Down to the River by unknow

Author:unknow
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B07NQM5H14
Publisher: Down & Out Books
Published: 2019-04-22T00:00:00+00:00

I write two series: the two-time Shamus-nominated Nick Forte P.I. novels, and the Penns River series of police procedurals, from which my story here was adapted. The Allegheny River forms the north and west borders of Penns River, defining the town’s geography and its history as a mill center long past its heyday. DanaKingAuthor.com.

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THE CHAIR IN THE RIVER

John B. Wren

Thoughts, like clouds gathering in a stormy sky, cluttered his mind. Both dark and grey, neither staying still, neither taking definite shape. One: falling rain, or was it water trickling in a stream? Two: my shoes, where are my shoes?

He was seated in a chair and felt water running over his feet. He realized his clothes were gone as a breeze chilled his body. He tried to move, but some kind of bindings held him firmly in place.

His eyes were open, it was dark, he couldn’t see anything; a hood was over his head. Confusion, the clouds in his mind were drifting away as he strained to think. His thoughts were clearing as his mind tried to focus and determine where he was.

And why.

“I hope this is a dream,” he grumbled. “Or a nightmare.” He hadn’t had any of those stupid pills in months and they were still messing with his head. He tugged against his bonds. It wasn’t rope or tape holding him to the chair; it was wire, thin wire. “This is real,” he said as he strained against his bonds. He twisted his body left and right with as much force as he could. He screamed into the hood as the metal bindings bit into the flesh high on his arms. The pain was sharp; the wires did not give. He stopped thrashing and could feel the breaks in his skin where the bonds had cut into his arms. He felt a warmth below the bindings as blood began to flow from his wounds.

He wished this was just another very weird dream, but he knew it wasn’t. Most of his dreams were off center, especially after an episode with a new friend. His mind, still clearing, snapped back to that day in the woods, the day he played with her, his new friend. He remembered the girl, the woods and the water. He remembered the game they played—his game—and that he had won. Each time he won a game, he moved on. He would find a new town, a new friend and play again. Sometimes he looked for months before he found a new town; twice it took more than a year. Always a small town. A town with woods nearby and water. He appreciated rivers especially. Rivers made it easy to clean up after and he could watch as the water and the critters from the woods consumed the remnants of his victory.

His thoughts returned to the situation at hand. He was almost fully awake, his mind grasping the fact that he was bound to a chair in water. Water, like the little river that flowed through town.

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