Blonde curls bounce like a ball against Josie Garrison’s back as she jogs across her  well kept yard. Heat radiates from the burning sun that hangs droopily in the sky. The mid-summer sun beats down upon everything in sight. Leaves hide amongst themselves, their roots reach out to their fullest extent in search of the slightest drop of water.
“Doggy,” I yell as I stand at the edge of my yard by a large stock tank nearly emptied by the hot summer sun.
“DOGGY!” I yell again. Finally, a small reddish head materializes from over the hills. It always makes me smile to see how he will prance down to the stock tank, attention grabber, that one. He slowly made his way down to me. I hear the slow pound of his hooves on dry ground like a slow and dull heartbeat, ever going until, stop.  A 15.3 hands high, chestnut gelding stands in front of me. His breath smelling of grain while wet green slobber drips from his lips. I lift up his stained green halter and tighten it around his head, careful to avoid his wet lips. A sharp bark makes my head swivel. Ringo, my 90 pound German Shepherd, is being berated by the 3 pound kitten.
“Silly dog,” I mutter, turning back to Doggy who has already successfully stained my jeans with his green slobbering lips. “Argh, it sure is hot isn’t it, Doggy,” I say almost expecting an answer from the horse. I walk down a slope towards my driveway, where my father stands, staring like a statue at the sky, as if expecting rain to come if he willed it to.
“Dad when is it supposed to rain?” I ask.
“No sign of rain” he says grimly.
“At least this is good conditions for the Dairy Queen,” I say with a smile. My family owns the local Dairy Queen, as well as a thousand acre ranch in the rolling Flint Hills. To anyone who has never been to the Heartland during the summer, I suggest they go. The rolling green grass, that goes on and on as an ocean, to me, is really much prettier than any beach or ocean, even though I’ve never been.
“Well how is ‘Ole RedDog today?” my dad says, bringing me back to the present.
“Good like always,” I reply throwing a sideways smile at the horse who is helping himself to our short, soft, carpet like yard grass.
“Where are you riding,” Dad says with a grunt as he lifts my saddle onto RedDog’s already sweaty back.
“Anywhere out of the sun,” I sigh glancing up at the burning sun.
“Perhaps the Barton, I haven’t been over there since we bought it anyway.” The Barton, is a thickly wooded ‘40 that is directly across the road from my home. There are no trails and it is an advanced trail ride without a doubt. It was an old homestead from way back when.  A large broken down barn 20 yards from a house, so rat and bug ridden I think it’s far from being in any living condition for the next decade, seems to want to cave if even the slightest whisper of wind blows between its walls. At one time the barn was nice, but now the walls are coarse like sandpaper and likely to give you splinters by looking at them. Taking one step into that barn could be your doom as rats the size of dogs live there, with no cats to rein them in. Because this was once a homestead, old wells that are covered by undergrowth lurk there, making my mom worry of my safety. Old farm equipment lines the fields that haven’t been tended for years. Avoiding it becomes harder and harder the deeper you go into the ‘40.
“All done,” dad says, I see a bead of sweat rolling down his forehead, like a small, trickling waterfall. RedDog tries to pull away as dad hands me his reins. I leap upon his back and place my feet in the stirrups comfortably. I nod at dad before taking off at a quick trot, eager to be out of the sun and take shelter from it in under the trees of the Barton. We trot down my long winding driveway, passing several outbuildings, one of which Ringo comes running out of to catch up with RedDog’s long strides.
“Ringo go HOME!” I yell knowing he won't listen and sure enough his stride never even falters.
