"

"Yeah. Wretched temptress."

"Then ditch them. Tell them your wife was so alluring that you couldn't help yourself. They'll forgive you."

"That does sound fun. Maybe just a quickie..."

She gently shoved him away. "Go. You don't want to keep your friends waiting. Tell Scott and Doug that I said hi."

Gary gave her another kiss, a quick slap on the rear with his Hands of Ice, and left the house. She watched through the window as he got in the car and drove off.

She'd be fine. Perfectly fine.

In fact, she'd be fantastic. How often did she have weekends with nothing to do? No errands to run, no papers to grade, no social obligations to fulfill...this weekend was going to be absolute paradise.

And when it got dark outside, well, she'd turn on all the lights, pop in a Marx Brothers movie, and enjoy herself. She'd been married to Gary for five years, and if she couldn't handle him leaving for a weekend every half-decade, then she had serious problems.

She went into the bathroom and looked in the mirror. Now, see, if there was anything to truly be scared of during Gary's absence, it was her reflection. Her brown hair looked like somebody had taken an electric mixer to it. She also had a bit of dried drool on the right side of her mouth, and she could stand to lose a good ten pounds (taking her to a place where the health experts said she could stand to lose another ten pounds, which was fine with her).

Well, she'd get rid of the drool, but the freaky hair was staying all weekend. And if she did start to get scared, she'd confront her fears by adding a couple of pounds to the amount she could stand to lose.

She didn't have any childhood traumas to work through, no scars to the psyche--she was just your standard-issue chickenshit, and she wasn't going to let that ruin her weekend.

CHAPTER TWO

Rebecca woke up again around eight-thirty. She lay in bed for another ten minutes, but the dark specter of guilt began to hover over her--God, her conscience was annoying--and she reluctantly got up. She cranked up the thermostat, took a long shower, brushed her teeth, and got dressed in sweatpants and a heavy t-shirt.

Then she got back in bed, leaned some pillows against the headboard, and sat up to read the smutty romance novel she'd been looking forward to for the past couple of months. Pauline and the Tailors. Good stuff.

As the newly deflowered heroine strained toward the legendary heights of her blossoming womanhood and the hero's member throbbed (Gary had previously confirmed that a sensation of throbbing in that particular region was abnormal and would prompt him to seek medical attention), Rebecca began to feel guilty again. Damn. It wasn't fair. She had an entire weekend to do absolutely nothing, to live the life of a lazy bon-bon gobbling housewife, and her brain wasn't going to let her enjoy it.

Maybe she'd paint the house.

No, probably not.

Somewhere there had to be a happy medium between painting the house and reading smut.

Maybe she'd paint smut on the house. After all, they were a good half-mile from the nearest neighbor, surrounded by enough trees that you couldn't even see the house from the road. Nobody would complain.

Or maybe she'd just entertain herself all day with this kind of pointless mental conversation. Gary could come home, give her an I-missed-you kiss, and then drive her to the local sanitarium.

Maybe if she watched some educational programming on television she'd be able to be a worthless lazy bum without feeling bad about it.

After all, People's Court taught important lessons about the legal system...

* * *

By eleven, she was pretty much bored out of her mind, so she trashed her idea of staying inside all weekend and drove the twenty miles into Fairbanks to do some shopping. She ate lunch at the Mexican place she adored but that always gave Gary a good twenty minutes of bathroom time, bought two new blouses, and went to an art gallery, hoping that one of her students would be there and assume that was how she normally spent her weekends. None were, but she did get to see some fascinating artistic renderings of jellyfish, unless they were supposed to be pipe cleaners.

Then she went to see a matinee of the chick-flick she'd been unable to drag Gary to see because he thought the lead actress had weird lips. It was predictable but amusing and she left the theatre in a good mood.

As she pulled out of a fast food drive-thru a few minutes after six, it was just starting to get dark. She hoped Gary was having a good time camping, and not having too many beers. The only time he ever overindulged was in the presence of his buddies. At least she knew they weren't drunkenly stumbling around the woods with rifles. Worst-case scenario, they were playing flatulence games.

She drove home, singing along poorly to the classic rock playing on the radio. She pressed the button on the visor to open the garage door, drove inside...

...and suddenly had a creepy sensation that somebody was in the house.

This was nothing new.

There was no evidence to indicate that anybody had broken in, there was nothing even remotely out of the ordinary, and Rebecca knew perfectly well that nobody was inside waiting for her. The alarms would have gone off.

She also knew that she'd spend the next fifteen minutes searching the house, and would probably be uneasy for the rest of the night.

She shouldn't have gone anywhere.

Of course, she would have been just as paranoid if she'd been inside the entire time, so it didn't really matter, did it?

Maybe Gary would come home early.

She shut off the engine, closed the garage door, got out of the car, and proceeded to check every possible location that an intruder could conceivably be hiding in her home. And then double-checked them.

Nobody was inside.

She didn't feel any better.

She almost wished she and Gary kept a gun in the house. Unfortunately, guns scared her more than hidden intruders.

She turned on the television and watched the tail end of Only You, which was one of her all-time favorite movies even though most people didn't like it. But the romantic comedy did nothing to keep her from looking over her shoulder every thirty seconds. From checking the windows. From cringing every time she heard a noise, most of them probably imagined.

She should never have let Gary leave.

No. That was ridiculous. She'd be fine. If Gary ever suspected just how much of a scaredy-cat she was...well, he'd probably never leave her alone in the house ever again. Which would be nice, but he hadn't married her so he could be a babysitter. She didn't want him thinking she was some timid, cowardly wife who couldn't take care of herself.

Around nine o'clock, she brushed her teeth and prepared to get in some comfy pajamas and read some more delightful smut. She unbuttoned her pants, tugged out the bottom of her blouse, and then hesitated.

What if somebody was watching?

Oh, for God's sake, there aren't even any goddamn windows in the bathroom!

It didn't matter. She was still uncomfortable.

She'd be more vulnerable while she was naked.

If anybody was going to get her, they could do it in that second of darkness as she pulled her shirt over her head.

Which was, of course, completely absurd, but her entire life had been spent suffering from these absurd fears, and it didn't matter how many times she told herself she was being an idiot, she wasn't going to feel any less scared.

Remaining dressed, she got back in bed and resumed reading her novel. So she was pathetic. There were worse things in life than being pathetic.

Shouldn't Gary have called by now?

* * *

At exactly ten o'clock, after about an hour of forcing herself not to check the clock every thirty seconds, she dialed his cell phone number. His voice mail came on after five rings, so she disconnected and dialed again. Still no answer.

It wasn't a big deal. There were plenty of perfectly good reasons why Gary might not have answered. Most likely the cell phone reception was crap. It often was. Or they were doing some night fishing, and he'd left it back at camp. The battery could have died. He could have dropped it in a lake. He may even have accidentally left it in the car.

He'd never forget to call, but he was out in the wilderness, and he couldn't exactly jog over to a pay phone to let her know he was all right.

Everything was fine.

She dialed once more and this time left a quick I-Just-Called-Because-I-Was-Thinking-About-You message, trying to keep her tone upbeat. She got out of bed, went into the bathroom, and shut and locked the door before she changed into her pajamas.  

At least nobody could see how pathetic she was.

She hoped.

She returned to bed, snuggled under the covers, and lay there all night, unable to fall asleep.

* * *

If nothing else, an entirely sleepless night erased some of her guilt, and after a breakfast of cold cereal she finished off the smut book, which had a happy ending where the principal characters decided to live in a threesome. Then she went into the den, booted up her laptop computer, and participated in a lively online conversation about standardized testing for about an hour.

Finally, unable to stifle her yawns any more, she lay on the couch and closed her eyes. At least in the daylight, she could fall asleep.

* * *

Rebecca woke up about five hours later, just before noon, feeling barely refreshed but glad that she no longer had those five hours to sit around worrying. She tried to call Gary, but again there was no answer. She considered leaving another message and decided against it. She didn't want Scott and Doug to make fun of him.

For a moment she thought about calling the police, but immediately rejected that idea. They'd laugh at her. Gary had said that he might not be able to get through, and he wasn't even due home until this evening, so there was absolutely, positively no need to worry unless he didn't come home tonight. Which he would. They'd kiss and laugh and have really good sex and she'd never even give him a hint of how scared she'd been alone in the house.

* * *

By nine o'clock, he still hadn't come home.

He hadn't called, and he hadn't answered his cell phone.

So, he was running late. It wasn't like you could plan out a camping trip with split second precision. His cell phone wasn't working, and he was hurrying back to the car right now, while Scott and Doug asked him to please slow down because their backpacks were too heavy.

Nothing to get worried about. He hadn't given her a specific time that he was going to be home; just that he'd be home in the evening.

But it wasn't evening anymore. It was night.

Were they lost?

What if, God forbid, they'd let Doug lead the way? They could be at Mount Denali!

She squeezed her eyes shut. Stop it. Nobody likes a crazy paranoid lady. He'd probably be home by the time she finished ironing her clothes for tomorrow.

Rebecca ironed her clothes very slowly, but he still didn't show up. Maybe they'd had car troubles. Maybe they were hitchhiking along the side of the road right now.

What kind of person would pick them up?

There was a knock at the door.

For several seconds she stood there, frozen. Then she snapped out of it and walked across the living room, feeling a bit sick to her stomach. She looked through the peephole in the door and saw a man, blond hair, maybe in his mid-thirties, standing on the porch. He wore jeans and a brown jacket.

"Who is it?" she asked.

As if aware that she was looking at him, the man reached into his jacket pocket and took out a badge. He held it up to the peephole. "State Troopers, ma'am."

The sick-to-her-stomach feeling turned into full-fledged nausea. "May I ask what this is about?" she inquired, trying to keep her voice formal and steady.

"Is this Mrs. Harpster?"

"Yes."

"Please open the door. It's about your husband."

CHAPTER THREE

"What happened to him?" she asked. In the time it took her to ask that question, a dozen ghastly scenarios flashed rapid-fire through her mind.

"Ma'am, this is not something we should discuss through a closed door."

She reached for the chain lock, and then hesitated. "May I have your name and badge number, please?"

"Excuse me?"

"Your name and badge number. I won't be able to read it through the peephole."

"My name is Phillip Marsh. My badge number is 0133."

"Thank you. I need to verify something really quick, and I'll be right back."

"Ma'am, this is extremely urgent. Your husband may not have much time left."

Rebecca felt like she was going to vomit. She never let anybody, not even a uniformed State Trooper, much less a plainclothes cop, into her home without knowing exactly who it was, but if Gary was badly hurt...

She reached for the first lock.

Yet this State Trooper looked wrong, for some reason. Even with his image distorted through the peephole there was something almost predatory about him.

Knock it off, you're just being paranoid, for God's sake! Gary could be dying!

She unlocked the first bolt.

Did she see a hint of a smile?

Instead of unfastening the second lock, she ran into the kitchen and picked up the phone. She desperately needed to know what happened to Gary, but she also needed to know that this was a real police officer at her door.

No dial tone.

She tapped the plunger several times to make sure.

She'd tried to call Gary less than fifteen minutes ago. The phone had been working fine all weekend, and now, as soon as a strange man showed up on her doorstep, it stopped.

"Ma'am, I can't emphasize strongly enough how important it is for you to let me in. I understand your need for safety precautions, and under other circumstances I would praise you for this kind of behavior, but Gary has been seriously injured, and he may be dying as we speak, and I urgently need to bring you to the hospital."

"I'll be outside in one minute," she said. "I'll meet you in your car."

"Goddamn it, lady, your husband is gonna die!"

It was all Rebecca could do to hold in the scream. This was no cop.

But he knew Gary's name. Maybe he'd killed him.

Stop thinking that!

Her cell phone was in her purse. Where the hell had she left it when she came home? For a split second her mind went blank.

Kitchen counter. Right next to her.

The man pounded on the door, but only a couple of times. Then there was a crash from the living room. Glass breaking. The alarm went off.

Rebecca grabbed her purse from the counter, snatched her keys from the hook, then opened the door to the garage, praying that the phony cop wouldn't hear her over the alarm and would waste time looking elsewhere in the house.

She hurried into the garage, got into the car, slid the key into the ignition, and turned on the engine--simple actions that felt like they took forever. She pressed the button to start the automatic garage door opener. In the movies, people could drive right through closed garage doors, but in real life she'd probably end up with a destroyed vehicle.

The garage door began to rise, moving at a slow speed that was excruciating to watch. She locked the car doors.

She put the car in reverse then tightly clenched the steering wheel as she waited for the garage door to lift enough to drive underneath.

The door to the kitchen flew open.

The man pointed a gun at her.

She ducked down as far as she could and slammed her foot on the accelerator. The car shot backward, the roof scraping against the bottom of the rising garage door.

A gunshot rang out. The windshield didn't explode into chunks of safety glass and no blood jettisoned from her neck, so he didn't appear to have hit the vehicle.

But with the second shot the car swerved out of control. He'd definitely hit a tire.

The third shot hit another tire and the car jerked to the right, smashing sideways into a tree. The airbag deployed. She frantically put the car into drive and stomped on the gas pedal, but the car wouldn't move.

Rebecca flinched at the loud tap on the driver's side window. The man stood there, pointing the gun at her.

"Turn the engine off," he demanded.

She floored the gas pedal again, but the car still wasn't going anywhere, so she reluctantly took her foot away and turned off the engine.

Shit...

"Open the door," he said. He spoke very slowly and carefully, as if straining to keep his fury under control.

Since all he'd have to do is shoot through the window and unlock it himself, she opened the door.

"Get out of the car. Now."

"Please don't hurt me, I--"

"Now! You've wasted enough of my time already! And you damn well better hope your neighbors don't show up."

Not taking her eyes off the man, she eased her way out of the car. His eyes, which never left her, were bloodshot and filled with rage.

"How do you shut that alarm off?"

"I can't."

"Lie to me again and I'll shoot your fucking teeth out. How do you shut it off?"

"I have to put in the keycode."

"So do it."

He gave her a violent shove and they hurried into the garage. The alarm keypad was mounted on the wall. As Rebecca reached for it, the man pressed his gun to the back of her head.

"Listen to me," he said, speaking loudly over the alarm. "If you put in anything but the 'everything is fine' code, it'll be really fucking gory. Got it?"

Rebecca hesitated, and then punched in the proper numbers on the keypad. The alarm shut off.

"I sincerely hope you made the right decision," the man said. "Stupid untrusting bitch. I'll laugh my ass off if your husband does die before you see him."

Rebecca's eyes widened. "Gary's really hurt?"

The man grinned. "Ohhhhhh yeah. He's hurt bad."

"Where is he?"

"You may not ever find out. Because of your dumb stunt, we don't get to have the leisurely talk I'd planned. Now that you've put that code in, are they going to send somebody to investigate the alarm?"

Rebecca shook her head. "No." It was the truth, unfortunately.

"They had better not. If I see a cop, I'm going to start shooting, even if they're giving a parking ticket. Where's your cell phone?"

"It's in my purse."

"And where's your purse?"

"In the car."

"Let's go get it." Keeping his gun pointed at her, the man walked her back to the car. He reached inside and took the purse from where it rested on the passenger seat, then removed the cell phone. "I'd better not find a 911 call in your history. That would be terrible for both of us."

He pressed a couple of buttons on her phone and then nodded, apparently satisfied. He put the phone in his pocket then gestured with the gun. "My car's parked at the end of your driveway. Get moving. If it were up to me, I'd shoot you just for the hell of it, so don't give me any reason to give in to that temptation."

Rebecca began to cry as she walked down the driveway, which wound around in such a way that she couldn't see the road until right before she reached the end of it. She desperately wanted to keep the tears contained, didn't want him to enjoy her weakness, but the best she could do was withhold actual sobs from the man. Her whole body shook, both from the cold and the fear.

The car was a beat-up, rusty blue thing that looked like it would barely be able to support their weight, much less drive. The man stepped past her, took out a set of keys, and unlocked the trunk.

"See, you were going to get to be all comfy up front, but now I'm a little concerned that people may come looking for you. So guess where you get to ride, sweetie? Hope you don't impale yourself on the tire iron." He threw open the trunk lid, and then pointed the gun at her once again. "Hurry up."

She considered succumbing to the unbearable urge to fall to her knees begging and pleading. Not because she thought it would do any good, but perhaps she could distract him enough to take him by surprise. She didn't have high hopes for her chances of beating him in a physical fight, but she had to try something, didn't she?

No, not a good idea. Her neighbors may not have thought anything of the gunshots (target practice wasn't exactly rare in this area), but then again, they might decide to come over and investigate. She doubted very much that this man was bluffing--he seemed like he'd happily shoot anybody who wandered over to see what was going on. And if she didn't go with him, she might never find out what happened to Gary.

She climbed into the trunk, squeezing next to a cold, damp garbage bag.

"Sorry about the smell," said the man. "It usually takes me a few days to remember to stop at the Dumpster."

He grinned, saluted her, and then slammed the lid of the trunk shut.

CHAPTER FOUR

Alan was tempted to purposely hit a few bumps and potholes, just to rattle his captive, but he wasn't sure the piece of shit he was driving could take it. And then Stephen would have a hissy fit over the car, and Alan really wasn't in the mood to listen to that crap right now.

What a disaster. This should've been ridiculously easy:  Pretend to be a cop then grab her when she opened the door. Granted, it would've been a better scam if Stephen's cheap-ass budget allowed for a real police car or even a fucking state trooper uniform, but still, he never anticipated that she wouldn't open up for a cop bearing news about her husband.

Hopefully the alarm and the gunshots wouldn't come back to bite him in the nuts. Of course, he had no intention of telling Stephen about the complications, but the bastard kept track of every bullet.

He could almost hear Stephen's cigarette-fried voice now, demanding to know how he could be so careless. What was he supposed to do besides break the living room window? Stand outside whacking off while she grabbed a cell phone and called for help?

Cell phones were a real pain in the ass in his line of business/pleasure. Apparently there was a way to block them, but Alan didn't much care for technology. Cutting phone lines was about as high-tech as he liked to get.

