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<strong>Jack</strong> <strong>kilborn</strong> <strong>SErial</strong> <strong>blakE</strong> <strong>crouch</strong><br />
afternoon. Windless. Soundless. The boys would be waking<br />
soon, and she was already starting to glow. She opened the<br />
guitar case and retrieved the syringe, gave kenny and Matt<br />
another healthy dose.<br />
by the time she’d wrangled them out of the car into the<br />
desert, dusk had fallen and she’d drenched herself in sweat.<br />
She rolled the men onto their backs and splayed out their<br />
arms and legs so they appeared to be making snow angels<br />
in the dirt.<br />
lucy removed their shoes and socks. The pair of scissors<br />
was the kind used to cut raw chicken, with thick, serrated<br />
blades. She trimmed off their shirts and cut away their<br />
pants and underwear.<br />
kenny and Matt had returned to full, roaring con-<br />
sciousness by 1:15 a.m. naked. ankles and wrists tightly<br />
bound with deeply scuffed handcuffs, heads helmeted,<br />
staring at the small, plain hitchhiker who squatted down<br />
facing them at the back of the car, blinding them with a<br />
hand held spotlight.<br />
said.<br />
“i didn’t think you were ever going to wake up,” lucy<br />
“What the hell are you doing?” Matt looked angry.<br />
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