“‘Bout time you get hit crossing the road my dad is gonna kill me, ” I mutter even though I'm pleased he wants to spend time with me. The gate of my driveway comes into view as we round the corner. An open pasture lays next to the last stretch of my driveway, which is RedDog’s and my favorite place to just run. Free and Fast. I pull RedDog into the tall green grass. He immediately throws his head into the grass with such force I nearly lose my seat. I let out a quick,
“Hey,” in surprise and immediately feeling self conscious. None of the best horsemen are surprised by what their horses do I reflect as I give the reins a yank. I look ahead at the stretch. To my right the pasture is uneven due to being tilled in the past, but to my left there is more chance for rocks from my driveway. With a little practice I’ve learned to keep Doggy in between the two. I loosen the reins and prepare to give Doggy his head. Ringo bounces by Doggy’s flank anticipating the coming run. I bite my lip, my mind always wondering: What if this is the time Doggy gets injured, what if he trips and goes lame, what if he trips and I fall off and I get trampled? Of course it is good to be careful but right before I kick Doggy into a start, anxiety flows through me like a stream turning to a river, then gone. I lean forward in anticipation and kick and kiss at Doggy simultaneously, and he bolts forward. Dropping the reins even lower to his neck, I sit into the saddle and fall into the familiar rhythm of his lope. The wind whips my hair into a wild frenzy of tornadoes across a Kansas plain. The sun shines on my face encouraging me to close my eyes and let my others senses enhance. Then all too soon it’s over. Doggy slows to a bouncy trot then to a walk. Ringo just now catching up to us is panting and slobbering everywhere. Doggy pins his ears when the dog gets a little too close to him. I smile and kick Doggy into a walk allowing him to catch his breath. We come to the end of the driveway and turn onto the gravel road. After crossing the road, we walk a few yards to a place where the fence is low and is an easy jump for a healthy horse. Again anxiety fills me and I begin to think: What if he doesn’t make the jump, what if his legs get cut by the rusty barb wire? “Oh well”, I say to Doggy as much to myself. Of course, Doggy clears it without a hitch. I look ahead at the undergrowth. It seems as if coolness from the trees lurks just inside the darkness. I can feel it and apparently so can Doggy as he takes a confident step towards the trees. Never have I been to the Barton on horseback. It was always a fleeting glance as we rode a 4-wheeler on our way to get some cattle. But dad bought it, who knows why. It’s much too wild for cattle and the fields are practically worthless. I decide to ask dad when I return. First, I want to go and check out the house more carefully. Although you can't see eight yards in front of you, I know where I'm going. Sure enough, after crossing a dry creek bed, there the house stands, although “stands” isn’t exactly how it really is. Maybe something more like slouches. Then I am jerked from my seat as Doggy bolts at the sound of a chainsaw being fired up. After regaining my balance I look around suspiciously. I nudge Doggy into a slow uncertain walk. The chainsaw is getting louder with every step, like a loud angry bee. Buzzing, then it seems like a roar. Doggy rounds the back of the house and there stands Gary and David hard at work cutting wood. I don’t know why though...It’s not like they can stay here. Or that they should be here. Dad made it very clear to the two ex-convicts that they were no longer allowed here. Yet, there they are right in front of me. Perhaps a mirage, the annoying, crazy side of my mind says. I quickly rule that out because not only had Doggy been spooked by the sound of the chainsaw, but so had I. They haven't seen me yet. I consider leaving immediately and telling dad but, my friendliness rules that out, and I decide to go say hello. But Doggy has no interest in coming closer to the chainsaw, so I dismount and throw his reins over a piece of rotten wood covered in a blanket of moss and approach the two men. They turn the chainsaw off when they see me and mutter a greeting, but nothing more. I stand there frozen, not sure what to say next. The seconds tick by slower than ever.
“So what are you boys doing over here?” I ask. “Just cutting some wood,” David answers. Suddenly, David lunges forward and grabs my tan wrists and lashes them together. I cry out in pain as the course rope cuts into my skin like a blade. My wrists burn and itch. Gary approaches me, a smug look on his face. My senses begin to heighten as they do when the adrenaline rushes through your body like the river when the ice melts. I can count the hairs on his unshaven face. He closes the distance between us slowly, like a wolf circling its prey. His bloated stomach spills out of his sweaty, stained shirt, I can smell his onion breath.
“Now listen here girl,” he says as he leans over to pick up an old feed sack. “You’re gonna do just what I say when I say it. You understand?” I give a small nod.    