If Stephen gave him too much abuse, though, Alan swore the son of a bitch was going to get a knife in the eye. He'd taken about as much from that psycho as he could for a while. He was still kind of pissed about what happened three weeks ago, having to stand there getting Stephen's nasty saliva on his face while the guy popped a few dozen blood vessels screaming at him.

To be fair, he'd pretty much deserved that one. The kidnapping of Martha Irvin, an attractive forty-year-old, had gone perfectly, but she'd just been too damn tempting sitting there in the passenger seat, hands bound and mascara smeared from crying. He'd tried to control himself, going so far as to punch her a few times to get it out of his system, but it hadn't worked. He'd pulled into a rest area, dragged her out of the car and into the woods, and laughed the entire twenty minutes he worked her over with his knife. She only struggled for three of them.

Stephen had been absolutely furious, especially when he discovered Alan's souvenirs. Alan had taken the verbal beating without protesting or making excuses...after all, it had been an uncool thing to do. But now Stephen was getting on his case constantly, and Alan was sick of it. If Stephen had a conniption fit over the complications with Rebecca, the bossy fuckhead might find himself getting sliced up for a hell of a lot longer than twenty minutes.

There was an exceptionally large pothole coming up, but Alan resisted the urge. With his luck, she really would impale herself on the tire iron, and then he'd have to--

"Shit!"

Alan jerked the steering wheel to the right, just barely avoiding the white cat in the center of the road. The right tires went off the shoulder of the road, and the car shot out of control as the rear tire burst. He slammed on the brakes and swerved to the left, trying to avoid going into the ditch. The remaining tires let out a horrible squeal as the car came to a stop.

Alan glanced up in the rearview mirror and watched the unharmed feline bound across the road. He chuckled in disbelief. He'd once slowly strangled a young woman to death with a leather belt while her fiancé watched helplessly through the clear plastic bag over his head, but he'd fucked up Stephen's car to avoid hitting a cat. 

Oh well. It'd be good karma. He needed all the luck he could get.

He shut off the engine and got out of the car. He had to get the tire changed as fast as he could, hopefully before anybody drove by. Stephen's throat was going to be raw by the time he got done yelling tonight.

Alan walked around to the trunk and knocked on it three times with the handle of his pistol. "I'm opening the trunk. If you don't want to get shot, be quiet and don't move."

He inserted the key and braced himself. She did have a tire iron in there, but not enough room to maneuver. If she tried to attack him, he'd just slam the lid back down on her head.

He turned the key and opened the trunk. Rebecca lay in the fetal position, arms wrapped tightly around her legs, eyes squeezed shut. Her face was heavily tear-stained. He poked her with the barrel of the gun. "Scoot."

She didn't move.

"Pretending I'm not here isn't going to make me go away," he informed her. "It's only going to make me angry. I dismember when I get angry." He'd thought of that line a couple of years ago, and used it whenever he could.

She opened her eyes.

"Sit up and get the spare tire out of there for me. And hurry up."

"I can't move my arms," she said.

"Yeah, well, it's your own fault that you had to leave without a coat. I'd suggest that you get your circulation going pretty damn quick."

He kept the gun pointed at her while she moved the sack of garbage out of the way and lifted the spare onto its side.

"Push it out of there," he said. She was obviously too petrified to try anything, but Alan wasn't taking any chances.

She rolled the tire over the rear of the trunk, and let it bounce off the bumper and onto the ground. Alan was surprised that the bumper didn't snap right off of this piece of crap car.

"Now the jack," he said. "Don't throw it."

She picked up the jack and dropped it onto the ground.

"Very good. Now curl up like you were before. That was adorable."

She ducked back down as he slammed the lid shut again.

He got the tire changed without anybody driving past and without the car falling on his foot. See, good karma for not squishing the cat.

* * *

Rebecca had forced herself not to cry (again, at least) for the first few minutes of being a prisoner, but really, what good would that do? She needed the release. The stench of rotten garbage made her want to throw up, but she did struggle to avoid that particular release, since she didn't know how long she'd have to remain in the trunk.

She'd sobbed and sobbed until the car went out of control. And when the man had opened the trunk, giving her a potential (if extremely remote) chance to escape, she'd done nothing. Not a thing. She hadn't even opened her eyes until he forced her.

She was dead. And so was Gary.

Not that there was much she could do with a gun pointed at her, but she hadn't tried anything. She hadn't even thought of a plan. She wasn't just scared. She was a coward.

She deserved to die in this cold, dark trunk.

But Gary didn't deserve to die. She had to be strong for him. Keep herself alive long enough to think of a way out of this.

She gently blew on her fingers, trying to enjoy that tiny bit of warmth.   

* * *

When the car stopped again, Rebecca had no idea how long she'd been in there, except that she had no tears left and had to go to the bathroom so badly that it was painful.

Somebody knocked on the trunk. "You alive in there?" asked the kidnapper.

"Yes."

"Then close those eyes. If they're open when I lift the lid, you lose 'em."

Rebecca closed her eyes. The trunk lid opened, letting in even more cold air.

A different man with a deep, scratchy voice spoke. "Why is she in there without a coat? And you didn't even empty the garbage first?"

"I forgot about it."

"It's good to know that I'm paying somebody who's so attentive to the small details," said the second man, with a snort of contempt. "Get her out of there and bring her inside before she freezes to death."

"Yessah, massah."

"Don't be racist. It's not cute."

"Whatever."

Rebecca felt a cloth sack drop over her head. "I've got a gun pointed at your skull," said the man who'd kidnapped her, tapping her hard on the forehead with it. "So be nice, Becky."

He took her hand, and helped her as she climbed out of the trunk. She lost her balance on her frozen feet, but he steadied her before she fell.

"Whoa, Jesus, is she rank!" said the second man. "Even in the cold that stuff reeks. See what happens if you forget the small details? You see?"

"I'm serious, man, I'll shoot you. I'll do it."

The second man's voice turned deadly serious. "Don't threaten me. Not even if you're kidding."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever."

The first man led her inside, where it was much warmer. In fact, it felt like they had the furnace on full blast. He led her across a wooden floor, and then gently eased her down onto a sofa. The first man sat down next to her and pressed his gun against her side.

"Welcome, Rebecca," said the second man. "I hope this idiot didn't make things too uncomfortable for you."

She remained motionless and silent.

"Would you like to see where you are?"

After a moment, the man next to her pressed his gun more tightly against her side, hard enough that she let out a gasp. "He asked a question."

"Be careful," said the second man. "Don't damage her. Rebecca, would you like to see? You'll have to promise to behave yourself, but if you do, we'll let you see. Do you want that?"

She nodded. The sack was pulled from her head, and she immediately closed her eyes against the blinding light.

"Would you like anything? A drink, maybe? I could nuke some pizza if you want."

"Bathroom," she whispered.

"Sure. Alan, take her to the outhouse."

"No problem, Stephen. I guess if Stephen wants me to take her to the outhouse, then I'll do what Stephen wants."

"Good. Then do it."

Alan tapped Rebecca on the shoulder. "Uh, Becky, you kind of need your eyes for this part."

Slowly, she opened her eyes. The light still stung from spending so much time in complete darkness, but she could see that she was in a small cabin, virtually unfurnished except for the sofa and a wooden chair upon which the second man sat.               

He was a large man, heavily muscled, with brown hair and acne scars. He wore a black leather jacket and thick glasses that were almost comical in appearance.

Almost.

Then she had a sudden realization that nearly brought her to her knees. She'd now seen both of the kidnappers. She'd seen inside their cabin. They'd used each other's names. No way were they going to let her live.

"Where's Gary?" she asked, voice trembling.

"Bathroom first," said Stephen. "Then everything will be explained."

CHAPTER FIVE

Alan led her back outside and around the rear of the cabin. They were somewhere in the forest, but that did absolutely nothing to help pinpoint her location.

"There you go," he said, gesturing toward a rickety outhouse as if he were a maitre d' in a five-star restaurant showing her to her table. "I hope you'll find the accommodations to your liking. You could make an escape attempt through the hole, but I must warn madam that it doesn't get my highest recommendation. Be quick."

Rebecca opened the door and shut herself in. The door didn't have a lock, so she held it with one hand while she untied the string on her pajama bottoms with the other.

She hated outhouses, even under happier circumstances. Whereas the fear that bugs might crawl up onto you while you were using the toilet at home was a completely irrational fear, here it was very much a possibility. Spiders, ants, beetles, any of them could be crawling on the underside of the seat right now. Except that there wasn't a seat, just a hole in the wood.

In the rare instances when she'd used outhouses in the past, she always felt the need to hover over the seat. That wasn't going to be easy while holding the door shut.

She mentally cursed herself for worrying about that kind of thing when her husband was in serious danger.

Maybe even dead.

No, not dead, he couldn't be, but he certainly had more substantial problems than stressing about a kidnapper catching a glimpse of him peeing.

To distract herself, she thought of a story that she'd found absolutely hilarious as a child. She didn't know if they'd actually done this or not, but some friends had claimed to have set up a speaker underneath an outhouse. They'd hide with the microphone, wait for somebody to enter, give them a chance to get started then shout "Hey, people are working down here!" and wait for the victim to burst out of the outhouse, pants around the ankles.

She'd gotten in trouble at school several times over the years thinking of that story at improper moments, but it didn't make her feel any better now.

Rebecca managed the best she could, pulled up her pajama bottoms, and left the outhouse. Alan was waiting for her. "Everything come out okay?"

She ignored his comment. Alan chuckled and led her back into the cabin.

After she was seated on the couch again, Stephen handed her a cup. "Here's some hot chocolate for you," he said. "Some asshole forgot to bring marshmallows, but it'll warm you up."

"Thank you," Rebecca said. Thanking her kidnapper for bringing her a cup of hot cocoa was ridiculous, but it was an unbreakable habit. She probably would've thanked Adolph Hitler for a shower cap.

"So, Rebecca, do you miss your husband?" asked Stephen.

"Of course I do."

"Happy marriage? No divorce plans on the horizon?"

She shook her head.

"Good. I'm glad you like him. So let me answer the big questions that are probably on your mind. Yes, he's alive, and yes, you can have him back."

She nearly wept with relief. She didn't care how much they wanted for ransom; she'd come up with the money, somehow.

"Here's the deal," said Stephen, leaning forward. "You have to prove that you're worthy to get him back."

"How do I prove that?"

"Gary and his buddies went through an absolute nightmare. Scary, scary stuff. Now, that was always the intention, of course, but even we didn't anticipate it going as far as it did. But your hubby showed what he was made of. To be honest, he impressed the hell out of me. His buddies did all right for themselves, too, at least one of them did, though in the end...well, I don't want to give too much away. But Gary, no matter how much we messed him up, all he cared about was getting back to you."

"Is that fucked up or what?" asked Alan.

Stephen glared at him, and then returned his attention to Rebecca. "I've heard a lot of begging in my life. Hell, sometimes the pleading is the most satisfying part. Know what I usually do? I pretend to go along with it, offer a glimmer of hope that they've found my soft side, and then I laugh in their face. One woman was crying her eyes out, saying that she had a six-month-old baby at home that needed its mommy, and I honestly didn't feel a shred of remorse. It made it more fun to watch Alan with the hacksaw."

"You're not drinking your hot chocolate," Alan noted.

Rebecca took a sip, burning her tongue.

"So when Gary told us that he needed to get back to you, it wasn't anything I hadn't heard before, but something about the way he said it just got me in the heart. Weirdest thing I've ever experienced. People spout a lot of superficial lovey-dovey crap, but this guy loves you. He deserves you. Believe me, he deserves you. The question is, can you prove that you deserve him?"

Rebecca nodded frantically. "Yes. I'll do anything."

Stephen leaned back in his seat, cracked his knuckles, and smiled with satisfaction. "Then you're off to a good start. It's simple, really. All you have to do is relive his entire nightmare, step by step, minute by minute. Go everywhere he went. See everything he saw. Do everything he did. And survive it."

Rebecca gaped at him. Was he serious? "I don't understand...I can't..."

"Now, now, don't ruin that good start you had. Gary wouldn't have used the word 'can't.' Gary would have said, yes, anything for my darling wife, where do I sign? Did I mention that he's going to die a very slow, excruciating death if you don't come through for him?"

Now Rebecca's legs were shaking. "How do I know he's still alive?" she asked.

"You don't. You go on faith. Gary would have gone on faith, I bet. You'll learn as you go. Just think of the whole thing as a game. In the right frame of mind, it could even be fun."

Rebecca stared at the larger man, stunned. How could they possibly expect her to live through an ordeal that Gary barely survived? And that Scott and Doug presumably didn't survive at all? It was impossible.

"You won't let him go," she said. "I've seen what you look like. I've seen your house."

Stephen let out a surprised laugh. "Give me some credit. This shack is not my house. And yeah, you've seen what we look like, but that doesn't matter because we're on our way out of the country. Consider this our farewell party."

"I don't believe you."

"Then leave. Leave now. But let me tell you, they won't find your husband anytime in the near future. And when they do, they'll be too busy puking their guts out to put him in the body bag. Make you a deal, though. If you get through the first part of the morning, the easy part, we'll throw you a bone. How's that sound?"

Rebecca shook her head. "I want the proof now."

"Well, you don't get the proof now. You go on faith or he dies. I will, however, be more than happy to provide you with proof when he's dead. Do you think you could identify one of his ribs?"

Rebecca looked into his eyes. Stephen wasn't kidding. He really did intend for her to relive Gary's weekend.

She couldn't possibly make it through this.

But she couldn't possibly refuse.

"All right," she said. "I'll do it."

"Great!" exclaimed Stephen. "That saves us having to shoot you right here. Now, we still have some more work to do, so my partner and I have a long night ahead of us. You, on the other hand, need some rest, so we'll be taking you to the guest bedroom. I apologize in advance for the quality of the mattress, and for having to lock you in the room, but some things just can't be helped."

* * *

The room was empty save for the bed, lacking even a window. The wood looked good and strong--she didn't see any way she could break through it. There were several locks on the outside of her door, and she'd heard them all slide shut, so there wasn't much chance of getting out that way.

There'd been some shouting, though she couldn't make out the words, and then she'd heard a car drive away. She still heard occasional footsteps. Even if it was possible to get through the door, it certainly wasn't possible to do it quietly enough not to get caught by whichever one of the kidnappers was still in the cabin.

The smart thing to do was climb in bed, do everything she possibly could to put this whole horrific situation out of her mind, and try to sleep. She didn't know what was going to happen to her tomorrow, but she'd certainly be better equipped to deal with it with a full night's rest.

She climbed in bed, got under a blanket that smelled of mildew, and closed her eyes. She couldn't cry anymore, and her mind was racing so furiously that it exhausted her.

She fell asleep.

CHAPTER SIX

In her dream, Rebecca prodded her dead husband as he lay sprawled on their bed, blood trickling from his eyes. "Gary, it's time to wake up," she said, shaking his shoulder. "Gary? Gary...?"

"Gary...?" repeated Alan, gently tapping her cheek. "Gary, you're going to be late for your camping trip."

Her eyes flew open. Alan hovered over her, waving a handheld alarm clock that read 6:30. "C'mon, Gary, it's time to get up. You don't want to keep Scott and Doug waiting, do you?"

It took her a few seconds to fully awaken and realize what he was talking about. This was too bizarre. He couldn't possibly be serious, could he?

Alan grinned. "Just kidding. We're not taking it that far. But you still have a schedule to keep, so up and at 'em. We've got some clothes for you." He pointed to a pair of jeans and a red sweater that lay draped over the foot of the bed. "You owe me."

"Thank you," Rebecca said.

"Get dressed. I'll be back in five minutes with a grape jelly-covered bagel. Remember, like Stephen said, just think of this as a game. That'll keep you out of the loony bin, though maybe not out of the cemetery."

She wanted nothing more than to let loose and punch the smug bastard. If he was caught off guard, she might even be able to bring him to the ground, bash his head against the floor a few times, and force him to tell where they were keeping Gary.

Or not.

Alan left the room and closed the door behind him. She got up and quickly dressed, then sat on the edge of the bed to wait. If only there was something, anything, in the room to use as a weapon. But what was she going to do, overpower them with her slippers?

Another knock at the door, and this time it was Stephen who entered the room, holding the plate with the bagel. He adjusted his glasses and looked her over. "Get a good night's sleep?"

Rebecca shrugged.

"Don't have much of a personality, do you? Oh well, not your fault, I guess." He extended the plate toward her. "Here's breakfast."

She wasn't the least bit hungry, but she stood up and took the plate from him anyway. Stephen gestured for her to sit back down on the bed.

"I'm not the kind of person who likes to bog things down with a lot of rules and regulations," Stephen explained, standing in the center of the room. "So we're going to keep this simple. Like I said, it'll pretty much be a 'learn as you go' experience. You can bail out whenever you want, and the only penalty will be that your husband dies a torturous, ghastly, agonizing, miserable, messy death. Something wrong with your bagel?"

"No," said Rebecca, shaking her head.

"Then eat up. You'll need the energy."

She forced herself to take a bite. Even with the thick layer of grape jelly, the bagel was dry in her mouth.

"So there's really only one major rule," said Stephen. "Absolutely no police involvement. If the cops get involved, then you're no longer following in Gary's footsteps, and you've lost. If you purposely get other people involved that you're not supposed to, that'll cost you Gary's life, too. Understand?"

Rebecca nodded as she strained to swallow her first bite of bagel.

"Say 'I understand.' It makes you seem more human."

"I understand."

"Much better. Hurry up and finish eating. The car's all packed and ready to go."

* * *

Gary's car was parked outside the cabin. As they walked out the front door, Stephen handed her Gary's set of keys, which were easily identifiable by the Homer Simpson keychain. They'd also provided her with a pair of tennis shoes and a leather jacket. It wasn't as heavy as she'd like, but it would definitely keep some of the outdoor chill away.

"As soon as you hit the main highway, open the glove compartment," Stephen told her.

"Don't peek early," said Alan.

"That's right. Realize that we'll be listening and watching, and that we aren't the only ones participating in this little game. So think about that before you try anything that your hubby wouldn't have done."

