Page 133 of Evil Bones
Had I fallen again? Been pushed?
Flashback image.
The earlier tumble from the rocks by the lake.
Hall had been nearby then.
A stroke of good luck, I’d said.
But had her presence been other than serendipitous?
Had that spill been the result of a deliberate attack? Had this one?
What of the sting on my arm? A bee? A wasp?
A needle?
Had I been injected with a knock-out drug?
Had Hall been the attacker?
If so, why?
Had she tied me up and transported me?
Imprisoned me?
Why?
And again. Where was I?
The mental probing produced zilch.
I called out for help.
My cries echoed and bounced back on themselves.
I screamed until my throat was raw.
Maybe it was the fall, or a blow to my head, or a pharmaceutical cocktail polluting my blood, but consciousness came and went. Each time upon waking, I had no way of knowing how long I’d been out. Hours. Days? Surely not days.
I was wearing only the shorts and tank I’d donned to go jogging. They were soaked. My skin was goose bumped, my body shivering uncontrollably.
My gut rumbled with hunger.
The tomb-like darkness and silence played games with my mind.
One definition of crazy is the repetition of an action regardless of consistently negative results. I went through the same loops again and again. The futile wrenching and yanking. The useless questioning.
Was I going crazy?
Following each bout of frenzied thrashing, I’d lower my lids, hoping to heighten my awareness of other sensory stimuli. Unnecessary, since my optic nerves were inputting zilch.
It was to no avail.
There was nothing I could do but lie there in the muck and impenetrable darkness. Willing my eyes to see something when they were open.Anything. A thin trickle of light above or below the edge of the blindfold.
Despite the chill and damp, I must have fallen deeply asleep, for I woke with a start, my heart banging like a kettle drum in my chest.
