LITMIR.BIZ

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eyes and pressed her face to the window. Her heart jammed. A young boy, two or three years old, sat beneath a hut of branches.

      “What the…”

      He had no shoes and wore tattered clothing. He appeared to be playing with rocks.

      Panic surged, and she hit the glass several times. “Baby boy, don’t move! I’m coming, hang on!”

      Zoey rushed to the doorway, her body zinging with dread and wonder. She staggered down the stairs, passed an empty office nook, managed to miss both sofas, and poured out the front door. Cedar wafted from the deck.

      Frigid air iced her arms. She massaged her skin and assessed her whereabouts. Plush forest grew on hills that bled into mountains that vanished in the smoky mist laid by a looming storm. Lightning highlighted her route. She sprinted from the porch onto the crisp lawn and headed downhill toward the woods. Immersed in darkness, she stopped and focused.

      Thunder boomed. So did her heart when she spotted the boy. He seemed to be drawing abstract art in the dirt with a stick.

      “Don’t be scared. I’m coming!” Her long legs carried her speedily across the earth. “Stay there, honey, I’m on my way.”

      Somehow she’d lost sight of him. She halted. She should’ve seen him, but didn’t.

      “Don’t run from me, little man. I won’t hurt you.”

      Shivering, Zoey blanketed her arms with her hair and waited for a spear of lightning. When the ground lit, she raced the decline, tripping on a vine that threaded a spongy patch of grass. She plummeted and stopped rolling a few feet from the child.

      His eyes were dreadfully sad, and he clutched handfuls of soil.

      “I’m here now.” She wobbled to her feet.

      Slowly she entered his creation of choppy stick writings and tiny mountains of dirt, but he wasn’t there. “Where did you go? Don’t be afraid, baby boy. I can help you. You’ll be safe with me.”

      Flickering spider veins spread overhead like plant roots, as odd a vision as the toddler in the woods. A crackle jumpstarted her pulse. She faced the forest and its fresh pine-scented breath, and saw the boy within reach.

      “You precious little guy, what are you doing out here? It’s cold and dark, and you could hurt yourself.”

      He held his arms up and gently bounced on his butt, urging her to lift him.

      Zoey leaned forward and grabbed the baby—grabbed nothing.

      “Not possible.”

      She looked in all directions, certain he couldn’t have gone far.

      Leaves rustled, and the wind hummed.

      “Where are you?” She searched for his drawings and metropolis of dirt, but all proof had vanished with his body.

      “No!” She confronted the wooded labyrinth. “I know what I saw! What did you do with him? Where’s the kid?”

      Lightning flashed incessantly. Zoey squatted and ripped at the shrubs. With scratched and blotchy fingers, she rose and kicked a tree trunk with her bare foot. “What the hell did you do with the boy? Where is he?” She tied her annoying hair in a knot. “You can’t just pluck children from earth like dandelions. They’re not weeds, goddamnit! Where is he?” She raised a rotted log and pitched it at the child-chomping monster she knew lived Out There.

      She stepped on a stone and toppled to the ground.

      “Son of a bitch.” She lay on her back under evasive lightning and blunt thunder, and when she’d forced the pain from her foot, she stood.

      “I know what I saw.” She stammered uphill. Breathless, she paused on a spongy patch of grass and briefly eyed the malicious vine that had caused her earlier fall.

      Lightning webbed the sky and tinted the blackened land with blinding white.

      Zoey tasted metal. She refreshed her teeth with her tongue and saw the scorching red fist that punched her in the shoulder. Dumbfounded, she flew through the air and landed on her backside. Her head pounded, brain-splitting. She gasped at the smoke snaking off her flesh. Right before she went unconscious.

       Chapter 2

      “Nurse!” Zoey winced. Her right shoulder, wrapped in gauze, burned, and she might as well have chugged a bottle of lava. She massaged her neck and then canopied her delicate eyes from the harsh fluorescents. An IV dangled from her hand.

      “Anyone?” She coughed and the rawness of her throat produced a tear. Her organs and bones roasted, and she lay on the nurse’s button, terrified of cooking alive.

      Botanical wallpaper bordered the room and sparked memories—darkness, trees, a tot in the woods with enormous brown eyes sadder than starvation. Not possible. She recoiled and blamed insomnia and drugs and incompetent medical staff for allowing her to panic.

      Voices streamed the hall. One in particular drew closer to the doorway. An elderly male doctor with squinty teal eyes and a bulbous nose entered the room. He smiled and held a clipboard close to his chest.

      “Good afternoon,” he said, hoarse and crackly with age. “I’m Dr. Selden.”

      “It’s about time. I need something for pain. My shoulder is killing me.”

      “I hadn’t expected you to be so vibrant, but yes, I promise, we’ll get to that. I have questions and forms for you to sign before I can administer meds.” He approached the bed.

      “I have questions too.” Zoey clicked a green switch and the bed buzzed while elevating her upper body. “What the hell happened to me?”

      “You don’t remember?”

      “That’s why I asked.”

      A heavyset Asian nurse with shiny black hair, cut to her jawline, rushed in and adjusted the IV drip. “Hello,” she said cheerfully. “I’m Nurse Chong. How do you feel?”

      “Like shit,” Zoey said.

      Dr. Selden put his pen to the clipboard. “Describe the pain, is it throbbing, biting, piercing, burning…”

      “I hurt all over. Was I beat with a bat? Are you going to tell me what happened?”

      “You hurt all over. Can you be more descriptive?” Nurse Chong asked. “We’re not mind readers.”

      “Neither am I,” Zoey snapped. “I’m in a hospital, bandaged, and in severe fucking pain and no one will tell me why. I won’t cooperate until I get answers.” Talking grated her throat and she clutched her neck.

      Nurse Chong shook her head. “Have some water.” She filled a paper cup and then passed it to Zoey. “Careful. Don’t choke.”

      “I’ll do my best.” Zoey gritted her teeth. She raised the rim to her lips and sipped. The flame in her esophagus subsided, but the pain in her shoulder drilled clear to the bone.

      “Do you know if you’re allergic to any medications?” Dr. Selden asked.

      “That’s a stupid question. Of course I know. I have no allergies whatsoever.”

      “Nurse Chong,” Dr. Selden said, “would you please get our patient 600 milligrams of ibuprofen and Valium, 10 milligrams, to help her relax?”

      The nurse rolled the IV post closer to the wall and addressed Zoey. “You’re a very lucky person.” Her rubber-soled shoes squeaked as she scuttled out of the room.

      “What does she mean, lucky?” Zoey set her cup on the side table.

      “First the necessities,” he said, holding his pen tightly. “Zoey Hawthorne, is that accurate?”

      “Yes.”

      “Birth date?”

      “November

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