"When do I get to talk to him?" Rebecca asked.

"I never said you did," said Stephen.

"Yes you did!"

"No. I said we'd prove that he was alive. That may or may not involve speaking to him, and I don't want to spoil any of the surprises." Stephen patted her on the shoulder. "If you make it far enough, you'll get the reassurance you need to keep going. I promise."

The promise of a psychopath like Stephen didn't mean much to Rebecca, but she said nothing. They walked her over to the car, as Alan whistled a happy tune. She recognized Gary's camping supplies in the back seat and again had to fight back tears.

She tried to make herself believe that it was all a joke, that Gary was capable of pulling such a mean-spirited, hateful prank, and that he'd pop out of the backseat and shout "Surprise!" as soon as she got in the car. Right now she'd give anything in the world to beat the shit out of him for doing something so cruel.

But it wasn't a joke.

She got in the car and shut the door. She turned on the engine, put the car in reverse, and began to back up. Alan walked over, tapped on the window, and gestured for her to roll it down.

"Don't forget your seatbelt," he said. "It's not just a good idea, it's the law."

The words "Screw you" came dangerously close to passing through her lips, but instead she clenched her teeth, put on her seatbelt, and rolled the window back up.

She drove away from the cabin.

* * *

She felt an incredible sense of relief as she drove down the dirt road, away from Alan and Stephen. Despite all of their talk about the game she was going to play, she'd still expected to be shot or stabbed at any moment.

Why hadn't they given her the proof that Gary was still alive up front?

Was he still alive?

Yes. He had to be.

Why not just drive to the nearest phone and call the police? Maybe they were bluffing about listening in.

Maybe. But it probably wouldn't take much to set up a hidden webcam in the car. For now, anyway, she had to follow their instructions.

She looked over at the glove compartment. She was dying to know what was inside, but she also had to believe that they'd make good on their threat to murder Gary if she violated the rules.

She could wait a few more minutes, or however long it took to get to the main highway.

Then the whole reality of the situation struck her again. Even if she followed the rules, how could she possibly win? How could she relive Gary's experience and do better than him? She didn't know the first thing about camping...she'd probably die even without encountering the other dangers!

No. She had to stop thinking like that.

She had to be strong. She wasn't some sheltered spoiled little girl who'd never left Daddy's house. She'd put herself through college while working full-time, a year of which was also spent caring for her dying mother. She could handle this.

Yeah, just keep deluding yourself, and you'll make it through, no problem.

She stopped the car as she reached the turn onto Frontier Road. The road was a good sixty miles long, so she still didn't know exactly where she was, but at least now she was a little better oriented. Doug lived on this road, and Gary would have been by to pick him up. 

Rebecca reached over and opened the glove compartment.

Along with the registration, owner's manual, and various other accumulated pieces of paper, there were three yellow envelopes. The one on top bulged out about an inch, while the other two were thin enough that they might be empty.

She removed the top one. "Open Me First!" was written on it in blue marker.

Palms sweating, she tore it open.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The bulge was Gary's wallet. Besides that, the envelope contained two small folded pieces of paper.

She opened them and read the first.

J&H Convenience Store. Ten miles south on Frontier Road. Fill up the tank.

The second read:

Shopping List:

Four twelve-packs of beer.

Potato chips--rippled.

One Alaska map.

One bottle anti-freeze.

One bottle motor oil.

One hot dog that has been sitting in that display rack since before you lost your virginity. Cover it with so much mustard that no processed pig parts are visible. Eat that disgusting thing.

Pay in cash.  

Don't miss anything. We're not kidding.

Do not open envelope #2 until this is done. We're not kidding about that, either.

Rebecca frowned. That was it? A shopping list?

She wasn't sure whether to be relieved or completely freaked out. Maybe things had gone bad while Gary, Scott, and Doug were picking up their last minute supplies at the convenience store. Or immediately after that.

His wallet appeared to be mostly untouched. It still contained Gary's driver's license, three twenty dollar-bills, a ten, and six ones. And a picture of her; the only good picture taken in the last three years. It did not contain his credit cards. Gary would have put these items on his debit card, so it appeared that they weren't doing an exact replication of the events in favor of not creating a traceable charge.

She looked at the other two envelopes. Were they as simple as a shopping list, or something much worse?

Would they really know if she peeked ahead?

She closed the glove compartment to reduce temptation, then pocketed Gary's wallet and turned right onto Frontier Road.

It was never a very busy road. In fact, if somebody was going to set up an ambush, this would be a pretty good place to do it.

Had Gary even made it to the convenience store?

They wouldn't give her a shopping list if he hadn't, would they? The list definitely contained the kind of items that the men would've bought, and ordering a hot dog with a disturbing amount of mustard for breakfast was definitely a Gary trait. Gary, Doug, and Scott at least made it that far.

But she didn't know nearly enough about this "game," or about Alan and Stephen, to assume that things were going to move along in a straightforward fashion.

She had to be ready for an ambush.

As much as she wanted to turn on the radio, to give herself some background music to calm her nerves, she didn't dare. She had to be as aware of her surroundings as she possibly could.

She glanced at the odometer. She'd gone one mile now. The gas tank was about half full. He'd been going to Bleser, which was about eighty miles away, so driving there and back would use up about half a tank.

Two miles.

A semi passed in the opposite lane. She half-expected it to do a sudden swerve, knocking her off the road, but of course it didn't.

Three miles. Then four. Five.

She began to relax. Not a lot, but enough to loosen her grip on the steering wheel a bit, to let some blood flow to her fingers.

Six miles.      

A hitchhiker stood by the side of the road, shoulders slumped and head hung. He stuck out his thumb half-heartedly as she approached.

Rebecca sucked in a deep breath.

She couldn't see his face very well, but he had a thick black beard. It could easily be a disguise, except that neither of the kidnappers could have made it out here before her, unless an underground shuttle system had been installed out in rural Alaska without her being made aware of it.

Stephen had said that he and Alan weren't the only ones involved.

She sped up and drifted into the opposite lane. The hitchhiker didn't even look up as she passed.

She continued to watch him in the rearview mirror, waiting for him to pull out a gun and open fire.

Rebecca nearly lost control of the vehicle when she saw the hitchhiker raise his head.

But he didn't do anything. Just watched her as he became smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror, finally disappearing as the road gradually veered to the left.

A regular old standard-issue hitchhiker. Nothing more.

He might have slit her throat and stolen her car if she'd picked him up, but he certainly wasn't waiting there to ambush her.

Maybe he could've helped her. A ride to town in exchange for assisting her in saving her husband from a ghoulish death. Too bad that was against the rules.

A couple of minutes later, she turned into the parking lot of the J&H Convenience Store and pulled up alongside the single gas pump. There were only two other cars here, not surprising for a convenience store way out in the middle of nowhere, even if a quarter after seven was a prime coffee hour.

She went inside. A young guy, maybe twenty-five, stood behind the counter, reading a copy of The Daily News Miner. He lowered his newspaper and gave Rebecca a friendly smile, which she tried but was unable to return.

Beer first. She walked to the back of the store, which only had four small aisles, and opened the sliding door to the cooler. The shopping list hadn't said which brand to purchase, but since she didn't much care for the taste of beer anyway she picked out two twelve-packs of Budweiser, Gary's brand.

"Hey, my kind of woman!" said the cashier as she set them on the front counter.

"I'm getting two more," Rebecca said.

"Works for me. That'll get you through those Monday morning blues."

She got the rest of the necessary beer, a large bag of Ruffles, the motor oil, anti-freeze, and map. As she set them on the counter, she wondered why there were two cars in the parking lot besides her own if nobody else was in the convenience store except her and the cashier.

"I don't suppose I could bother you for some I.D., could I?" asked the cashier. "It's a pain, I know, but they make me do it."

"Not a pain at all," said Rebecca, suddenly realizing that she didn't have her I.D., just Gary's. "You know what, I left it at home. But I'm twenty-eight."

"Funny, you don't look a day over twenty-seven," said the cashier. "No, I'm just kidding. I mean, not that you look older than that, just...sorry, without I.D., I'm not gonna be able to sell you the beer. I'll get in all kinds of trouble."

"How will you get in trouble? I'm way over twenty-one."

"I know, but I'm supposed to check I.D. if you don't look over thirty." He pointed over his shoulder and silently mouthed "My boss is in the back."

At that moment, a tall, balding man emerged from a door behind the cashier, holding a clipboard. He nodded politely at Rebecca and walked down the aisle toward the cooler.

"I also need to fill up my tank," said Rebecca, trying to keep her voice casual as she took out Gary's wallet.

"Okay, but I still need to see identification," the cashier insisted.

Damn it! She'd been able to fake her way into alcohol purchases when she was in college and not old enough, how come she couldn't do it when she was of legal age?

Or was the cashier part of it?

She took out Gary's driver's license and one of the twenties. She slid both of them together toward the cashier. "Here you go."

He looked at the driver's license, appeared momentarily confused, then slid them both back to her. "Uh-uh. No way."

"I just want to make my purchases, please," she said, putting the driver's license back in her pocket.

"You could be an undercover cop."

"I'm not, I swear."

"What seems to be the problem?" asked the manager, stepping over to the counter.

"No I.D.," said the cashier.

The manager looked Rebecca over carefully. "Sorry, ma'am. No identification, no alcohol. It's the law."

What was she supposed to say? That they absolutely, positively had to sell her this beer because her husband's life was at stake?

Maybe a new tactic was in order. "I'm old enough by seven years," she said. "You know it and I know it, it's just some stupid formality. Are you really going to make me drive all the way home to get my license? Because if you do, I'm certainly not going to stop here on the way back. You're not the only place that sells beer."

"We apologize for the inconvenience, but unfortunately there are no exceptions to our policy," said the manager. "Will you still be purchasing the other items?"

She shrugged. "I need to fill my tank. Unleaded, please."

"That will have to be pre-pay," the manager told her.

She set a twenty on the counter and turned and walked out of the store. Though her life had taken some odd twists and turns over the years, she never would have guessed that she'd be involved in a life or death struggle to buy some goddamn beer without proper identification.

A new approach sprung to mind as she pumped the gas, one that would only work if the manager left again. Well, it probably wouldn't work even then, but she had to give it a shot. After all, she might not be a movie star type, but she certainly wasn't a bad-looking woman.

The manager was nowhere in sight as she returned.

"Ring up the other stuff, too," she said. Rebecca considered batting her eyelashes but quickly decided that she'd just look ridiculous. "You know, if you bought the beer for me, we could share it."

"Really?"

"When do you get off?"

"Not until four."

"Do you get a lunch break?"

"Noon."

"Would you like to have some beer for lunch?"

"Aren't you married?" he asked, glancing at her ring.

"I won't tell if you won't."

"All right, sounds good. Come back around noon and I'll have the beer waiting."

"Wouldn't you rather I got a head start?"

The cashier suddenly burst out laughing. "Lady, it's just some beer! Jeez, did your sorority threaten to kick you out if you didn't bring it back for a party or something?"

"No, I just want to be able to buy what I came here for. I made a special trip."

"Here's a suggestion. Make a special trip over to Alcoholics Anonymous. Get on a twelve-step program. Do something, because you're just plain scary."

"Fine." She picked up two of the twelve-packs. "I'll put them back."

"Don't worry about it, I'll take care of it."

"No, no, I wouldn't want you to have to get up."

She considered making a run for it, but that would be a terrible idea.

Would Stephen and Alan really know if she didn't get the beer?

She slid open the cooler, replaced the Budweiser, and almost cried out with joy as she saw the solution to her problems.

Non-alcoholic beer.

O'Douls was technically beer, wasn't it? And the shopping list hadn't specified which brand to purchase. This wouldn't be a violation of the rules, or at least not one where she couldn't argue her case.    

She picked up two twelve-packs and brought them up to the front. Before the cashier could respond, she grabbed the other two twelve-packs of Budweiser, brought them back to the cooler, and exchanged them as well.

"You know," said the cashier as she returned, "really I'm not even supposed to...never mind, you look twenty-one."

"Thank you," she said as he rung up the purchase. Then she remembered something. "Also one hot dog."

They looked more like beef jerky tubes than hot dogs by this point, but eating something gross was the least of her problems. The cashier placed it in a bun and handed it to her.

She thanked him and walked to where the condiments were kept. She added squirt after squirt of mustard to the hot dog until, as per the instructions, nothing was visible but a yellow pond.

"Mind if I eat it here?"

"Do whatever you want, lady."

* * *

Rebecca set the two grocery bags on the passenger seat, opened the glove compartment, and removed the second envelope.

It was a good thing she liked mustard, but if she'd had this much trouble with a simple shopping list, she was horrified to think what the next step might involve.

CHAPTER EIGHT

The second envelope contained a map, or at least a torn piece of one. There was a red circle around the town of Bleser. Aside from that, the envelope was empty.

So Gary had made it that far, at least.

That is, Gary had made it that far if she could trust that Stephen and Alan were playing the game fairly. If they weren't, Gary could be in pieces in the trunk right now.

God, Rebecca, why do you do things like that to yourself? He's not in the trunk! He's alive and waiting for you to get over your pity-me attitude and rescue him!

She got out of the car and checked the trunk.

Of course, he wasn't in there, but she knew that if she hadn't looked, the thought of Gary chopped-up back there never would have left her mind.

It probably still wouldn't.

She got back in the car and began her road trip.

* * *

After about five miles, she turned on the radio. Being alone with her thoughts was infinitely more distracting than listening to some music. She quickly flipped through the stations until she found some mellow, relaxing music.

She wondered if she and Gary were being mentioned on any of the radio stations, and if anybody was searching for them. After all, they hadn't shown up for work, nor had Scott and Doug returned home to their families. She had to make sure she didn't speed or break any other traffic laws, and hope that there wasn't an APB out for Gary's car.

What if she was better off having a cop pull her over? Maybe by playing their game and following their rules, she was guaranteeing that Gary would end up dead. Maybe the best way to get out of this would be to floor the gas pedal, weave from lane to lane, and balance an open can of beer on her nose.

No, she'd already been over that. She needed to obey the kidnappers' instructions. She'd get to talk to Gary shortly--receive proof that he was alive, anyway--and then decide where to go from there.

* * *

Try as she might, Rebecca couldn't keep an endless stream of grotesque images from tearing through her brain as she drove. Gary being chopped to bits. Gary drowning in blood. Gary being fed his own...she needed to stop thinking about this, or she'd go catatonic.

* * *

Rebecca yawned as she passed the sign that informed her there were only seven miles left to Bleser. She really needed caffeine and she also needed a nice, clean restroom, but she didn't want to deviate from the schedule.

She wasn't exactly sure when she was allowed to open the third envelope, so she waited until she passed the faded "Welcome to Bleser!" sign and pulled into the parking lot of a McDonald's.

She took the envelope out of the glove compartment and tore it open. The first piece of paper inside read:

You've come a long way, this I know.

But try to be strong, you've a long way to go.

You'll find a small bar on the outskirts of town.

Drive over there now, and try not to frown.

Before I explain what to do, my comely young lass.

Know that writing in rhyme is a pain in the ass.

So enough of that bullshit. Find the bar. Have a drink if you want. All you have to do is start a fight with one of the patrons over a football game. A fistfight. One that you'll lose. It doesn't have to be a long, extended combat, but at least one punch needs to knock you to the floor. When you're done, check the trunk for further instructions. Good luck.

She couldn't believe this. A fistfight? Her? She'd never been in a fight in her entire life. And the most she knew about football was that all the best commercials played during the Super Bowl.

It didn't make sense. Gary wasn't the type to get involved in bar fights. He was rowdier around his friends, sure, but even at his most obnoxious he was never violent. And he liked football as much as any guy, but didn't take it nearly seriously enough to pick a fight over it.

The kidnappers were cheating. If Gary had been in a bar fight about a football game, he definitely hadn't started it. Either some drunken moron had put him in a situation where he was forced to fight, or she was also playing Scott or Doug's parts.

And Scott and Doug were dead, weren't they?

She didn't know that. And to keep herself as sane as possible, she'd go with the "drunken moron" theory for now.

* * *

The second item in the envelope was another small map, which led her all the way through Bleser to a road way out in the boondocks. When she finally reached the bar, she figured it had been at least five miles since she passed the last human-made structure.

She pulled into the parking lot next to three other cars. The bar didn't even have a name, at least not one that was displayed, though the numerous neon beer logos in the windows clarified the purpose of this establishment. The place looked like the last touch-up had been done shortly after the Gold Rush.

It was barely after nine on a Monday morning. What were any cars doing here?     

She shut off the engine and walked inside. The bartender looked up as she entered, as did the two other patrons, who sat at separate tables, watching ESPN on a television mounted over a door. One of them was a big guy with a beard that severely needed trimming and a huge gut, the other was an older man, maybe in his sixties, wearing a red ball cap and smoking a cigarette.

Which one of the three was involved in the kidnapping?

Were any of them? Maybe she wouldn't have to start a fight. Maybe she could just punch herself in the face and walk back outside.

And maybe she should just leave Gary for dead while she was at it.

"What can I get you?" the bartender asked.

"For right now, just a bathroom."

The bartender nodded toward the door right under the television. Wonderful. Nothing like knowing that a couple of creepy-looking guys were staring in her direction while she was using the bathroom. At least it couldn't be as bad as the outhouse.

She emerged a couple minutes later, longing for the good old days of the outhouse. But restroom facilities were a pretty small problem compared to her task at hand.

She sat down at a vacant table, trying to figure out how to approach the situation. Who should she confront? The old guy looked like his punch would hurt less, but that wasn't really an issue, since to save Gary she'd gladly take a blow from George Foreman, with his fat-reducing grill, if he wanted. The question was, which of the two men was more likely to punch out a woman over a football argument?

Probably the big guy.

She felt almost disconnected from her body, but she forced herself to get up and sit down at his table. He looked a bit surprised, clearly unaccustomed to having women take any sort of interest in him.

"Catch the game last night?" she asked.

"Which game?"

"Football."

"Nah, I missed it. Who was playing?"

"You tell me, you fat fuck." She stumbled over the words, but forced herself to retain eye contact.

