He stared at the hand in horror, seeing blood where there wasn’t any.
“The misses would like to thank you, too. Unfortunately, she can’t leave the house. I’d like you to come with us so she can thank you in person.”
Alex blinked at him. The man spoke, but it sounded like babble. The blackness surrounding Gibson found its way into him, making him sick and dizzy. He swayed helplessly, while confusing images crowded his mind, one after another, impressions of darkness and rusted chains, damp walls.
Gibson grasped his arm and guided him from the store, finding him compliant to his directing. A gray flatbed truck stood at the curb. Rousing to the danger, Alex balked when Gibson opened the door. He pulled sharply on his arm to be free, but a blow to his face staggered him. Dazed, he was shoved onto the oily floorboards, and the boy climbed in on top of him. Doors slammed and the truck started.
- authorfloral designer, present
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