I didn't grow up with a family, so I know that I'm not exactly fortunate in some departments. But my readers, the people who have supported me in my writing journey, they have become my family. Lemon and her family, they've been my family too.
I'm so lost in this reflection that I don't even hear as footsteps begin to creep up behind me until it's too late.
The next thing I know, someone has their hand pressed against my mouth, dragging me from the bank of snow into a wooded enclave.
I begin to scream, loudly – because I know that's what you're supposed to do when someone is attacking you.
I mean, it's never happened to me before, but I've read about it.
I've even written about it. I start to kick. “Get off of me!!”
I elbow this person. I try to wriggle around so that I can see their face, but I can't. I feel muffled. He's dragging me quickly toward a vehicle.
"Let me go," I shout. I scream, but I'm in the middle of nowhere. I'm in the woods alone with him, and now I'm in his truck. He has my hands tied with rope, and he has duct tape around my mouth. I'm screaming, begging him.
Tears stream down my cheeks, and it's all happening so fast, within minutes, moments.
One minute, I'm taking a leisurely stroll, thinking of a gratitude lesson. The next I'm locked in the car of stranger, terrified.
He's a man who looks ill, deranged. He's bald, with big, beady eyes. He's thick. His body is not healthy. And I can tell he is not a sane person.
I push at him with my shoulders, trying to get him to let me out. I kick at the doors, but he wraps rope around my shoulders, restraining me even further. He begins to drive wildly into the woods. And I realize if I try to jerk my body against his, he'll get us in a car crash.
And I'm scared of dying. I don't want to get in a vehicular accident and have this car go over a cliff. I don't know these woods. I don't know the cliff sides of this mountain.
I fear that if I do something stupid while this truck is moving, that could be the end of me.
That can't happen.
I haven't finished my series. I haven't told the end of Bellissima's journey. She hasn't found her happily ever after. She's still riding her freaking polar bear through the land of Winter Fallhaven. She needs to find her warrior before I die. And so do I.
Eventually, the man stops driving. We're at a shack, a scary, creepy shack. He rips the duct tape off my mouth, and I try to bite him. My teeth smack; I hiss.
"You stop your screaming," he yells at me.
I think he's going to slap me, but he doesn't. Instead, he looks at me with a tenderness that frightens me even more than anger would. "You are my little pet now. You're coming inside my house because that is where you belong. You are my little pet. Doesn't that sound nice? You're a pretty little thing, aren't you, with your fur and your pretty little coat? Perfect for my little pet. Just like I knew my Bellissima would be."
My eyes go wide at his words that disgust me, horrify me. Bellissima? I try to get out of the car as he walks around to the passenger door, but he's tied me so tightly with the rope that I can't.
He uses a box cutter, once he's opened my door, to take off my restraints, and I'm thinking this might be my chance.
But he's too quick. He gets me inside of his house by lugging me over his shoulders. I try to grab for a rock, for a stick, for a branch, but he's parked so close to his shack that I can't reach for anything before we're inside.
"Damn it," I shout. But before I can say any more, he’s pressing a cloth to my mouth.
I’m a writer.
I know what is happening, even though I cannot do anything to stop it.
Chloroform.
Everything goes dark before I even get a chance to say goodbye.
3
JACOB
Once I’m back home with my groceries and mail, I began to put everything away, wanting to keep my place nice and tidy. I'm not expecting to bring Juniper Jones back here, but that thought has crossed my mind.
I can see it – her and me, nestled close by the fire, uncorking a nice bottle of wine. I could ask her what really brought her up to Alaska.
I put all that cheese in the fridge, shaking my head. No, I don't exactly want to go there with that line of questioning because it would bring her circling back to me, asking me the very same thing.
Why I'm here in Alaska. What brought me to this place? I run a hand over my jaw, knowing that I'm not exactly ready to go there with a woman I just met, no matter how curvy and beautiful she might be.