The man blinked. "What?"

"I said, you tell me, you fat fuck. What's the matter? Scared to discuss football with a girl?"

The man glanced over at the bartender for help. "I think you've got the wrong person."

Rebecca's face was burning, and she knew it had to be bright red, not that anybody would be able to tell in the bar's poor lighting. "You're the only person I'm talking to," she said.

The man pushed back his chair and stood up. "Sorry, I've gotta head off. Got stuff to do."

Rebecca stood up as well, grabbing his arm. "We were in the middle of a conversation."

"Lady, you're mentally ill." The man yanked his arm free, and gestured to the bartender. "Jesus, Frank, what kind of people do you let in this place?"

Rebecca made a second grab for the man's arm, but missed. What should she do now? Give it up and harass the old guy? The bartender?

The man started to walk around the table, but she moved to the right, blocking his path. "I'll bet you fifty bucks you can't beat me in a fight," she said.

"Lady, go back to the asylum. You need medicine, and that, that shocker-thing they use on crazy people."

"Ma'am, I'll have to ask you to leave," said the bartender. "Don't make me call the police."

Rebecca clenched her fists and looked the bearded man in the eye. "A hundred bucks."

"I'm not gonna fight you, lady!"

"Chickenshit."

"You're right. I'm chickenshit. So why don't you go someplace else, okay?"

Obviously he wasn't going to take the first punch, not that she'd really expected him to. So she stepped forward and swung at his jaw. The man easily deflected her blow, slapping her fist away. She took another swing, and this time he caught her fist in his hand.

"Frank, will you do something?" he demanded.

Rebecca tried to tug her hand free, but the man wouldn't let go. With her free hand, Rebecca grabbed the man's wrist. Then she yanked his hand forward as hard as she could, smashing his fist into her cheek. There was an explosion of pain, and she let out a cry and fell to the ground.

"I didn't hit her!" the bearded man insisted. "You all saw it! She pulled my hand into her face! I didn't do anything!"

"Don't worry, we all saw it," said the bartender, hurrying out from behind the counter.

Rebecca sat up, blinking back tears. She never imagined it would hurt so much, and she had done all the work. "I'm okay, I'm okay," she said. "I'm fine. I'm sorry."

"What the hell is the matter with you, lady?" asked the bearded man.

"Nothing, I'm just...I'm fine." She used a chair to brace herself and pulled herself to her feet. She rubbed the spot where she'd been hit. "I'm sorry."

"Do you need us to call somebody?" the bartender asked.

"No, no, I just need to go."

"Do you want a bag of ice?"

She nodded. The bartender went to retrieve it while the bearded man just stared at her.

"I'm sorry," she said again.

The bearded man didn't respond. He looked at his fist then sat back down at his table without a word.

Though she couldn't be certain, she thought she saw the old guy hide a smile. Was he simply amused by the ridiculous situation, or did he know exactly what she was there to accomplish?

CHAPTER NINE

Rebecca walked out to her car, holding the bag of ice to her face. She couldn't imagine how bad it would hurt if the man had wanted to punch her. She just wasn't cut out for violence.

Still, she'd made it through the first three tasks, and now she was going to get proof that Gary was still alive.

(Please!)

She opened the trunk. At first she thought there was nothing in there except for a few random pieces of Gary's collected junk, but after a quick search she discovered an envelope taped to the inside of the lid. She tore it open and read the message inside.

So either you're cheating or you're doing well. If you're cheating, we already know about it and have splattered your hubby all over the ground, making a horrible mess that some unfortunate soul is going to have to clean up, unless Gary just soaks into the ground. If you're doing well, then it's time for a brief intermission, and we have a present for you. Drive down this road the way you came. In two miles you'll see a small dirt road, marked by a cross. Turn there, keep to the left, and when you get to the end, sit and wait.

Rebecca got back in the Chevy and drove away from the bar. Her hands were shaking, but her mood was brighter than it had been all morning. That wasn't saying much, and she didn't believe that they'd actually let her see Gary in person, but to simply know that he was still alive would be an unbelievable relief.

About two miles later, she saw a small wooden cross, and turned onto a bumpy dirt road that forced her to drive carefully to avoid scraping both sides of the car on outstretched tree branches. It split off three different times, and she took the left fork each time, adding another three miles to the odometer before she reached the end of the road. There was forest on all sides of her, but it was thin enough to let plenty of sunlight through.

She shut off the engine and waited.

For about five minutes she sat patiently. Then she started to get worried.

Would somebody attack her?

The note had said this was an intermission. Surely Gary, Scott, and Doug would have had absolutely no reason to go down this path, so this couldn't be part of the test, right?

Right. She was safe, for now.

She fidgeted nervously for another five minutes.

The note hadn't said she couldn't get out of the car and wander around the area, but she didn't think that was a good idea. Better to be restless inside the vehicle than accidentally bump into somebody who wasn't expecting to find her outside.

Another ten minutes passed.

Was she in the right spot?

Yes, of course she was in the right spot. The directions weren't complicated. She just needed to wait.

Maybe they were dragging Gary through the forest at this very moment.

Not likely.

Maybe they were dragging Gary's bloody corpse through the forest at this very moment.

Or half of it.

Stop it! 

She tried to distract herself by counting out loud, slowly. One...two...three...four...

...eighty-seven...eighty-eight...eighty-nine...

A knife plunging into Gary's chest, again and again...

...ninety...ninety-one...ninety-two...

And then Alan emerged from the woods, a colorfully wrapped present tucked under his arm. He smiled and waved at her, then motioned for her to roll down her window.

"Nice to see you again!" he said, walking over to the car. "You're looking good since we were together last. Have you lost weight?"

"Where's Gary?" Rebecca asked.

"I don't know. Somewhere, I guess. I brought you a present." He rattled it and grinned. "You're gonna like it."

Rebecca looked at the package. It was decorated with bright pink and purple wrapping paper, with a huge white bow on top. It was about the size of...

A bowling ball. It was about the size of a bowling ball.

"It's freezing out here," said Alan. "Mind if I join you in the car?"

Rebecca shook her head and moved the grocery bags to the back seat. Alan opened the passenger-side door, got in, and slammed the door shut hard enough to rattle the automobile. He set the present on his lap then rubbed his hands together for warmth.

"Having fun?" he asked.

"What do you think?"

Alan shrugged. "How should I know? You're an elementary school teacher. Maybe this is the kind of excitement you've been searching for all your life. Maybe this is feeding your incessant craving for adventure."

"I don't need any adventure."

"Oh, now, everybody needs adventure. It's human nature." He bobbed his knees up and down. "Don't you want to know what I got you?"

She reached for the present, but Alan slapped her hand away. "That was a question, not an invitation. First I want to know how you think the game is going. Any helpful suggestions? Anything you think we could be doing better? Was the handwriting on the notes neat enough?"

Rebecca just stared at him. Was he serious?

Suddenly Alan grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked her head down, making her wince with pain. "Listen, sweetie, I'm making the best of this situation, so you can at least meet me halfway," he said, with absolutely no trace of his previous levity. "I don't even wanna be doing this. I'd much rather just gut you right here. As far as I'm concerned, this whole thing is a waste of time."

Then she felt cold steel on the back of her neck. Sharp steel. Alan put some more pressure on it, and she winced again. "So, do me a favor and show a little more spunk, okay? Get in the spirit of things. I'm not asking you to dance around and giggle, but for God's sake at least don't act like a mannequin. Do you understand?"

"Yes!"

"Make me believe it."

"Yes!" she screamed.

Alan held the blade there for a few more moments, then took it away and released his grip on her hair. "Good. That's all I wanted to hear."

Rebecca raised her head and brushed her hair out of her eyes. Alan had a thin sheen of perspiration on his forehead. She hadn't been struggling; had he really worked up a sweat from that little action?

"I...I think you're running the game fine," said Rebecca.

"Ah, I don't give a shit what you think. I was just messing with you. So, do you want to open your present now?"

Rebecca nodded.

"What's the magic word?"

"Please."

"Try, please, oh stud muffin, who I would gladly screw for hours and hours on end if I weren't so happily married."

"Fuck you," Rebecca said.

She gasped. Where had that come from? She hadn't meant to say that. She clenched her jaws together tightly, ready for him to grab her hair again, or maybe slam the knife into her throat.

Instead, Alan laughed. "Very good. Now that's spunk. Here you go." He handed her the present.

It felt heavy. Too heavy to be a head. Unless a head wasn't the only thing in the box...

No, this was supposed to be proof that he was still alive. There was no point to any of this if his head was in the box. It couldn't possibly be his head.

She pulled off the bow. "Try to be careful with the paper," Alan suggested. "Maybe we can reuse it for the next one."

Unsure whether or not he was kidding this time, she very slowly, cautiously began to remove the wrapping, revealing a cardboard box. The contents shifted a bit when she turned the box on its side, but there was still no indication of exactly what was inside.

She folded the wrapping paper and set it aside, then ran her finger along the lid, which was taped shut. "Mind if I borrow your knife?"

Alan snorted a laugh. "Yeah, right."

She dug her fingernail under the end of the tape and pulled it off in one strip. Then she got ready to open the box, but hesitated.

"It's not a bomb or anything," Alan assured her. "I wouldn't be sitting here if it was anything dangerous."

Rebecca lifted the flaps.

Inside were hundreds, no, thousands of spiders.

Fake ones. Tiny plastic toys. She looked over at Alan in confusion.

"I guess you have to dig for your present," he said.

Rebecca knew that she had an excessive, even ridiculous number of phobias, but spiders weren't on the list, much less plastic ones. She dug her hand in the box, not considering until she'd reached almost to her elbow that there might be a mousetrap or something inside.

No. A mousetrap would've already been set off.

A razor blade, then.

She dug more carefully. Alan watched her with a shit-eating grin that made her want to shove a handful of the spiders down his throat.

Good. Very good. Hostility is much better than fear in this situation.

Her fingers scraped the bottom of the box, and she cautiously worked her hand around. It wasn't easy, but fortunately she only had to move a few inches before her index finger brushed against something solid. She grabbed hold of it and pulled out the audiocassette tape.

Alan clapped his hands together. "One point for Becky! Hard to believe anybody still uses those things, huh?"

She turned the key forward, putting the car in auxiliary, then popped the cassette into the player and turned up the volume.

The tape was silent for about fifteen seconds. And then Stephen's voice could clearly be heard. "Talk, damn it! Say something! Let her know you're okay."

"I'm okay, Rebecca," she heard Gary say. Despite his weak, scared-sounding voice, it was unquestionably him. "I'm alive."

As much as Rebecca didn't want Alan to see her cry, she couldn't help herself, and the tears of relief began flowing.

"Tell her you love her, asshole," said Stephen on the tape.

"I love you. But please don't--"

There was the sound of a punch, and a pained groan from Gary. "Can I hit him, too?" asked Alan in the background.

"You shut the fuck up. Now read this."

In the same scared voice, punctuated by a couple gasps of pain, Gary read a few sentences of a news story about an empty hot air balloon landing in a family's backyard. While Gary spoke on the tape, Alan reached into his inside jacket pocket and took out a newspaper. He unfolded it, pointed to the date--today--and then tapped the front-page article that Gary was reading.

"All right, that's enough," said Stephen on the tape.

The tape abruptly switched to an Alice Cooper song. Alan began to sway to the beat as he tucked the newspaper back into his inside jacket pocket. "So, your hubby is all safe and sound. Does that give you a warm happy glow inside?"

Rebecca tried to respond, but couldn't find her voice.

Alan shrugged. He ejected the tape and pocketed it with the newspaper. "Well, I think your intermission is just about over. Things are going to start to get interesting now. And by interesting, of course, I mean dangerous and really, really bloody."

He reached into his inside jacket again. "Too many props in this game, if you ask me," he said, taking out a piece of paper and handing it to Rebecca. "That map will take you to your camping spot. Go there. Set up camp. Your husband and his buddies pretty much just hung out by the campsite all day, so you do the same. I realize that your husband had quite an advantage over you because he has more camping experience, but you have an advantage over him because I'm giving you plenty of warning: expect something very bad to happen."

Alan opened the passenger door and got out of the car. He repeated the wave and smile he'd greeted her with and headed for the woods. As he reached the end of the clearing, he turned back around and called out to her.

"Have a good time, Rebecca! You can keep the spiders."

CHAPTER TEN

Once he was sure he was out of sight, Alan used one hand to brace himself against a tree, then leaned forward and threw up. His heart was racing, his ears were ringing, and he felt like his insides were on fire.

Maintaining a casual, glib attitude was absolute torture when you wanted to cut somebody so badly that you almost felt like a crack addict desperately searching for a fix. When he'd lost control and put the knife to her neck...well, it had taken a superhuman force of will to keep from going all the way.

He wanted to stab her. He wanted to hurt her. He wanted to slice off her face to wear as a mask. He wanted to pound his knife into her body until his muscles ached and there was nothing left of her but exposed meat and chipped bone.

But he was proud of himself. He'd kept control. He knew that if he messed up again Stephen would probably shoot him dead. Not that he was scared of Stephen, but he definitely needed the guy. Stephen had the patience to watch a victim, to follow them, to determine the perfect moment to strike, and knew exactly how to cover their tracks afterward. Alan was too impatient (he knew this even without Stephen telling him on a regular basis) and would be in prison for certain without his partner's help.

Anyway, he'd done his job and the girl didn't have a cut on her, so there was nothing for Stephen to bitch about. Alan still thought this whole idea was stupid, but then again, he had to admit that he was having some fun with it. And he'd certainly get to make up for not being able to hack Rebecca up in the car. Oh yeah.

He began to whistle as he continued his mile-long hike through the woods. If he was lucky, maybe he'd find a squirrel to rip apart.

* * *

Go to the police.

Rebecca couldn't get that thought out of her mind, that she should just turn around, drive to the police station, tell the cops everything that had happened, and let people handle it who had some vague idea of what they were doing.

Maybe she was putting Gary's life at risk by playing the game. Even if she overlooked the fact that she almost certainly couldn't win, did she expect them to simply hand Gary over if she did win?

Not likely.

A more plausible scenario was that both of them would end up dead, and then the lunatics would go out and do the same thing again to another couple.

If the police got Alan and Stephen surrounded, they might spare Gary's life to keep their sentence down.

Except that they'd already murdered Scott and Doug.

Or had they?

She had no proof that anybody was dead. No evidence besides what Alan and Stephen told her. Maybe all three of them were alive. Maybe Scott and Doug's wives were going through the same thing she was.

A far-fetched idea to be sure, but possible, right?

Go to the police.

No. She couldn't do it. She hadn't spent much time with the kidnappers, but she truly believed that if she violated the rules, they'd kill Gary and leave the country. Alan would, at least. She was sure of it. She could lead the police to the cabin, but Gary wouldn't be there. They'd certainly anticipated the possibility that she would run straight to the authorities, and so Gary would be well hidden.

By going to the cops, she'd be murdering her husband.

Better to play the game. At least this way she had a chance of saving him, no matter how remote.

And as desperately as she wanted Gary back, she knew that at least part of her desire to involve the police was to get out of it herself. To not have to go through the same nightmare. To not risk her life, and possibly die.

Probably die.

She was probably going to die this weekend. A horrible, grisly death. Maybe even a long, agonizing one. Who knew when they kidnapped Gary, and what they'd been doing to him all this time? Maybe reliving his experience meant being strapped down to a table while fingers and toes were cut off in thin slices with a hacksaw. Maybe Gary had been reading the newspaper with only one eye.

She could head right back to the bar and call the police.

But she wasn't going to do that. She didn't care how frightened she was or how much personal risk was involved, she was going to do everything she could to rescue Gary. The excruciating pain of her murder would be less torturous than having to live with herself if she gave up on him.

* * *

It took about forty-five minutes of driving, fifteen minutes of it on miserable dirt roads, before she reached her destination on the map. The road just stopped in the middle of the woods, so she parked the car and got out. According to the map, her campsite was a half-mile hike straight ahead from the end of the road, and she'd know it when she reached it.

She knew that setting up camp would involve several trips to and from the car, but she didn't want to start carrying things until she knew for sure where the campsite was. If she was going to get herself hopelessly lost, she didn't want to worry about lugging a tent around.

Actually, she would carry something. She opened the passenger door and retrieved the cardboard box. Hansel and Gretel had breadcrumbs, she had plastic spiders. Worst-case scenario, she could find her way back by following the trail of dead birds that had choked on them.

* * *

The ground was relatively flat and the trees thinned out quickly, so Rebecca was able to keep up a rapid pace. About fifteen minutes later, she emerged from the woods at the edge of a large, beautiful pond.

It looked like it was about a hundred yards wide, though the grass was tall enough at the far end that she couldn't tell for certain where the water stopped. It stretched out about fifty yards to her right, and another hundred yards to her left before curving around some forest area.

She walked out to the edge of the water and bent down to scoop up a double handful. The water was incredibly cold, but looked fresh and tasted fantastic.

She spent a couple minutes surveying the area. There was a circle of rocks with ashes in the center and three logs around it, proving that the guys, or at least somebody, had been sitting around a campfire. There was also a small pile of branches that were obviously meant to have been used as firewood, and a couple of beer cans in the ashes, but no other litter.

Though she wanted to investigate more, Rebecca decided that it would be best to get all the camping gear in place first. If they wanted her to camp, she'd camp. She wasn't about to have them decide to kill Gary simply because the tent wasn't set up in time.

* * *

Despite the chill, Rebecca was hot and sweaty by the time she finished dragging the tent bag to the campsite, except for her fingers, which were cold and numb. At least there was no wind. She sat on one of the logs for a few minutes, breathing heavily. Her face still hurt where she'd forced the man to punch her, and her lungs were burning. She just wasn't a manual labor type of person. Nor was she an outdoor person. Nor was she a cold weather person.

But she also wasn't a bloody violence person, and if she was willing to face that, she could certainly handle manual labor, the outdoors, and cold.

It took her two more trips to get the rest of the stuff. At first she considered only taking what she thought she needed, but decided against it. Anyway, when it started to get really cold, she'd be glad she had Gary's extra clothes.