“ANSWER ME, GIRL!” Gary roars his body shaking. David takes the feed sack and throws it over my head. “Come on,” he grunts shoving me forward. I stumble over something and fall to my knees and scrape them on rocks. But due to my blindness, I feel the pain like small knives in my knees. David yanks me up by my hair and throws me forward. I stumble forward until I run into Gary’s rusted truck. The door is opened by one of the two men. I expect to be put into the cab of the truck, but instead I am gagged. The fabric put into my mouth is rough and tight. It cuts each side of my mouth. Someone picks me up and throws me into the bed of the truck. I hear footsteps and the truck door slams. The truck roars to life, and I get jerked on my side. Hours seem like days, and it seems the truck never stops. Time is stuck in mud and cannot move. Finally the truck trembles to a stop. I can't hear or see anything. Then a pair of fat fingers seize my arm and yank me up and over the edge of the truck bed. I fall to the ground, gravel bites at my bare arms. The air is cold and bitter, it smells of sour grass, it must be night. Gary takes off my blindfold, my eyes take a moment to adjust to the darkness. David stands to my right and Gary to my left. Each grab an elbow and lead me to a small sod house in the side of a dry river bed. It is obvious that we are nowhere near civilization. I shudder at the thought of being stuck in a bug ridden shack of dirt with a couple of criminals. The door to the house was merely a piece of plywood leaning against an opening that has obviously crumbled away after years of use and weathering.
“Go inside,” David orders before shoving me forward. Without use of my hands, I trip over the threshold and face plant onto a dirt floor. I hear a crack and pain rushes to my nose, I'm pretty sure it's broken. But I will not cry in front of these terrible awful men who have trespassed on my family's land and kidnapped me. Gary leans down and grabs me by my curls, they pull straight and fight him to stay curly, and yanks me to my feet. I let out a sharp cry of pain before kicking out in reflex. David grabs my kicking legs.
“Cut it out,” Gary growls while vigorously shaking a handful of my ponytail. He shoves me towards a wooden chair stained with blood in the corner. David removes my ropes merely to make them tighter while binding me to the chair. Gary walks towards a wooden table with an old radio sitting on it. He sits there for what seems like forever trying to get something other than static. My mind begins to wander to Who sat in this chair before me? Where are they now? Are they alive? Did they escape if so how on Earth did they?! If they did escape what condition are they in now? I awake with a start. It must be somewhere around 7 ish because I can feel heat from the outside of the shack. I look over to see Gary asleep on a bedroll but David was nowhere in sight. So I assess my situation like I had been told to before in school. I look down at my feet which are left unbound and free, but I see no way of scooting across the floor without awaking the sleeping fat man on the floor. Perhaps if I wait for them to leave me alone I could find a sharp object to cut myself free, but the shack is bare besides the radio, mirror and table. Small wooden cupboards hang on the wall across from me, their contents unknown. I’m not sure that we are still in Kansas. The weather last night was too cold, and today it is not humid outside, but it still feels hot. Not the kind of hot that I’m used to, but rather the kind of hot I had experienced in Arizona a few years ago. No way, I think. It can’t be. How long were we on the road? Where are they taking me and why? Are we out of the States? Are we in Mexico? How did they get a child across the border with no registration or anything? Wait, do you need registration to get into Mexico? Wish I paid more attention in Spanish class. I look up at the ceiling when some sod falls upon my head. Someone or something was on the roof. The windows begin to crumble. Whatever is on the roof it is… it is big. It has to be over 80 pounds. Despite the heat I begin to shiver and shake. More sod falls upon Gary’s head, but he is such a deep sleeper it doesn't wake him. I have two options, one shut up by chance it’s someone here to save me, or I need to wake Gary to have him scare some menacing creature off. I decide to let whatever it is on the roof be. If it’s going to kill us it should try to kill the sleeping fat man, who would be an easier target than someone awake. All of a sudden a truck door slams and whatever is on the roof runs off. David bursts through the door and Gary lets out a louder snore.
“Gary wake up, I need the gun,” David says with a frown on his face.
“Huh,” Gary grunts while sitting up.
