Hi, I am the daughter of the author. What am I doing here? I have a place here. In fact two places. What are they? This is a mystery series. You either have to figure it out or wait until it is reveled.
Did you notice my daughter’s picture? Yep, she is here.
At some point L C fell asleep.
She woke up when the car bounced over bumpy roads that shook her in the trunk as though she were a shake and bake woman, needing only to be breaded properly.
Eventually the car stopped. Doors slammed. And at long last, the trunk opened. Hands grabbed her, pulling her out of the trunk. She had pictures of being drug somewhere. She weighed one hundred and fifty pounds, which the doctor told her was not seriously over weight for her height, but which she had found many men could not carry.
Her legs were pulled out first. Perhaps her restraints would be cut and she would be allowed to walk.
Or maybe it was a rapist.
She had not given much thought to why she had been kidnapped, or what would be done to her besides killing her and leaving her body in a ditch or something of the like. For a second she had hoped the tape binding her legs would be cut, now she dreaded the idea.
The rest of her body was pulled out of the trunk.
Whoever had her was able to carry her and walk with her. She tried to get some picture of what the person might be like. She was unsuccessful.
She wondered if she were being carried over a threshold like a wedding couple was supposed to do.
Once again she went back to the problem of why she was being kidnapped. Could it have to do with why she was in jail? Nothing she could think of made sense to her.
The person, she was sure it was a man, somewhat thin, dumped her into a chair with a plop. It felt like a wooden kitchen chair. It hurt her hands, which were at the small of her back.
Rope was looped around her chest. She was being tied to the chair. When her upper body was secure the abductor turned attention to her legs. Rope was tied around her ankles and pulled back. After all that was done she was poked and prodded as though to make sure she could not move.
A voice was mumbling. She wondered if there might be more than one, but she could not hear anyone else. Nor did the voice seem to be directed to anyone else, not even her. It sounded most like the voice of a person trying to make sense of written directions. Like her father would make when he put together a bicycle for her from a box. Her father loved it when things were obvious enough he could put things together without needing to make sense of the directions.
She wondered if her kidnapper were reading directions on how to tie knots.
When she was secure in her chair it was tilted backwards as though she was going to fall. A seconds worth of new fear hit her. Then she was being drug.
Tilted up again. She was being pushed into a place.
“You’ll be okay in here until I get back.” A voice told her. “You can scream and yell all you want now. Nobody around here to hear you. But it will be a while before I get back with food. You might not want to tire yourself out.”
A door was closed on her. She was sure then she was in a closet because the door pressed against her shins hard as it was slammed too. Something was done outside to secure it.
There were footsteps, then silence.
Two miles a way Tom drove the pickup up a back road well away from people or cabins so his brother-in-law and his pain in the ass dog would not distract them from what they had come up here to do: Hunt. The dog looked steadily in the direction of the cabin where the dead man had been.
Five miles away a little dog named Rocko went up to a window, scratching at the pane and barking, trying with all of its three-pound weight to force its way through the glass. Aunt Emerald picked him up, scratched him absently behind the ear and peered outside. In the background the parakeet, Tabby, barked twice, then shut up.
Aunt Emerald saw nothing. There was nothing to see.
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The Homewrecker Series (tm) 
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