She sat back down on the log, absolutely exhausted, and rested for about ten minutes. Now there was a little wind, and her teeth were starting to chatter. But she'd be okay. She'd get a fire started, set up the tent, and then relax as much as she possibly could.

Well, rest maybe. Relaxation wasn't an option.

Something bad was going to happen. Gary and his friends had at least had time to drink a couple of beers and start a fire, so nothing could happen before that, right?

Of course, they'd probably been able to empty the car in a single trip.

But she was only one person. She couldn't be expected to keep up with three men. It wouldn't be fair to replay the events of the weekend before she had a chance to catch up, right?

And why, pray tell, would you assume that these gentlemen are going to play fair?

She stacked a pile of the branches on the old campfire then doused them with some lighter fluid that had been in one of Gary's sacks. She lit a match and tossed it onto the branches, starting a fire immediately. Thank God she didn't have to rub some sticks together.

Though she wanted to get the tent up as soon as possible, it was more important to keep the fire going, and there weren't many branches left. She went back and started walking along the edge of the woods, gathering up branches from the ground. They were plentiful, so she quickly returned to the campfire and added them to the backup pile. While that would keep her going for a while, she decided it was probably best to stockpile as much as she possibly could. Things were going to get more and more dangerous as time passed, and if she could avoid going near the woods, with all its places for somebody to hide, she'd be much better off.

As she gathered her fourth load, she noticed a speck of red on one of the leaves. She flinched and looked at it more closely.

Just a ladybug.

Finally she had enough firewood to last through the night. Probably enough to last three nights, but she wasn't a camper and didn't know how quickly it would be used up. She sat back down on the log and gazed out at the pond.

Under other circumstances, she might have appreciated its beauty. Sure, she would have spent more time being miserable because of the cold, but still, she would have enjoyed several relaxing minutes just looking at it. A place like this would be a wonderful field trip for her students.

She needed to get the tent up, but she also needed a couple of minutes to soothe herself, collect her thoughts. If she was going to survive this, she had to be fully alert, but also calm and not overwhelmed with paranoia. She got up and began a leisurely walk along the edge of the pond.

They were going to get her while she took her walk.

No, they weren't. She needed this.

She forced herself to breathe deeply, in and out, trying to make the bad thoughts disappear, if only for a few moments. Just look at the pond. Watch the small ripples in the clear water. See the--

She slammed a hand over her mouth to stifle a scream.

The water was still clear in this part of the pond. Still calm. Still beautiful.

But the rocks on the edge were covered with blood.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

It was a dull brown rather than a ghoulish red, but there was no mistaking the splashes of color for anything but blood. And there was a lot of it. It covered the rocks by her feet, but also the rocks for several feet around those.

She knelt down and looked closely at the rocks, still biting back her scream. Yes, it was absurd to get so freaked out over this when she already knew that awful things had happened in this area, but this was proof. Maybe nobody was dead, but a lot of blood had been spilled.

And there was a pair of dried red chunks, about the size of nickels, on one of the rocks.      

Of course, it could have been from an animal. Maybe Gary and his buddies had caught a fish and cleaned it here.

Yeah, maybe they'd cleaned a fish and scattered its blood around, just for kicks. Sure.

Though her stomach was churning, she leaned even closer to the rock with the dried flesh or whatever it was. There was a tiny piece of bone, barely more than a sliver, stuck to one of them.

Then a metallic glint in the water caught her attention. She stared at the water for a moment, trying to pinpoint it, and saw something metal poking out from under some small rocks in the water. Trying to disturb the water as little as possible, she reached down to pick it up.

As her hand touched the bottom some dirt swirled up into the water, clouding it momentarily and forcing her to keep her hand perfectly still in the cold water until it cleared up again.

The glint was gone.

She began running her hands over the pebbles, trying to catch another glimpse of it. It took her several attempts, waiting each time for the water to clear again, before she finally got a hold of it and pulled it out of the water.

It was a tooth. A molar. Unquestionably human, unless somebody had decided to give their pet a metal filling.

She had a vision of somebody's face being slammed against the rocks, then the man being dragged into the pond, bleeding all over the other rocks, and then butchered in the icy water. 

Absolutely sick to her stomach, Rebecca stood up and hurried back toward the campfire. She could imagine Alan gutting Scott or Doug like a fish, laughing and cracking jokes while he did it, probably asking Stephen if this one was big enough to keep.

She wondered if pieces of Gary's friends were in that pond. Maybe a hand floating on the other side, or a foot waiting to get caught on a fisherman's hook.

She squeezed her eyes shut. These were exactly the kind of thoughts she didn't need. She'd already known that bloody things had happened here. This didn't change anything. Her situation was no worse now than it was before. She needed to calm down and put up the tent.

And, at the very least, be thankful that she knew Gary had never had a cavity in his life.

* * *

Rebecca had always been a strong believer in the power of humor. She rarely attempted to convey it to her students, because as fifth graders they found plenty enough to giggle about without her encouraging them. But she'd heard stories about people making miraculous health recoveries from simply watching comedy videos, essentially laughing themselves healthy, and she believed them

While she still fully believed in the concept, apparently it took more than one's own bumbling slapstick antics trying to set up a tent for the healing power to work. Perhaps a cancer patient watching her would have received some benefit, but for herself there was nothing but frustration. Though the tent still had the instructions with it, this was a two-person job and definitely not a task for somebody who hadn't even slept in a tent since she was a little girl.

Still, if she survived this and she got Gary back and the nightmares faded and she was released from the insane asylum, she'd recall her misadventures setting up the tent and laugh. She was Laurel and Hardy, trying to set up a tent. One of them, anyway, though if the stress continued at this level, pretty soon she'd have voices in her head and then she could play the roles of both of them. If nothing else, pretty soon she'd be doing the famous Stan Laurel whimpering.

The tent pole she'd struggled to get into place toppled over, smacking her in the side of the head. Yep, she'd have plenty to laugh about after the bloodbath.

* * *

Finally the tent was up. It looked like crap, but she had no way of knowing that Gary's tent hadn't looked like crap, too. So, she had a tent and she had a fire. She was officially camping.

She was terribly thirsty, and while she loathed the taste of beer, there was nothing else to drink. She wasn't about to drink from the pond again.

She grabbed one of the fake-beers, sat by the fire, cracked it open, and guzzled a third of it in one swallow. It was awful, but she supposed that most of the world's population would be grateful for a cold fake-beer in this situation, so she decided to make the best of it. She finished off the beer, tossed the can in the fire, and prepared for her next task.

Weapons.

The kidnappers hadn't left Gary's pocketknife, which she was sure he'd brought along, so they weren't playing completely fair. Too bad this wasn't a board game where she could debate the rules. She'd gathered some fist-size rocks before she started setting up the tent, along with a pair of branches that were broken off to give them sharp tips, but now was the time to do some more elaborate preparation.

She looked through her equipment. Tent spikes would have been helpful, but unfortunately they'd been plastic ones instead of metal, so she'd used them all for their intended purpose. Gary's tackle box was filled with hooks. Small ones, yes, but even a small hook could do some serious damage if it got you in the eye.

She wished that she could set some sort of booby trap, but she didn't appear to have anything useful, and probably wouldn't know what to do with it if she had. The best idea she could come up with was to dig some small holes, cover them with paper plates or something, and hope that Alan or Stephen would step on one and trip. Pretty lame. Better to focus on sharpening sticks. It was slow going using a jagged rock rather than a knife, but at least it was working, more or less.

She bound a few branches together with fishing line and then tied one of Gary's shirts around the top. If she heard anything suspicious, she'd douse the top with lighter fluid, jab it in the fire, and have herself a decent weapon. She was far from a hero, but she was sure going to put up a fight.

Once she'd sharpened six branches into short spears, or the next best thing, she started on the hooks. Even the largest one was only about an inch long, but it would have to do. She took another one of Gary's shirts, one of his favorites that he shouldn't have brought on a camping trip anyway, and began to poke the hooks through it. Once she'd used up all twenty or so, she gave the shirt a test swing. A couple of the hooks fell off, but regardless, if that thing hit somebody in the face they'd probably reconsider kidnapping as an occupation.

So, she had sharpened sticks, rocks, a hook-ridden shirt, a torch, and lots of beer can projectiles. If she stayed alert and didn't freeze with terror at the first sign of danger, she might just make it through the night alive.

She surveyed the area, but couldn't think of anything else that might be helpful to prepare. At this point, her best bet was to sit quietly, wait, and listen.

Rebecca sat down on the log, balancing a spear on her lap while she held her hands out to warm them by the fire. It was almost three o'clock, so she had a couple more hours until sunset. She had a terrible headache, but she suspected it might be due to hunger, since after all this work she should be famished, even if she felt too queasy to actually experience the hunger urges. Hungry or not, she needed to eat and keep her energy level up, so she grabbed a couple of hot dogs and the bag of buns out of the cooler, jabbed one on a stick, and began to roast it in the fire.

When it was nicely burnt, she slapped it into the bun and gobbled it down. She finished off a second one in record time, then went back to retrieve a third, along with the potato chips. Queasy or not, campfire roasted hot dogs were delicious.

After she'd eaten her fill, she put the hot dog buns and the chips away, and sat back down to wait. She noted with mild amusement that she was finally getting to sit around and do nothing, just like she'd wanted, and without the guilt of not being a productive citizen.

She continued to sit as time passed and the sun lowered on the horizon. It was getting harder to keep an eye on the woods now. Somebody could sneak almost right up to the edge and she probably wouldn't notice them.

She got up and walked around the campfire every once in a while to stretch her legs, but otherwise remained in place, listening and waiting.

And then it was dark, and she couldn't see anything beyond a few feet of the campfire without using Gary's flashlight, and the noises from the woods didn't sound like they'd ever stop.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Even without the threat of human attack, sitting outdoors at night all by herself would have been a frightening experience.

She knew deep inside that there wasn't much out there to harm her. If a grizzly bear showed up, she'd have a definite problem, and timber wolves wouldn't exactly be pleasant visitors, but the chances of being bothered by one of those were pretty remote. But most of the noises from the woods, the rustling in the trees and on the ground, were harmless. Squirrels. Rabbits. Ptarmigan. Maybe even a moose, deer, or caribou. Nothing that would hurt her. It wasn't like Alaska had scorpions or poisonous snakes slithering around.

But what about ghosts and goblins?

She was a fully grown, mature woman, and she knew that there were no such things. But sitting out there, by the light of the fire, it was pretty easy to convince herself that they might exist. That a ghost might start moaning her name.

Rebeccaaaaaaaaaaa...

I see you...

I'm coming to get you...

The rustling noises from the woods continued.

I'm right behind you, Rebecca...

Too bad her older brother Randy wasn't here. He would've had himself a great time, making ghost noises in the night, grabbing her arm with a loud "Boo!" He'd probably even wave the shirt with the hooks in it too close to her face, just to make her scream.

Well, he would have, back when they were seven and nine. Not so much now.

God, she was scared.

She remembered all the ghost stories Randy had told her when she was younger. Most of them were profoundly stupid, involving creatures that were as likely to pee on you as devour you, but no matter how absurd the stories became, Becky always listened in wide-eyed terror. She always had nightmares. She'd looked back on them and laughed, but as a child the dreaded Snot Beast was something to be feared as much as a shark or a cannibal. I'm looking at you now, Rebecca!

She rolled her eyes at her own stupidity. She had problems enough at the moment without adding fear of ghosts to the roster, thank you very much.

Something rustled in the woods. Something big.

Rebecca immediately grabbed one of the spears and held it in both hands, braced for action.

Silence.

More rustling, something smaller this time, up in the trees. Nothing human.

She stared at the spot where she'd heard the rustling, frantically searching for any sign of movement, any sign that Alan or Stephen were waiting out there, even though it was too dark to even see the trees.

Nothing.

She picked up the flashlight, turned it on, and shone it in that direction. The beam just barely reached the trees, and it didn't reveal anything.

Even so, as long as she didn't fall asleep they'd have a pretty difficult time surprising her. She'd see them in plenty of time before they reached the campfire. That didn't mean she'd be able to keep herself alive, but at least the element of surprise wouldn't be on their side.

Unless they had a gun. But she didn't think they'd go to all this trouble simply to shoot her.

Of course, if they decided that this whole plan was too risky, they'd want to get rid of her, wouldn't they?

Well, she couldn't worry about what they might do if they decided to terminate the plan. It was bad enough to think that they were going to go through with it.

Rebecca darted the flashlight beam around the area where she'd heard the loud rustling. No signs of movement. No more sounds.

She held the flashlight in place for a full five minutes, then shut it off and set it back down on the ground. She kept the spear in her hands. Someone might still be out there, but as long as it wasn't a ninja they couldn't move completely silently. She might have a goofed-up brain, but she had perfect vision and hearing, and nobody was going to come out of those woods without her knowing about it.

After another fifteen minutes she forced herself to relax. A bit. She was exhausting herself just by being so tense. She did some breathing exercises and tried to think about happy times she and Gary had shared.

Like meeting in the department store as they passed on opposite escalators, when he got so distracted seeing her for the first time that he forgot to step off at the bottom and landed on his face.

Like their honeymoon in Europe, where they'd intended to see all of the amazing sights and take in the foreign culture but somehow never quite got around to it.

Like the day she'd been offered a permanent teaching job instead of just being a substitute, and to celebrate they'd gone to a fondue restaurant. For dessert they'd fed each other chocolate-dipped strawberries. It was still the best-tasting food she'd eaten in her life.

Rebeccaaaaaaaaa, I'm breathing down your neck...

"Goddamnit, stop it!" she shouted.

Oh, wonderful. Now she was yelling at herself for hearing ghosts. The complete mental breakdown was well underway.

She tried to think of other happy memories about her and Gary, but gave up when she couldn't stop envisioning Gary on a porch swing next to her, smiling cheerfully despite having been recently disemboweled.

* * *

Rebecca checked her watch. Just after two in the morning. Nothing had happened, and the strain was starting to get to her. She was utterly exhausted.

Of course, she couldn't go to sleep. If she just climbed in the tent and called it quits for the night, the chances weren't very good that she'd ever wake up. Or if she did wake up, she'd wish she hadn't.

But she was so, so tired. At least Gary, Doug, and Scott could have watched in shifts.

Maybe the kidnappers were waiting for her to go to sleep before making their move. If so, they had a long wait. She wasn't going to sleep, no matter what. She'd once stayed up for three full days cramming for finals, and this was a hell of a lot more important than a history exam.

Yeah, but she was younger then. And she hadn't spent much of the day lugging heavy bags through the woods. And she'd had about eighteen cups of coffee in her system. There was just no comparison.

She'd had barely any sleep the previous night. If they did choose to attack now, she'd be pretty much worthless in a fight, probably falling asleep and landing right on an axe or something. But she had to stay awake. Encountering them while exhausted was still preferable to encountering them while unconscious.

She forced herself to stay awake, and resumed her night of waiting.

* * *

Rebecca sat up with such a jolt that it almost hurt. Had she fallen asleep? For how long?

She checked her watch. No, it was ten minutes until three. The fire was unchanged. If she'd fallen asleep, it had only been for a second.

She slapped herself in the face, hard. The earlier punch to the face had finally stopped hurting, but the pain flared up again. She had to stay awake, no matter what.

When she blinked, it was hard to open her eyes again. She wanted nothing more than a warm, soft bed, with fluffy pillows and a thick comforter...

She jolted awake again. Damn it! She was going to die because she couldn't do something as simple as staying awake. She slapped herself a second time, but could tell that wasn't going to work. It was time to get serious.

She picked up a branch and held it in the campfire until it was burning. She held it to her mouth, blew out the flame, held it over the back of her hand, and...couldn't do it.

What the hell was the matter with her? It was a choice between burning her hand or falling asleep and dying!

She put the branch back in the fire and repeated the process. This time she didn't hesitate. There was a hissing sound as the branch pressed against the back of her hand, and she winced in pain.

That woke her up.

If she had to, she'd start burning her face. Whatever it took. She wasn't falling asleep.

* * *

Rebecca had four burn marks, two on each hand, and even though they all still hurt, it wasn't enough. Burning her face might not even be enough.

She scooted her log away from the campfire. If she did fall asleep, at least she'd taken the precaution to avoid falling into the flames.

Four o'clock. Still at least two more hours of darkness.

She awoke to a pain in her face as she realized she'd tumbled forward and hit the cold ground. It was a very good thing that she'd moved away from the fire. She knew she had to get up, but even though the ground was cold, it was very, very comfortable, and she wouldn't sleep for long, maybe fifteen minutes, and they probably weren't watching anyway, and even if they were she'd wake up when they came, right?

Her rational mind tried to contradict this, but it failed in the last few seconds that she remained conscious.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Rebecca opened her eyes. It was daylight, and her entire body ached. She sat up slowly, groggily. The campfire had gone out, but to her incredible relief and astonishment, she was in the same spot in which she'd fallen asleep...not particularly comfortable, but certainly preferable to waking up tied to a tree or inside a burlap sack.

Then she noticed that there was a note taped to her shoe.

She hurriedly tore it off and opened it. It took a couple of moments for her vision to focus, then she read:

Hope you got a good night's sleep. You looked so peaceful that we just couldn't bear to wake you. Anyway, sorry if you were disappointed by the lack of activity, but your husband got a free night and so did you.

It won't happen again.

So hang out today, do a little fishing, get in touch with nature. Don't leave sight of the pond. And don't forget the rules. If you tell anybody what's going on, you're a widow. See you soon.

Another day of sitting around, going crazy.

* * *

Rebecca got the fire started again and spent several minutes just trying to get warm. She coughed a few times. Wonderful. She was probably going to catch pneumonia, if she didn't already have hypothermia.

It was almost eight o'clock, and since she was still alive, she was glad she'd managed to get those four hours of sleep. Gary and his friends hadn't brought anything in the way of breakfast foods, so she had two more hot dogs, some chips, and a beer. A nice flashback to her college days.

After she'd eaten, she wandered down to the pond again, avoiding looking in the direction of the bloodstained rocks. The pond was calm and inviting, but even if she were willing to swim in water that might be concealing gory surprises, it would be absolutely freezing.