“The gun, I need the gun!” David says again obviously irritated by the man’s sleep habits.
“I don't have it,” Gary grumbles in a fashion I could barely understand.
“Damn it, Gary, that was your one job, mine was to grab the girl!” I begin to panic. Are they planning to shoot me? Or perhaps severely injure me?
“Why do you even need it?” Gary says also acting annoyed.
“That damn dog is back, he was on the roof,” David says gesturing to the ceiling.
“We haven't even established it's a dog yet, it could be one of d’em Mexican wolves.”
“D’em some nasty things, heard one killed a man just ‘cause it looked at ‘em sideways,” Gary says slurring his words.
“A wolf wouldn't get near here even if we was the only food in the area!” exclaims David.
“Naw, these Mexican wolves can be tame as d’em British lap dogs if d’ey young enough,” Gary answers showing no concern about a wolf although it sends my mind racing. David turns to me
“It’s show time girl,” he pulls out a cracked flip phone and dials *67 before dialing my dad’s phone number. I freeze, I mumble something, but due to the gag they can't understand me.
“What ya say, girl?” Gary says while lumbering to his feet and cutting my gag off.
“I said, what do you scoundrels want with my father?” then I spit at their feet. I then resign myself to silence. David lunges and slaps me.
“Got some fire in ya, do ya girl? Well, if ya wanna be like that we’ll leave you out there with that Mexican wolf tonight.  You understand?” I nod, determined not to speak to them again, instead I will use all my energy in finding a way to escape. I hear the phone waiting for my dad to pick up, buzz, buzz, buzz.
“Hello?” 
“Yes, I have your daughter.” “And my son I presume,” my father cuts him off.
“WHAT?!” I scream in a panic.  My older brother is 20 and is a large man. There is no way these two could take him down, they just COULDN’T. Was Owen the last one in this chair? Is he okay? What do they want with my family? Tears of frustration and hatred well up in my eyes. But no, I will not let myself cry.
“No, we had your son, but not anymore,” David answers. Just then Gary tunes the radio in enough for me to hear a missing report being read:
“Owen Garrison disappeared late Tuesday night from his home in Emporia, Kansas. His sister Josie Garrison is now missing as well, if you have any information on the disappearances please contact the Houston police department.” 
Houston! Houston of all places, we have to be in Texas.
“Where is Owen?” my dad asks. I can hear the panic in his voice.
“That doesn't matter,” David sneers. “We want the deed to the Barton and two million dollars paid to the account number we left on a sticky note on the Barton house countertop…. by Friday.”
“What? NO!” my dad roars.
“Then you may never see your daughter again,” Mr. Garrison.
“Fine, fine..but I will need more time.”
“No, Friday or you never see your daughter again.” David clicks the phone shut.
“What have you done?” I mutter.
“Shut up!” Gary snarls, as he continues to turn dials on the radio. Although I've been inside all day, the heat of the sun makes me sweat and itch as I cannot move my hands to wipe the sweat from my face. No one has spoken since this morning, this giving me the perfect opportunity to plot my escape. Because we are out in the middle of nowhere, I will need some sort of transportation. Just then my mind wanders to RedDog, Ringo, my home, my family. I suddenly feel homesick and wonder if I will ever see my family again. Perhaps that piece of junk truck out front will be my savior. David wears a belt, his keys hooked to the belt. If he got close enough I could unclip them if my hands were untied, but if I get caught who knows what would happen. So I watch David closely waiting, watching. I once read that a prisoner is at the advantage because he is always thinking of his escape. Perhaps, I can outsmart the two dimwits in front of me. The room begins to darken and I find myself drifting off, but no! I mustn't fall asleep I haven't finished my plan of escape. Whatever is inside the cupboards may be able to help me. Even a shard of glass could be helpful in uncutting me.
“Gary, what's inside those cupboards?”
“Just some old dishes and silverware,” he said sleepily. I'm sure if he was fully awake he wouldn't of told me their contents.
“Could you perhaps bring me a bowl, plate, or silverware of any kind?” Gary sat up,
“Don’t be tryin to escape now, you won't like the consequences.”