Well, she had to do something to keep busy. She had enough weapons, and trying to set up booby traps seemed like a waste of time. So, what the hell, she'd go fishing.

She assembled Gary's pole, then went through his tackle box searching for a good lure. Of course, she didn't know what made a good lure, and none of the brightly colored objects looked anything like any type of fish she'd ever seen. She went with a fluorescent green one and tied it to the end of the line, then went out to the pond. There was only one embarrassing miscast before she got the line out into the water and began to slowly reel it in.

There. She was fishing. Gary would be proud of her.

She finished reeling in the line and cast it out again.

Yep, she was fishing all right. What excitement.

But, she had to admit, reflecting on how boring this sport was served as a halfway decent distraction from her other problems.

The line caught on something, but a quick tug pulled it free. It probably wasn't a fish.

She cast a few more times with no success. She had yet to see a fish jump, so it was entirely possible that there were none to be found. It didn't really matter either way, since she was just going to release whatever she caught anyway. She still had hot dogs and potato chips.

The line caught on something again, and this time it wouldn't come loose. She yanked it several times, then tried walking backwards, but that threatened only to snap the line. She sighed. It was close enough that she could probably wade out there and free it, if she cared in the least about saving the fluorescent green lure, which she didn't.

One more tug, and the line popped free. Well, not completely free, since reeling was making some progress but the lure still seemed to be caught on something heavy. Perhaps a particularly lazy fish.

She continued reeling. Maybe she'd caught the traditional tire, or boot, or whatever bad fishermen traditionally caught.

Maybe Doug's boot...

She lifted the line out of the water. The lure was attached to a large clump of grass and dirt. With some effort she extricated the hook and tossed the gooey clump back into the water. Then, after a quick glance around the area to make sure she was still alone, she cast the line again.

If only the convenience store shopping list had included some reading material.

Oh well. She had to admit that this was a bit relaxing. She was far from feeling like she was stretched out on a blanket on a sunny beach being served Pina Coladas by buff thong-wearing waiters, but her stress level had dropped a percentage point or two.

The line got caught again.

She gave it a sharp tug, and this time the lure pulled free easily. So easily that it popped out of the water and flew right toward her face. She stepped to the left, narrowly avoiding getting punctured and wondered if normal fishermen had to deal with this shit.

She wasn't about to quit. If she was going to save Gary from sadistic kidnappers, first she needed to prove to herself that she could do some simple fishing without getting killed.

She cast and reeled in the line three times without it getting caught on anything, including a fish. The fourth time the line ended up on the ground behind her, but that was okay, she was still doing better than she would have anticipated. The fifth time was her most perfect cast yet. If any cast was going to catch a fish, this was going to be the one.

She began to reel it in, and it got caught on something.

Not a fish.

Something heavy again. In fact, it felt a lot like that clump of dirt she'd caught before. But you never knew...it could be a dead fish, which would technically be a victory on her part.

She continued to slowly reel in the line, but then it stopped altogether. She gave it a very tentative tug, preparing herself to dodge a flying lure. Then another, slightly harder tug. Something gave, she wasn't sure what, and she was able to continue reeling in whatever was caught on the lure.

Now that it was closer, it felt a little heavier than the clump of dirt. She caught a flash of something metal on the surface of the water and gasped as she wondered if it was another tooth filling.

Or maybe a wedding band.

She increased the pace of her reeling, straining to see what she was pulling to shore. Finally she lifted it out of the water.

Just another clump of dirt and grass.

With a silver fishing lure caught in it.

Maybe even Gary, Doug, or Scott's. They weren't any better fishermen than she was.

"Nice catch," a voice called out behind her.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Rebecca gasped and dropped the fishing pole, feeling like she'd had an instant heart attack. She spun around and saw two men emerge from the woods. They both looked to be in their fifties and were wearing heavy jackets and backpacks.

Without hesitation, Rebecca grabbed the spear by her feet and held it out in a threatening manner. "Who the hell are you?" she demanded.

One of the men held up his hands to show that they were empty. "Whoa, hold on. Nobody's gonna hurt you."

"I asked who you were," Rebecca said, slowly making her way toward the campfire. The men didn't look dangerous, but neither had Alan at first glance.

"My name's Nicholas Barrett," said the first man, lowering his hands.

"Todd North," said the second.

"What do you want?" asked Rebecca, picking up a second spear.

"We're just here to do a little fishing," Nicholas insisted. "That's all. We're not here to hurt anybody."

"You can fish someplace else," Rebecca told him, surprised that she was able to talk at all, let alone with such authority, considering how terrified she was at the moment.

"Yeah, well, I know we can, but I own this land," said Nicholas. "So I'm not sure that I'm the one who needs to fish someplace else."

Rebecca stared at the men. They seemed friendly enough, but they also seemed nervous. Of course, having a strange lunatic woman point hand-made spears at them might have contributed to that, but still, what were the odds that they'd just happen to show up? This pond wasn't exactly right off the main highway.

"You need to leave," she said.

"I promise you, we're not here to hurt--"

"Now, damn it!"

Nicholas shook his head. "We're not about to leave a lovely young lady like yourself all alone, not when she so obviously needs some help. Now why don't we all just sit around that nice warm fire and talk this out?"

"Listen to me," said Rebecca. "I could not possibly be more serious. You and your friend have to get out of here, now. I can't explain. Just go!"

Nicholas shrugged. "If that's what you want, then we'll go. But I have to warn you, I'll be back before you know it with the police."

Rebecca cursed under her breath. Now what? If these guys were associated with Alan and Stephen, then they were staying, no matter what. If they'd been forced into the same type of situation that she was, then they also weren't going anywhere. And if it was a coincidence, if they really did own this pond and had just stopped by for some fishing, well, she couldn't let them contact the authorities.

None of these three options were appealing, but if it was the third one, she couldn't let them stay here and get killed.

"I can't talk about what's going on," she said, "but please don't go to the police. I don't know how I can convince you of this, but please believe me, you can't bring the police here without causing irreparable damage."

The men exchanged a glance. "I don't see how that could be true," said Nicholas, "but if that's the way you want it, so be it. We won't involve the law in this. But we're not going anywhere. You look like somebody who needs help, and I've never refused to help a lady in need."

"I'm not asking for your help."

"Either way, you need it, and we're staying."

The third option was no longer realistic. Nicholas was too insistent. All they'd have to do is promise not to tell anybody about her, leave, and then call the police anyway.

So, either they were on the kidnapper's side, or they were being forced into this. If they were on the kidnapper's side, they could very well have instructions to try to kill her, to see if she could get away. Survive the attack, just like Gary did. If they were forced into this, did that mean that they were playing the roles of Doug and Scott?      

Would Nicholas' blood cover the rocks next?

Did they even know how much danger they were in?

If they were innocent victims, then maybe she could warn them. They could work out some kind of plan, increase their chances of coming out of this alive.

But if they weren't innocent, and she revealed any part of her own dilemma to them, then she'd never see Gary alive again.

"You're risking your lives if you stay here," she warned.

"We'll take our chances," said Nicholas. "Would it be all right if we sat by the fire now? It's pretty chilly out here."

She almost said "sure," but caught herself. This was no time for polite behavior. She couldn't let her guard down in case they turned out to be working with Alan and Stephen. "Make your own," she told them.

"That's kind of heartless," said Nicholas. "We're only trying to help you out."

Rebecca didn't respond. The men looked at each other then began gathering branches for their own fire. She watched them intently, ready for them to rush toward her at any second, but they set up their own camp about thirty feet away from her without incident.       

Once they'd finished stacking the wood, Nicholas took a few steps toward her. "Mind if we borrow some fire?"

"You didn't bring matches?"

"I think we left them in the car."

They definitely weren't regular old campers. Rebecca wanted to refuse, but then again, she'd be better off getting as much information out of these guys as she could, especially if they were innocent victims.

Still, she wasn't letting go of the spears.

"All right," she said. "Bring a stick."

Nicholas picked up a branch and walked over to her fire. He poked the stick in the flames and gave her a friendly but uncomfortable smile.

"What brings you out here?" he asked.

"I don't want to talk about it."

He nodded and looked like he very much wanted to say something else, but didn't. He stood there for a moment. "I guess my stick's burning."

"I guess so."

He pulled the stick out of the fire and returned to his own site. Rebecca watched him carefully as he stuck the burning stick underneath the pile of branches, setting the tinder on fire.

Nicholas could still be working with Alan and Stephen, but she believed that he was being forced into this, just like her. He had the appearance of somebody desperately wanting to blurt out a secret but not daring, not the appearance of somebody biding his time until the right moment to strike.

But what about Todd? Did the two men even know each other?

That's what she needed to figure out. If Nicholas and Todd were both victims, then perhaps she could signal something to them. She had to be careful, because somebody could still be watching them from the woods, and the men could be bugged (hell, she could be bugged).  

If Todd was one of the bad guys, then she had to be even more careful.

She sat on her log, watching them for a few minutes until their campfire was burning nicely. They both crouched next to the fire, warming their hands. "Hey," Rebecca called out, getting their attention. "If you want to, you can take these other two logs to sit on, I'm not using them."

"Thanks," said Nicholas, walking over to her. Todd followed. Rebecca tightened her grip on the spear, still half-expecting them to lunge at her, but the men each picked up a log and returned to their camp. Only Nicholas thanked her.

They sat at their respective fires for a while, the two men speaking quietly. Rebecca couldn't hear what they were saying, but Todd's body language indicated a nervous rather than threatening tone, at least as far as she could tell.

She looked out at the woods. Nobody in sight.

What if Nicholas and Todd had no idea they were in physical danger?

She wanted Gary back more than anything, but could she live with herself if these men were slaughtered because she didn't give them any kind of warning?

It was an awful quandary. Was the risk of getting caught breaking the rules worth just letting them die?

She stared into the fire, thinking.

Until she was more certain about Todd, she wasn't going to take the risk. If she did decide that he could be trusted, she'd simply play it by ear. She wouldn't be giving up on Gary by breaking the rules. After all, she still had to survive the night if he was going to be released, and she'd have a much better chance of doing that if she had Nicholas and Todd on her side.

There were enough spears for everyone.

She thought about the game. If she was supposed to be following Gary's actions as closely as possible, then it stood to reason that both of the men were on her side. To match the original events, they needed a Gary, a Doug, and a Scott.

Unfortunately, she couldn't count on that. She'd been alone in the bar, even though all three of them would have been there the first time around. At least, that's what made the most sense. And she couldn't imagine that any of them would have started a fight over football, so somebody in the bar would have been the instigator, meaning the kidnappers weren't that anal-retentive about duplicating the events exactly.

Okay, even if one of them had started the fight, it definitely hadn't been Gary. So she'd played either Doug or Scott's role.

She could be playing one of their parts right now.

She could be the one whose blood covered the rocks. Maybe Nicholas was trying to save his wife.

She forced herself to stop analyzing the situation. It was just too confusing. All she had to do was figure out if Todd could be trusted then take it from there.

Rebecca stared at the fire some more, then came to a decision. She was going to let down her guard and go over and talk to them. See what she could figure out. Get to know them. If the three of them were going to survive whatever horrible events were going to take place, they had to at least start to form some kind of trust.

But, of course, she was going to bring the spears.

She tucked two of them under her arm, then picked up her log seat and walked over to their fire. "Mind if I join you?"

"No, of course not, sit down," said Nicholas.

She set the log down by the fire but still out of reach of the men. They sat in an uncomfortable silence for a long moment then Rebecca finally spoke. "If you're here to help me, you're not doing much by just sitting around."

Nicholas glanced over at Todd, then back at her. "You're right. We just, you know, thought you looked like you shouldn't be alone."

"Well, I appreciate that."

Nicholas bit his lower lip and stared out at the trees. He was definitely not one of the bad guys, and if they could find a way to talk alone...

"So how long have you two known each other?" she asked Todd.

Todd shrugged. "About twenty years, I think."

"Twenty years, that's right," said Nicholas.

"How'd you meet?"

"Our kids were beating each other up."

"Actually," Nicholas corrected, "my son was beating up your son."

"Yeah, with a bat. Real fair fight there."

"It was a cheap plastic bat."

"We've been over this thousands of times. Even cheap plastic bats hurt when you whack somebody over the head with them. If your son had a halfway decent father, he'd know how to fight fair."

Nicholas chuckled softly, and Rebecca smiled despite herself. The two men seemed to have genuine affection for each other. She wasn't going to leap to any judgments, but she suspected that both of them had been forced into this. They were Doug and Scott.

They were meant to die.

She'd keep talking to them to get a more definite impression, but before long she'd have to take the risk and try to communicate about their situation. Maybe they wouldn't be able to work out a plan, but they needed to know just how much danger they were in.

They chatted for a few more minutes about nothing important. Rebecca's impression grew more solid. These men were either long-time friends or excellent actors.

"So Nicholas, do you like to fish?" she asked.

"Of course."

"I found a really great spot," she said, pointing toward the stained rocks. "You should take my pole and give it a couple tries, you'll be surprised what you'll catch."

"Is that so? Maybe I'll test it out a little later."

"Why not test it now? Just a cast or two. It's really great fishing."

Nicholas nodded and stood up. "I thought I knew all the great spots in this pond," he said, as if suddenly remembering his cover story.

He walked over to the pond and retrieved Rebecca's fishing pole. He wandered over to the rocks, stood silently for a few seconds, then cast the line and reeled it in. He returned to the campfire, leaving the pole behind, and sat back down on his log, face pale.

"I guess you're right," he said, voice barely a whisper. "Somebody cleaned one hell of a big fish over there."

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Having company made the day go faster, even though they didn't talk about anything important and left long stretches of silence in their conversations. Rebecca kept hoping that one of the men would take the initiative and try to discuss why they were really at the pond, but neither of them did, even when she tried to drop subtle hints.

Todd went over to "test the fishing spot" as well, and returned even paler than his friend. They both seemed disturbed, but neither seemed surprised. She couldn't be sure how much they knew about the coming attractions, but they were both expecting to see blood.  

She almost tried to write a message in the dirt with one of her spears, but at the last instant couldn't bring herself to do it. If somebody was watching from the woods, it would be too obvious an attempt to break the rules.

So they just waited.

And then it was dark again.

* * *

"Is it an animal?"

"Yes," said Rebecca.

"Is it a mammal?"

"Yes."

Nicholas thought for a moment. "Is it native to Alaska?"

"Yes."

"How many questions is that?"

"Only three."       

"Okay. Does it have hair?"

"All mammals have hair," said Todd.

"Are you the one playing this?" Nicholas asked. "I'm pretty sure you're not, but you're more than welcome to correct me if I'm wrong."

"All right, fine. If you want to embarrass yourself in front of the lady by being an ignoramus, that's your choice."

"Thank you." Nicholas returned his attention to Rebecca. "The hair question doesn't count, right?"

"Right."

"Good. Does it have fur?"

"Hold on a second," said Todd, motioning for them to be quiet. "Did you hear that?"

They all fell silent. There was a quiet rustling coming from the woods, but it was no different from the other rustling they'd been hearing all evening.

"Another squirrel," said Nicholas.

Todd listened for a moment longer, then nodded. "Yeah, you're probably right."

"Maybe we should just not talk anymore," suggested Rebecca. "Keep as quiet as possible to make sure we don't miss anything."      

"No, it's not hurting anything for us to talk," said Nicholas. "That's the whole point of campfires, to sit around and talk."

"Right," said Todd.

"Maybe so," Rebecca admitted, "but these aren't exactly normal campfire conditions."

"Sure they are. We're all friends here by now, aren't we? There's nothing wrong with a group of friends sitting around the campfire enjoying a nice chat." Nicholas glanced at his watch. "In fact, I think it's just about time for campfire stories, what do you say? Have you heard 'The Hook'?"

"Lots of times," said Todd. "But you can tell it if you need to."

"So there's this boyfriend and girlfriend, and they're out parking and up to no good. Then the radio says--"

There was a rustling in the woods, much louder than any of the others. It continued for ten full seconds, sounding like somebody was trying to shake down a tree.

"I'll go check it out," Todd said.

"No!" Rebecca told him. "Don't go anywhere."

"I'll just go take a quick look. I'll be fine." Todd was breathing quickly. Nicholas placed a calming hand on his shoulder.

"No, stay here," Rebecca insisted. "It could be...it could be a bear or something."

"I don't think it's a bear. I'm sure it's nothing. I'll be back in a second." Todd got to his feet.

"Please, don't do it!" Rebecca stood up. "Stay here by the fire. Don't go over there."

"Really, I'll be fine." Todd forced a smile. "That's why men exist, to investigate strange noises."

Rebecca stepped over to him and grabbed his arm. "Don't do it."

"I have to," said Todd, violently yanking his arm away.

"Just let him do what he needs to do," Nicholas said, his voice filled with concern.

"You don't know what's out there!" Rebecca insisted.  

"That's why I'm going." Todd took a deep breath then began to walk toward the woods.

"No, wait, at least take one of these," said Rebecca, holding up a spear. Todd nodded and she tossed it to him. He continued walking.

Rebecca picked up another spear and the hook-laden shirt and then stood there, absolutely horrified. "Oh God...oh God...oh God..." she whispered under her breath.

The rustling started up again, continuing for another ten seconds.

Nicholas sat on his log, hand over his mouth. One of his knees was trembling. "Be careful," he said, though not loud enough for Todd to hear.

Todd was about fifteen feet from the woods. He stopped for a moment, as if to work up his courage, then continued moving forward.

Rebecca's muscles were tensed so tightly that she thought they might snap.

Todd was almost directly in front of the trees where the rustling came from.

There was a terrible shriek.

An animalistic, bloodthirsty shriek.

And then Alan burst out of the woods, arms outstretched, a hunting knife in each hand.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Rebecca screamed.

One of the knives struck Todd in the shoulder, while the other slashed across his upper chest. He cried out in pain, dropped his makeshift spear, and spun around, revealing his bloody wounds, the knife still lodged in his shoulder. Alan grabbed him by the back of the collar as Nicholas jumped to his feet and hurried forward.

Stephen rushed out of the woods, a few feet from where Alan had emerged. He held a shotgun. "Don't move, either of you!" he shouted, pointing the weapon first at Nicholas, then at Rebecca.

Nicholas stopped, just as Alan yanked the knife out of Todd's shoulder and pushed him to the ground. Nicholas raised the spear as if he were going to throw it, but apparently realized the futility of the gesture and returned to the campfire. Rebecca remained frozen where she stood.

"C'mon, get up," said Alan, kicking Todd in the side. "I didn't cut you that bad! Get the hell up!"

Stephen walked over to Rebecca and Nicholas, keeping the shotgun pointed at them and stopping about ten feet from the campfire. "Just let what's going to happen happen, and you'll live through the next few minutes."

"Minutes?" asked Alan. He gave Todd another brutal kick, knocking the man on his back. "I was thinking hours, days, weeks, months, years! World record torture times! Yeah!" Spittle flew from his mouth as he spoke. "Scream all you want, bitch! Nobody's gonna hear you out here!"

"You've got minutes," Stephen informed him.

Alan tapped Todd gently on the face with the toe of his shoe. "Let's go, get up, you heard the man, we've only got minutes!"

Todd groaned and made a weak effort to roll on his side. Alan gently tapped him on the face a couple more times, then started tapping his injured shoulder, and then stopped being gentle. Todd screamed in agony and took a swing at him.

"Oh, no, no, no...no fighting back," said Alan. "I think that naughty hand needs to be taught a lesson. I think that naughty hand is going to get crushed underneath my shoe."

He used his foot to roll Todd onto his back again then raised his heel high above Todd's hand.

Rebecca squeezed her eyes shut and turned away.

"I think you should watch," said Stephen. "Gary did."

Rebecca didn't open her eyes. She felt like she was going to pass out, throw up, and die of a heart attack all at once.

There was a gruesome crunch.

More screams from Todd.

Laughter from Alan.

Weeping from Nicholas.

"I mean it, I think you should watch," Stephen told Rebecca. "I'll pull the trigger if those eyes don't open right the fuck now."

Rebecca opened her eyes and turned her head. Through blurred vision she saw Alan grinding his heel back and forth over Todd's hand, as the man howled in misery.

Alan began to howl, mimicking him.

"Knock that shit off," said Stephen.

Alan stepped back and scraped his shoe off on the ground, cleaning it. "You in the mood for a fillet?" he asked Stephen. "Yeah, a nice meaty fillet sounds delicious right about now." Alan crouched down next to Todd and rolled him on his stomach.

Then he began to use the knife on his back.

Rebecca's body heaved with sobs. She couldn't do it. She couldn't make it through this. Gary was going to die, and so was she.

"I'm gonna kill both of you, I swear it," said Nicholas, his voice trembling with anger and terror.

"Yes, I'm sure you will," Stephen told him.

Alan continued to cut.

Rebecca's body had lost all sensation, as if she were merely floating there, observing the events through barely focused vision. If Alan were to go to work on her back with his hunting knife, she probably wouldn't feel a thing.  

Todd, on the other hand, obviously felt a lot.

"Move 'em out of the way," said Alan, running his index finger along one of the wounds in Todd's back and applying the blood to his own lips like lipstick. He made a kissy face at Rebecca. "I'm ready for the next step."

Stephen nodded. "Both of you step away from there," he told Rebecca and Nicholas. "He needs to use the fire."

Oh God...

Rebecca's point of view shifted, as if she were moving backwards. Her legs were responding to her brain's commands even if she couldn't feel them.

Nicholas stood firm.

"Step away," Stephen warned.

Nicholas still stood there. He looked as if he was ready to rush at Stephen at any moment. Stephen slowly shook his head.

"I can't emphasize strongly enough the need for you to step away from the fire," he said, speaking at a near-shout to be heard over Todd's wails of pain. "If you make us deviate from the plan, we will splatter you!"

"You already left the plan!" said Nicholas. He pointed at Rebecca. "She was supposed to die, not Todd!"

Stephen shrugged and grinned. "Well, you were given a slightly different version of the schedule. Sorry about that."

"What about my son?" Nicholas asked.

"If you don't move away, you'll never know, will you? But I bet you can figure it out."

Nicholas backed away from the fire, walking over to where Rebecca stood, about ten feet away.

Alan put one knife between his teeth, slammed the other into Todd's injured shoulder for safekeeping, and then grabbed Todd under the arms and began to drag him toward the campfire.

"Please...please don't..." Todd begged.

"Should've asked sooner," Alan informed him.

Once Todd was lying beside the fire, Alan crouched down next to him and picked up his good hand by the wrist. "I bet you thought that your crushed hand was getting the worse deal, didn't you?" Alan asked, thrusting Todd's hand into the flames.

All sensation suddenly returned to Rebecca's body as if she'd been given a blast of electroshock therapy. She pitched forward and vomited.

"Stop squirming," Alan said, punching Todd in the face.

Rebecca fell to her knees, coughing and heaving. She looked over at the campfire and saw Todd frantically struggling, thrashing with such intensity that Alan was having difficulty keeping his hand in the fire.

"Damn, this guy's a lot feistier than Doug was!" Alan said, bashing Todd's face against the ground. "Shitload of energy for an old guy! It's not gonna be easy to drag him over to the pond!"

"Screw it, then. Just kill him."

"No!" Nicholas shouted.

"Sounds good to me," said Alan. "I thought we missed a great opportunity when we just bashed Doug's face on the rocks."

He grabbed the back of Todd's head, and then thrust his face into the fire.

Rebecca slammed her hand over her mouth. She was going to go insane. Right now. Her mind was going to collapse upon itself until there was nothing left.

"Ow! Fuck!" Alan pulled his hand away from the fire, but quickly recovered and shoved Todd's head back into the flames. Todd's hair had completely caught fire, and Rebecca could see the skin blistering and blackening.

"End it," said Stephen.

Alan slammed the hunting knife into the back of Todd's neck. He gave it a good twist, and then Todd's body went limp.

"Poor Todd," said Stephen. "And poor Doug."

Alan dragged Todd out of the fire. He stood up, and then kicked his head a few times to put out the flames.

"I'll kill you," said Nicholas.

"Didn't we just hear that?" Stephen asked. "No, Nicholas, you most certainly will not kill us. Now would you like to know what happened to your son?"

Nicholas nodded.

"I scalped him," said Alan. "Scalped him good. Wanna see it?"

"Enough," said Stephen. "Your son is fine. We never touched him. All of those scary, convincing details I gave? Those came from stalking him as a potential victim, but we were presented with a much better opportunity and took it."

"Don't you feel like a dumb-ass?" asked Alan. "You got your best buddy killed and your son was never in danger. That’s gotta suck."

Nicholas' expression was blank, unreadable.

"Anyway, Nicholas," said Stephen, "let me quickly bring you up to speed. Rebecca's husband Gary went out camping with his two friends Doug and Scott, and we're currently reenacting that fateful night. As you've seen, Doug died a horrible death--not in the exact same way, but close enough. Guess what happened next?"

Nicholas said nothing.

"Go on, guess. You too, Rebecca. Tell me what you think happened next."

Rebecca was surprised that she was even able to speak. "You murdered Scott?"

"Wow. That's morbid. What do you think, Nicholas?"

Nicholas just shook his head and was silent.

"It's fine if you don't want to play. This is really Rebecca's game. Anyway, no, we did not murder Scott yet. What happened is that Alan was splashing around in Doug's corpse, and I have to admit that I was a little distracted, and then suddenly Gary and Scott made a run for it. We found ourselves chasing them through the woods toward their car. Gary made it. Let's see if you can."

He lowered his shotgun.

"The car is that way," he said, pointing. "Go. You get a ten second head start."

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Rebecca ran toward the darkness of the woods.

A second later, she heard Nicholas follow her.

Though it had been a long time since she'd allowed herself to believe that this all might be some sort of twisted prank, it was still a shock to see--beyond any possible doubt--that the danger was real. They'd murdered Todd right in front of her.

She ran as fast as she could. She was running almost blind, and it would only take a minor piece of bad luck to strike a branch, hit the ground, and shatter her kneecap, but she had to move. Had to beat Stephen and Alan to the car. Had to make it to the next round of this psychotic game.

She could hear Alan behind her, counting out loud. He was at five. "...four...three...two..."

Technically, she didn't have to run toward the car. She could run in a completely different direction and try to save herself, escape from these maniacs, call the cops like she probably should have done in the first place.

But that wasn't going to happen. Not a chance. She wasn't going to abandon her husband. If it meant that they died together, so be it, but there was no way in hell that Rebecca was going to leave Gary to the kind of fate that befell his friend.

"...one..."

She picked up her pace even more. It was only a mile. She could make it.

"Ready or not, here we come!"

A flashlight beam darted across the trees.

Shit! They had lights. She shouldn't have expected them to dash around in the dark, but still...it would've been nice...

Nicholas was right behind her, gasping for breath as he ran.

He needed to take a different path. Every indication was that Scott had died an excruciatingly painful death, possibly worse than Doug, and if Nicholas followed her to the car he'd suffer in the same way. If he veered away into the woods at least he'd have a chance.

"Don't follow--" Rebecca said, just as the dirt gave way beneath her left foot. It was just a bit, barely an inch, but enough for her to pitch forward onto the ground. She landed hard, and pain shot through her ankle and her hand at the same time.

Nicholas ran past her then stopped.

"Just go!" she shouted. "Get out of here!"

He looked back and forth between Rebecca and the flashlight beams, cursed, and then ran.

She suddenly realized why her hand hurt so badly: she'd been clenching the shirt in her fist when she fell, and several of the hooks had gone through her palm. One of them had gone all the way through the webbing between her thumb and index finger.

As she quickly stood back up, a wave of pain coursed through her right foot.

No. She could not have a sprained ankle. Not now. She tried to run, but nearly lost her balance and had to jam the spear into the ground to keep from toppling over.

One of the flashlight beams focused directly on her. No, not a flashlight beam--Alan wore a strapped-on headlamp. He stopped running and walked up to her almost casually. The smug bastard had a wide grin as he held up his bloody hunting knife.

"Gary didn't trip," he said. "Too bad for you."

Rebecca slapped him in the face.

It hurt like hell, almost as if her palm had been torn off, but Alan hadn't expected that move and she got him good, right on the left cheek. He cried out and clutched at his face.

Now what? Run or lunge at him with the spear?

To her great surprise, her first instinct was to lunge at the fucker with the spear. She aimed for his eye, but didn't come close. The spear struck him in the shoulder but didn't break through his jacket. Though it didn't draw blood, it was still a good hit. Alan lost his balance and fell to the ground. His headlamp popped off.

Rebecca hoisted the spear above her head. There was nothing in the rules saying she couldn't slam a sharp stick right into his cranium. That would still leave Stephen alive to take her to Gary.

"Drop it!" said Stephen. Rebecca glanced over and saw him standing about twenty feet away. He also wore a headlamp, leaving his hands free to point the shotgun at her.

As Alan sat up, Stephen lowered the weapon and shook his head, looking disgusted. "Screw it. You two work this out. I'm going after Nicholas." He ran past them.

Alan wiped some blood from his face and held up the knife. "I'm giving you another ten second head start," he said, with no trace of the sadistic playfulness he'd demonstrated before. "You think you can beat me with that stick?"

No. She did not.

But she also couldn't outrun him with an injured foot.

She swung the stick again, this time swinging it like a golf club. It cracked against the side of his head and then snapped in two.

* * *

Alan screamed without shame as the stick broke against his left ear. He wasn't sure why this kind of thing hurt so much worse when his skin was cold, but it felt like a horsewhip lashing against his frozen ear.

The bitch had taken him by surprise twice in, what, fifteen seconds?

His mistake was obvious: he'd assumed that she'd behave like a chickenshit. Clearly she would dare to attack him, which was insane! Did she really think that a pudgy out-of-shape girl like her could beat him? Ripping up his face a little bit and hurting his ear wasn't going to put him out of commission. It was just going to make him mad. Really, really mad.

He was only supposed to go after her with about seventy-five percent of his usual effort, but screw that. If she was so tough, let her prove it without him pulling his punches.

A shotgun blast rang out.

Nicholas screamed. A lot of pain in that scream. Stephen had probably hit an extremity.

Another blast.

Alan slashed at Rebecca with the knife, but missed as she snatched up his headlamp and took off running. Crap! He pushed himself to his feet and went after her.

* * *

Rebecca's foot really ached, but it wasn't injured badly enough to keep her from running, so she might just live through this. Alan and Stephen's plan probably hadn't involved her getting a hold of the light. Alan would be able to see exactly where she was, but even with a hurt foot she thought she could probably outrun him if he couldn't see the path or the branches. She held the light out in front of her, shining it onto the ground as she ran.

Nicholas was wailing. Rebecca could see Stephen's light--he was about fifty feet ahead, but it looked like they'd gone off the path.

"Please!" Nicholas shouted. "Please don't!"

What could Rebecca do? Stephen had a shotgun. She didn't even have her stick anymore.

As she continued running, she saw Stephen standing over Nicholas, popping two more shells into the weapon. He looked surprised to see that it was her with the headlamp. Then he looked...amused? He gave her a light wave and then snapped the shotgun shut and pointed it down at Nicholas.

She couldn't save him.

There was just no way.

She let out a sob as she kept running.

"Help me!" Nicholas screamed. "Please somebody help me!"

His scream was cut off by a third shotgun blast.

Don't think about it, Rebecca told herself. It's not your fault. There was nothing you could have done. They had no intention of letting him live.

Was that true? Had they murdered Scott with a shotgun as well?

"I'm comin' to getcha!" Alan called out behind her. "Gonna cut ya up good!"

Her heart gave a jolt, but Rebecca didn't pick up her pace. She couldn't risk tripping. Let him be the one to trip, if he wanted to run in the dark. There were plenty of obstacles on the path.

Something swished past her head.

"Dammit!" Alan shouted.

He'd thrown his knife and missed.

Go for the knife or keep running? Go for the knife or keep running? Choose quick, choose quick, choose quick...

She kept running. The car wasn't that much further away, and Alan would waste valuable seconds finding the knife himself.

A light beam shone across the path in front of her. Stephen was coming after her, too.

He wouldn't blow her away with the shotgun, would he?

Her good foot landed on a thick root, but she didn't stumble. Her lungs burned and it was becoming hard to breathe--she didn't do much running in her daily life--yet she didn't slow her pace. She could do this. She wasn't going to stop.

"Gonna cut your head off!" Alan shouted. "I'm gonna jam my hand up your neck and work you like a goddamn ventriloquist's dummy!"

He was losing it. Good.

Up ahead, she could see the car. She was going to make it, just like Gary had!

Stephen's light continued to shine in front of her, though he didn't emerge from the woods. She had no doubt that he could beat her in an even race, but he was on uneven terrain and if she could only make it another thirty seconds--

"You're dead!" Alan sounded much closer than she'd anticipated. Why the hell couldn't he just trip and break a leg?

She kept running.

Now she could see Stephen, just ahead of her, moving toward the path, shotgun raised.

She wasn't going to let either of them beat her. Not a chance in hell.

How did this even work once she reached the car? Did she just touch it and call "Base!" They certainly weren't going to let her get inside and drive away.

Stephen was almost to the path.

It looked like they might even collide.

Rebecca pushed herself into a full-out sprint, the kind she hadn't done since dropping out of soccer in high school. Stephen stepped out onto the path, but he was too late. She rushed out to the clearing and over to Gary's car.

She tugged at the door handle. Locked.

"Very well done," said Stephen, walking out into the clearing. Alan followed a few moments later, looking incredibly pissed. "Gary would be proud."

Rebecca leaned against the car, barely able to catch her breath. "Now what?"

"Now you drop to your knees."

"Why?"

Stephen pointed the shotgun at her. "Because I said so! Do you really want to get this far and make me blow your head off?"

Rebecca got down on her knees. Stephen walked over to her and pressed the barrel of the shotgun against her forehead.

"This is where we were going to murder Gary. But, like I said, he made a plea for his life that managed to touch the heart of even a sociopath like myself. It's time for you to do the same. Make it good."

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The shotgun barrel was like frostbite against her forehead.

"Fuck this up," said Alan. "Please, fuck this up so I can use my knife."

"Shut up," Stephen told him. "Go on, Rebecca. Impress me."

Rebecca closed her eyes. If she couldn't see the men, couldn't see the shotgun, she just might be able to get through this. "You can't kill me," she said. "Gary and I need each other. I...I need him to tell me that I don't look fat, and he needs me to rub his shoulders after he gets back from playing racquetball. I need--"

"Do you really think I care if you think you look fat?" Stephen asked. "Try a different angle."

"I love him," Rebecca said. "I don't think I could live without him."

"I think you could live just fine. For all you know, he's been dead all weekend, and you're still alive."

"You're fucking uuuup," said Alan.

Rebecca squeezed her eyes even more tightly closed. What did they want from her? What could Gary have said?

"We're soul mates."

"I don't believe in soul mates."

"Please, you can't kill him. I'm begging you." Rebecca's whole body was quivering and she didn't try to stop the tears. "He's everything in my world. I've done everything you've asked so far, and you've got to at least let me see him one last time. One more time. That's all I'm asking. You owe me that."

"No," said Stephen. "I don't owe you a thing. And you're begging for me to spare the wrong life, because right now I feel like showering your hubby with pieces of you. That's what we'll do. Pour a barrel of Rebecca parts over his head. How does that sound?"

"If you want to kill me, then kill me. Just don't hurt him."

"Open your eyes."

Rebecca opened them.

"Say that again."

"If you want to kill me, then kill me. Please don't hurt Gary."

"You look genuine. I'll be damned. You'd actually rather we kill you than your husband?"

"Yes."

Stephen glanced over at Alan. "You believe her?"

"She sounds like she's telling the truth. Which makes her a fucking idiot, because I guarantee you, after three seconds she'd be wishing it was Gary under my knife instead of her. Three seconds. We should test that."