“What are these dreaded consequences?” I probed, knowing I was walking on eggshells.
“We will hang you upside down, then cut y’er arms. When all the blood has nearly left y’er system, then we gonna set ya right back in d’at there chair and leave ya.”
“I see,” I say. The consequences weren't as bad as I thought, but I would be sure to avoid them. I look around the dirty room, a dusty mirror hangs on the wall. An idea begins to form. I settle for the next day.  Around dusk I will begin my escape, but until then I will need to rest. As soon as I let my body relax, I fall asleep, the stress tolling on my body. The next morning I awake with a start. David is clanking about outside. Gary is still sound asleep. The heat radiating from outside the shack gives me the assumption that it is later than I thought.
“Get outta here, ya damn dog!” I hear David yell. Just then David storms into the room so suddenly it makes me jump.
“Gary, get up’n make some traps, we gonna catch us this dog.”
“Whad’da ya want?” Gary groaned.
“I said… GET UP!” David roars reminding me of an angry lion. Quietly, David continues, “That ain’t no Mexican wolf, it’s a stray that I want gone, and I want it done now!” 
“Yeah, yeah, I’mma gettin up. Just hold y’er horses. That dog ain’t doin’ nobody no harm,” Gary says, his eyes still half closed.
“ Whatever,” David says storming off. I wish I hadn’t forgotten the day, but with all the traumatic happenings somehow I did. One thing is for sure, there is no way that I’m gonna let my dad pay these two varmints the money and the land. It must be close to noon now, and Gary has been sitting by radio silently for hours. He’s still like a statue. At one point I think he’s died of heat exhaustion or something.
“Where did David go?” I ask, beings as I hadn’t heard a noise from outside in some time. Gary doesn’t reply and still sits there at the radio turning dials, then stopping, waiting for something. But for what, I do not know. After a while David clumps into the room bringing dust and dirt with him. They swirl around the room furiously like little tornadoes. I watch mesmerized, wondering what it’s like outside beings as I hadn’t been outside in what seems like years.
“Where were you?” I ask, only to be answered with a slap across my face, sharp and painful. I wasn’t accustomed to being hit out of hate, or rage, or whatever these men felt about me.
“I asked you a question,” I grumble, in no mood to be messed with. This is met with several slaps, that I am sure are  leaving huge red splotches across my face, and two punches one to the gut and one to the face. While this is going on, Gary merely sat there letting his hostage to get beat, while tampering with the dials on the radio set that I begin to hate. It is almost time, once David leaves for the truck, my plan shall be set into action. Just as I thought, David leaves for the truck around dusk. Finally after spending all day at the radio, a small muffled voice leaked through the static. With some more tampering the voice of a man came through quite clearly. An update on the missing persons reports:
“OwenGarrison, a resident of Emporia Kansas was found this morning east of Houston by Houston Police Department. He sustained minor injuries and has informed the Police Department that two middle age men took him from his home after drugging him after work. Please check our website or Houston Police Department website for further-.”
With that the radio turned to static. Gary sat there a moment thinking, not that I think he has a brain for that matter. Finally, I break  the silence.
“May I see what I look like?” I ask in my most innocent voice.
“Why. You’re in the middle of nowhere.”
“Please?”
“Fine,” he grumbles and walks over to the dusty mirror on the wall and with a grunt, he pulls it free from the wall. He wipes the thick film like a cataract from the mirror and dust spirals down to the floor. He stands a few paces away from me.
“Come closer. I can’t see any details.” Gary shuffles over to me. “Closer, come closer,” I beckon. Finally he brings the mirror right in front of my face. I quickly headbutt the mirror sending shards of glass raining down upon my face, lap and onto the floor. Glass shards are cutting my face, I wish so greatly to remove the glass lodged in my skin. My disobedience is rewarded with 5 slaps across my face, sending the glass farther into my skin. I begin to cry, not only in anger for being slapped, but in frustration, hatred, pain, and confusion. But my plan has worked, now just time to finish phase one. Gary picks up a broom that was hiding in a corner. He throws the broom at me, it hits me hard. I think there are splinters up and down my arms.