"We should, but we're not." Stephen looked back down at Rebecca. "So you're willing to give up your life for his, huh? Very admirable. Very courageous. Unfortunately, it's not what I'm looking for. You get one more try. If your answer doesn't convince me that you should live, well, you're not going to."

"I--I don't know what you--"

"Think carefully before you speak."

What was she supposed to say? What could change Stephen's mind? What did he want to hear?

"Think carefully but quickly," Stephen said. "You have ten seconds."

As he began the countdown, she suddenly realized what it must be.

"If you kill me, you won't get to end the game."

"Killing you would end the game."

"But you planned out an endgame, right? If you kill me here, you'll have wasted the time preparing it."

Stephen considered that. "You have a point. But it's not the point I'm looking for. We'll forget you said that and give you one more chance."

"Oh, c'mon!" said Alan. "I'm getting blue balls here!"

"I said shut up. Don't think I won't turn the gun on you. And, yeah, Rebecca, we do have an endgame planned, but I guarantee you we won't cry ourselves to sleep if we have to abandon it. We'll be just fine. No more free answers. Convince me to let you live."

She had no idea what he wanted. What could she possibly say to make a pair of psychos like Stephen and Alan believe that they shouldn't kill her? What did they value? They didn't care that she and Gary were deeply in love, and they didn't care about the sacrifices they were willing to make for each other. What would a couple of sleazy murdering scumbags feel was lost if she or Gary was killed?

"The sex is unbelievable," she said. "Please don't take it away from us. I'll never get laid like that again."

Stephen pulled the barrel of the shotgun away from her head.

"I can respect that. Alan, unlock the car. Let's take her to see Gary."

* * *

They put a cloth sack over her head and then put her in the back seat of Gary's car. The drive was only about five minutes, but they let her out of the car only to usher her into the trunk of the car that Alan had first used to kidnap her.

This was a much longer, colder drive.

She tried to feel relief, but couldn't. She'd still seen their faces. Still knew their names. And for all she knew, Gary had been murdered hours ago. His body could be facedown in the woods, being devoured by bears.

But...this is where Gary's night had ended, right? Convincing Stephen not to kill him? She'd relived his entire experience, and survived, and if they were playing fairly the only step left was to take her to her husband and set them both free.

Maybe they'd do it. Maybe this was over.

It was difficult to judge the time, but the drive had to be over an hour before the car finally came to a stop. She'd slowly passed much of the time by carefully removing the fishing hooks from her hand. The trunk lid flew open, and she was greeted by the unpleasant yet familiar sight of Stephen's shotgun.

"Get out carefully," he said. "Don't mess it up now."

She climbed out of the trunk. They were still in the woods, and she recognized the cabin--it was the same one they'd been in before.

"Is he inside?" she asked.

"Could be. Could be underneath. Don't make any sudden moves."

She slowly walked toward the cabin. Alan opened the door for her, and then gestured with his hunting knife for her to go inside. She did.

The main room was empty.

"Take off your jacket and then sit down," Alan said, pulling a wooden chair into the center of the room.

"You have to promise me I'll see Gary."

Alan shrugged. "Fine. I promise."

Rebecca took off her jacket, tossed it on the floor, and sat down in the chair. Alan walked over to a small shelf and picked up a roll of duct tape. While Stephen kept the shotgun on her, Alan looped the tape around her ankles, taping them to the legs of the chair, and then did the same to her wrists, taping them to the armrests.

"Your husband," said Stephen, "is in the next room."

"Is he...is he alive?"

Stephen stared at her for a moment with absolutely no expression, and then nodded. "Yes, he is. Congratulations, Rebecca. Gary had a terrible weekend, and you had one that was almost as bad. I'll give Gary the edge because he had more of a personal connection with the people we murdered, and because we beat the shit out of him, but still, you two have a lot of common experiences to talk about."

"So bring him out."

"Can't do that quite yet. Now, I said that you had to relive his experience, see what he saw, do what he did, and survive it. You did that. The only problem is...his experience isn't over yet."

"I don't understand," said Rebecca, even though she did, completely.

"Which one do you want?" Stephen asked Alan.

"The girl."

"No surprise there. So, Rebecca, I've always believed that the best way to bring a couple closer together is for them to be cut up at the same time. We're going to test that theory."

Stephen walked out of the main room, through a doorway. Alan wiggled his eyebrows at Rebecca and kissed the blade of his knife.

"Is the gag off yet?" Alan asked.

"Not yet."

"Hurry up."

"I'll pick the pace, asshole. Okay, now it's off."

"Rebecca!"

It was Gary! His voice was strained, as if he had laryngitis, but he was alive!

"Gary! I love you so much!"

"Are you okay? Did they hurt--?"

There was a loud thump, and Gary went silent.

"No talking!" shouted Stephen from the other room. "You can scream but you can't talk. The first person to use an actual word loses an eye."

"Go on," Alan urged. "Use a word. Say something. Let's empty that socket."

"Are you ready, Alan?" asked Stephen.

"Oh, hell yeah."

"Then let's make the first cut."

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Alan pushed the sleeve of Rebecca's sweater up over her elbow. Then he touched the tip of the knife against the back of her arm.

"Does that hurt?" he asked.

Rebecca didn't answer.

"Can't get you to use a word that easily, huh? No problem. That eyeball is coming out one way or another. But for now..."

Very slowly, he pulled the knife down her arm, parting the skin, leaving a red trail down to the back of her wrist.

In the other room, Gary grunted with pain.

"Sounds like Stephen is going deeper than I am," said Alan. "We'll fix that with the next one."

"You done?" Stephen asked.

"Yep. Let's do the other arm."

Alan pushed up her sleeve then held his index finger in front of his lips in an exaggerated "Shhh!" gesture. "Don't tell anybody," he whispered, "but I'm going to cheat a bit."

He placed his hand over her hook-torn hand, winked, and then squeezed his fingers tightly closed. Rebecca cried out.

"Damn, Alan! What are you doing out there?" Stephen asked.

"Nothing, nothing." He then proceeded to cut Rebecca's arm the same way he had the other one, except that he did indeed cut deeper this time. Rebecca sucked in a deep breath through her gritted teeth but didn't scream.

She could get through this. It was just physical pain. Probably not as bad as the pain of having a baby, which they would do for goddamn sure if they survived this ordeal.

"Both arms are leaking bad," Alan announced.

"Time for the neck, then."

"Oooooh, the neck." Alan placed the tip of his blade just under Rebecca's ear. "I'm going to cut you ear to ear. I hope not to sever any important veins or arteries, but a lot of that will depend on you. Be very, very still. Do not move. We're not equipped to help you if blood starts gushing out of your jugular, so be a statue. Understand?"

She stared straight ahead, focusing on a pinpoint spot in the center of Alan's chest, as he slowly drew the blade across her throat. He wasn't cutting deep, probably nothing more than a superficial wound, though she could feel at least two trickles of blood running down her neck.

Don't move...don't move...

Her ears were ringing and she wanted to throw back her head and just shriek like an animal, but she didn't. She remained frozen.

Alan stopped right in the center of her neck. "Does it hurt?"

Still frozen.

He resumed cutting.

Rebecca's mind was in a state of absolute panic, and she wasn't breathing, not even through her nose, but she didn't give in to the terror. Alan slid the blade all the way up to her other ear then held it up to her, showing her the bloody edge.

"She's still alive," he said to Stephen.

"No corpse here, either. I'll bring him out."

There was a loud screech, and then a few moments later Stephen dragged Gary, duct-taped to his own chair, out of the other room.

Lines of blood ran down his neck and his arms, and the side of his face was bruised so badly that he was barely recognizable, but he was still alive. She'd get to hold him again. Share a bed with him again. She knew it. They were going to get out of this.

"The eyeball gouging threat is lifted for one minute," said Stephen, looking down at his wristwatch. "Say what you need to say."

"God, Rebecca, I'm so sorry!" said Gary. "I'm so sorry you got pulled into this!"

"It's not your fault! I love you!"

"I love you too!"

"I promise you, we're going to live," said Rebecca. "We can endure whatever they try to put us through! Just stay strong! We can't come this far only to die, so just promise me you'll stay strong!"

"Has it been a fucking minute yet?" asked Alan.

Gary was sobbing. "I can't believe you did this for me. I love you."

Alan pretended to jam a finger down his throat. "Come on, Stephen, I don't want to hear this bullshit."

Stephen kept his eye on his watch. "They still have time."

Rebecca had nothing else to say. Not in front of these two. She'd save it for when they were together, alone. She mouthed I love you and went silent.

"That's it?" Stephen asked. "All right, you two lovebirds. I'm glad you got your final words out of the way. They say that love is blind, and we're going to find out if that is true, because now, we are indeed going to stab out your eyes. Both of them."

Alan chuckled. "And then we're going to cut out your tongues. Not many people get the opportunity to french kiss from across the room."

"They sure don't," said Stephen. "Now trade me."

"What?"

"Trade me."

"Fuck that. She's mine."

"No. She is not."

Alan looked as if he were going to argue then shrugged. "Fine. I can stab out a man's eyes as well as a woman's, I guess. When we get to nipples, we're trading back."

They switched places. Stephen stood in front of Rebecca and clenched his own knife tightly in his fist.

"You're not going to let us live, are you?" she asked.

Stephen shook his head. "Nope. But do you know why I wanted to trade?"

"No."

"Because though my friend is a torture-happy fiend, I am not. I'm all talk. So Gary is going to suffer, but I'm going to put you out of your misery. Do you want to tell him you love him one more time?"

"Not in front of you."

"That's totally understandable." He leaned down close to her, his face inches away from hers. "I'd like to let you two die together, but I'm not a fan of romantic endings. This isn't tragedy. This is horror. Gary is going to be screaming for a long time after you're gone. Good night."

He slammed the knife into her chest.

She barely felt it.

CHAPTER TWENTY

It seemed like a sweet mercy to be detached from all sensation, as when she'd watched Todd go into the fire, but it would be leaving Gary behind.

She couldn't leave Gary behind until she was dead.

She wasn't dead yet.

Right now, she was alive, with a knife jutting out of her chest, and Stephen's head only inches away from her own.

She slammed her forehead into his face as hard as she could, not caring if she shattered her skull and sent pieces of her brain flying across the room. She might not be able to get out of this alive, but she could sure as hell make him regret ever kidnapping her.

Stephen let out a howl--an actual howl--and stumbled away as blood jettisoned from his nostrils. He'd pulled the knife most of the way out, though the blade remained lodged a couple of inches deep into her chest.

"God damn it!" he screamed, hands over his nose.

Alan seemed to think that was absolutely hysterical. He let out a long, loud laugh. "Oh, man, she really messed you up. Need a towel?"

"No, I don't need a fucking towel!" Stephen used both hands to wipe blood from his face onto his shirt. "I think she broke it."

"Not a bad guess from all the blood."

Rebecca's hands and feet were taped, but her torso wasn't, so she thrust it back and forth several times. The knife dropped out of her chest and onto her lap. Her chest was bleeding, but not nearly as bad as Stephen's nose.

Gary saw that she'd freed the knife, and began to slam back against his chair, trying to topple it over. She knew exactly what he was trying to do: create another distraction.

"What the hell are you doing?" Alan asked, stepping behind him and smacking Gary on the back of the head.

Rebecca couldn't lift her knees much, but it was enough. She grabbed the knife by the blade, twisted it around in her fingers, and went to work cutting through the duct tape that bound her wrist. It was a good, sharp knife.

Gary jerked himself to the side, toppling over his chair. The chair didn't break apart and Gary wasn't in a much better position than before, but Alan was looking at him instead of Rebecca.

She cut through most of the tape then yanked her hand free.

Stephen was still staggering around the room, hands pressed tightly against his face, bellowing in agony. If only a bone fragment had shot into his brain.

"You think you're gonna get away from me like that?" asked Alan, kicking Gary in the chest. "Is that what you think? You think you're gonna get a less painful death?"

Rebecca slashed through the duct tape binding her swollen, bloody hand, cutting through the skin in the process, and then went to work on her feet.

Alan kicked Gary so hard that Rebecca thought she heard his ribs crack, and then he realized what Rebecca was doing with the knife. She freed her left foot.

Alan strode across the room toward her, holding his own knife in front of him. As he passed Stephen, he smacked him hard on the shoulder. "Snap out of it! It's just a broken nose, for fuck's sake!"

Rebecca's hand was trembling so badly that she could almost feel the bones rattle, but she cut through the last piece of tape.

She leapt out of the chair like a wild animal. She didn't care that Alan had a knife--she had one, too. If she hesitated, if she was the least bit squeamish or frightened, she'd be dead. So would Gary. Her husband was lying right there on the other side of the room, and God damn it she was going to get him back.

She lunged at him with her knife at the exact moment that he swung his toward her face.

His blade slashed across her chin.

Her blade punched into his throat.

Alan grabbed his neck and gasped as if he were choking to death. His eyes went wide and blood dribbled from the corners of his mouth.

Rebecca picked up her chair, which felt weightless, and smashed it into him, knocking him to the floor.

Stephen ran at her.

As adrenaline fired through her veins, she swung the chair at him as well. Stephen held up his arm to defend himself, and it snapped on impact, a jagged bone bursting right through the sleeve of his jacket.

With the next swing, his jaw caved in.

He went down.

She bashed the chair into him one more time, and Stephen stopped moving.

There was no time to relax. She picked up Stephen's knife, hurried over to Gary, and gave him a big kiss on the lips. He winced in pain but kissed her back.

She cut one of his hands free then started on the other, but he shook his head.

"No, no, I can do it. You find a phone. You're bleeding really bad."

She looked down at her chest and realized that he was right. It was a ghastly stab wound. But she wasn't going to die from it. There was a hospital stay in both of their futures, but they weren't going to die.

Though she didn't want to resort to primal savagery, she couldn't have Alan attacking her while she was trying to search him for a phone. Three more bashes with the chair eliminated that possibility. Stephen was still breathing, but he was unconscious and no threat. If he did look like he might become a threat, she still had the chair.

She found a cell phone in his pocket; it had a signal.

She dialed 911.

* * *

They decided that it was better to wait for the authorities to pinpoint the cell phone signal than to risk getting lost trying to drive out of the woods, or passing out at the wheel of a moving vehicle. So they sat against the wall, holding each other.

"Did you really get into a bar fight?" she asked.

"Scott did," Gary admitted. "It was really stupid. We chewed him out the entire way to the campsite." He chuckled then winced. "I hope I didn't puncture a lung."

"So Scott and Doug are both dead?"

Gary gave her a sad nod. "Yeah." He wiped at his eyes. "I had no idea what those psychos wanted. They asked me all kinds of questions about what we'd done that day but they didn't say why they needed to know. I kept waiting for them to kill me. I was just...I was completely freaking out the entire time. I can't believe you rescued me."

"And now you're never allowed to leave me again."

Gary kissed her cheek. "Never."

* * *

They saw the flashing lights of the ambulance, and then the cabin was filled with paramedics and police officers. They lifted Rebecca onto a stretcher, assuring her that she was going to be all right.

As two cops raised Stephen's mangled body, he opened his eyes and shrieked in pain.

"You bitch!" he said. He sounded like he was trying to shout but his voice wasn't working right. "I'll find you! I'll hunt you down, and..." He coughed up some blood, and then shrieked out again as the cops lifted him onto his own stretcher, none too gently. "I'll find you," he repeated, and then he succumbed to pathetic sobbing. 

Rebecca looked him straight in the eye and smiled.

"You don't scare me."

The End

Other Books by Jeff Strand

A Bad Day For Voodoo. A young adult horror/comedy about why sticking pins in a voodoo doll of your history teacher isn't always the best idea.

Fangboy. A dark comedy fairy tale about the adventures of Nathan Pepper, who was born with a mouth full of sharp teeth.

Wolf Hunt. Two thugs for hire. One beautiful woman. And one vicious frickin' werewolf.

The Sinister Mr. Corpse. The feel-good zombie novel of the year.

Dweller. The story of a decades-long friendship between Toby and the monster that lives in the woods behind his home. Bram Stoker Award nominee for Best Novel.

Benjamin's Parasite. A rather disgusting action/horror/comedy about why getting infected with a ghastly parasite is unpleasant.

Pressure. What if your best friend was a killer...and he wanted you to be just like him? Bram Stoker Award nominee for Best Novel.

Kutter. Charlie Stanlon is a reprehensible serial killer, a vicious beast who cares about nobody...until he finds an injured Boston Terrier in the park...

Graverobbers Wanted (No Experience Necessary). First in the Andrew Mayhem series.

Single White Psychopath Seeks Same. Second in the Andrew Mayhem series.

Casket For Sale (Only Used Once). Third in the Andrew Mayhem series.

Lost Homicidal Maniac (Answers to "Shirley"). Fourth in the Andrew Mayhem series.

Suckers (with JA Konrath). Andrew Mayhem meets Harry McGlade. Which one will prove to be more incompetent?

Gleefully Macabre Tales. A collection of thirty-two demented tales. Bram Stoker Award nominee for Best Collection.

The Severed Nose. What would you do if you came home one evening and found a severed nose lying on a plate on your dining room table?

Disposal. Frank, a self-proclaimed scumbag, is hired to murder an old man...but the old bastard just won't DIE!!!

Elrod McBugle on the Loose. A comedy for kids (and adults who were warped as kids).

Out of Whack. A coming-of-age comedy about love, friendship, and the realization that trying to yank somebody's panties off in a passionate manner can only lead to wedgies.

How to Rescue a Dead Princess. A ridiculous spoof of fantasy novels. Lots and lots and lots of jokes, but I'm willing to admit that it perhaps tries a bit too hard.

The Haunted Forest Tour (with Jim Moore). The greatest theme park attraction in the world! Take a completely safe ride through an actual haunted forest! Just hope that your tram doesn't break down, because this forest is PACKED with monsters...

Draculas (with JA Konrath, Blake Crouch, and F. Paul Wilson). An outbreak of feral vampires in a secluded hospital. This one isn't much like Twilight.

For information on all of these books, visit Jeff Strand's more-or-less official website at http://www.jeffstrand.com