“You’re gonna clean this up. Ya understand?”
“Yes,” I mumble, but inside I laugh, this is the turning point. One problem avoided. He unties my hands and shuffles, careful to avoid the swarming sea of glass, back to his table. I sit there a moment examining the glass shards on my lap. The largest one is impaled on my knee. No blood, I think and move onto a sharp looking medium size shard on my thigh. I wait until Gary isn’t looking and snatch the glass from my lap and slide it into my jean pocket as I stand up. Glass pours like little rain droplets down off my lap and onto the dirt floor. Each tiny piece breaks into microscopic pieces. I shudder as pain shoots up my leg where glass is lodged. As I move to remove the shards Gary looks up and smiles a little.
“You will leave those shards in your leg and to make sure you don’t remove them I want you to grind them even deeper into your leg. Do it now before I cut your legs off!”
With a deep breath I take the palm of my hand and apply pressure. More tears threaten to spill over my cheeks, no reason to hold back now I think and let the tears spill.
“Start cleaning, now, girl!” Gary said his voice rising with every word. I pick up the broom and sweep all the glass into a small pile in the corner. “Sit down you need to be tied back up.” The moment is coming. I slide the sharp shard of glass into my hand. Gary approaches me. I ready the glass, the sharp side like a knife. It was ready, ready for blood, and so was I. So I sit in the chair determined to continue onto phase two. Instead of stabbing Gary in the throat like most people would think, I need Gary to be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. So instead, I decide to focus on my goal, escape. So I wrap the shard in my hands and without a fuss let Gary lash my hands together. As he shuffles over to his bed roll, I prepare the glass in the best possible position for cutting the ropes from my bleeding wrists. Just as I suspect Gary falls asleep immediately like a great grizzly bear determined not to wake until winter is over. I begin cutting, the course rope slices easily with little pressure. Finally the rope falls to the floor, but fresh blood coats my hands. Checking to make sure Gary is asleep I yank the shards from my thighs, careful not to yell or cry out in pain, but I will admit to the tears that are rolling down my face. Phase two has begun, now to get that truck. I slowly tiptoe to the makeshift door and spend what seems like hours pulling the plywood away from the opening, careful to make no sound. The cool night air feels so fresh compared to the stuffy windowless room I was in for days. Everything smells so delicious, and looks so clean despite the dusty ground and the dirty shack behind me. David lay sideways in the cab of the truck. This part I am truly dreading. I open the truck door slowly, hopeful the old truck’s doors won't betray me. To my dismay they make a loud cccCrreeeeakk. The sleeping man stirs, I flinch back ready to run at a moment's notice, but the sound doesn't seem to bother him. So I continue on moving ever so slowly into the truck. The keys along with his belt lay on the dash on the passenger side. Argh, why didn't I check on which door to open!? Oh well, I think as I step onto the floor of the truck, inches away from a man so eager to harm me. The belt is inches from my fingertips, but if I move any more the risk of me waking David is too great, so I clamber out of the truck and walk around the truck. As I take uncertain steps in the darkness, my feet are blocked by something warm, and I stumble over the lump and fall catching myself by my left arm. As I land I hear a sort of popping or cracking sound, and pain shoots through my left arm. The lump under me begins to wriggle free and I'm left sitting there in the darkness crying. But then something wet begins to lick my wrists, arms and face… a dog? Could this be the dreaded Mexican wolf the two men had discussed earlier? Or the dog that David had seen? I can see the outline of two short perky ears. The dog continues to lick my face until I push it away. I pick myself up and continue to search for a stick, I find one and take it back to the truck. David is still asleep in the truck, so I slip back into the truck. The stick serves perfectly as an extension of my arm, but my left arm is still in great pain. I snag the keys and sit in the space David isn't occupying on the driver’s side of the truck. Slowly and carefully I lean over to the passenger side door and open, hoping it wouldn’t be as loud. To my surprise it swings open silently. The dog is sitting there illuminated by the truck’s light. There is no way that, that is a Mexican wolf, it is merely an Aussie. The dog’s coat is rough looking and short, c***leburs stick to its coat. Its tongue lolls out giving it a comical look. I slide the keys into the ignition and wrap my legs under me, ready to kick out. Simultaneously, I turn the keys and shove David with all my might, sending the groggy man sprawling down on the ground. The dog leaps into the passenger side, too much in hurry, I don’t protest but merely put the truck in reverse and hit the gas. Driving stick is one of the things that I have to practice a little to get in the swing of things, but with all the adrenaline it isn’t a problem. The truck swings around and I put it into drive and “put the pedal to the metal” as my dad always says. A dusty dirt road winds ahead of me. I wish I knew where I was and how to get to the nearest town, which seems like a million miles from where we are at now. The dog sits on the seat next to me at complete ease, splashing slobber every time we hit a bump. I realize the dog is a male and probably is about the same age as my Ringo. “Well, looks like we are home free, got a full tank of gas and long miles ahead of us.” The clock shows it is getting late, but there is no way that it’s correct, maybe an hour or so off. I drive one hand on the wheel, my left arm limp at my side, numbness begins to envelope it, probably not a good sign. But it’s good relief and allows me to focus on the road. I drive all night, never straying from the dirt road until I see lights, dim, but never the less light. It must be some large city because those lights are really far off, at least now I know where I’m going. No wonder we weren’t getting a signal on the radio, we were hours from Houston. Wolf, the name I gave to the dog in honor of my fear and relief he wasn’t indeed a wolf, lay asleep, his head resting on my thigh. Despite the wounds on my thigh, his heat feels good and makes me feel less lonely. My mind wanders to my family, I wonder if it’s Friday? I wish I would have grabbed David’s phone but it’s too late now, my family would just have to hang on a little longer. Finally a signal comes through on the truck radio, it’s clear and precise, a Houston radio station. I sing along with every song and start to feel happy and triumphant. Not only did I escape, but I trapped the two men at that shack without a ride. Wolf wakes up approximately an hour outside Houston. He howls along with the songs and his movement helps to keep me from falling asleep at the wheel. The blood from my wrists has dripped onto the wheel, but I do not care. Wolf’s muzzle is coated in my blood, but I don’t care. My sight becomes blurry and, I begin to see multiple highways ahead of me. I tell myself to continue on it will be okay. Wolf falls asleep as we hit the outskirts of Houston. Now anything could be a sanctuary, even a grimey old gas station as long as it has a phone. Lucky for me, I find a Casey’s and pull up onto the curb as I attempt to park. But when I open the door I fall, probably has to do with major blood loss. Wolf jumps out from the truck and lands on me. He begins to raise quite a fuss, a nearby a man filling his car with gas comes to my aid asking where my parents are. I tell him my name is Josie Garrison and that I had been abducted and he needs to call the Houston Police Department. He takes me inside and the clerk forces me to drink bottle after bottle of water that floods my body and makes me more aware of my horrible condition. It seems to take forever, but the HPD finally show up and take me along with Wolf, only due to my protest if he didn’t come, to the police station. They show me to a couch, it’s cushions look as if they are about to pop. A warm fuzzy feeling envelops me as I sink into the cushions. Dr. Watts examines my broken arm, broken nose, bruises, cuts, scrapes, and also diagnoses me with severe dehydration. My arm is wrapped like a mummy and a strip is placed on my nose. The eyes of the night shift workers wander my face in disbelief as I recount my story of my abduction and escape. Later after I had been fully examined I call home. Although I can hear them talking on the other end it sounds more like a buzzing and their words sound slurred. Slowly my eyes begin to droop, I no longer care if Wolf’s drool drips down like a faucet onto to my cool, bare skin.
“Will you catch them?” I mutter sleepily.
“Yes, yes we will.”
Although I have no idea who has said that, I feel a great reassurance from them and smile in general. I lean my head onto to the plushy couch pillows and allow wolf to fill my lap and fall asleep almost instantly, wandering the Barton with RedDog and Ringo.