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<strong>Jack</strong> <strong>kilborn</strong> <strong>SErial</strong> <strong>blakE</strong> <strong>crouch</strong><br />
iron, and when the moon struck his eyes, they were already<br />
half-closed.<br />
he froze.<br />
he opened his mouth to say something, but fell over<br />
instead, dropping like an old, fat tree.<br />
Donaldson opened his eyes and lifted his head. Dawn and<br />
freezing cold. he lay in weeds at the edge of the woods, his<br />
head resting in a padded helmet. his wrists had been cuffed,<br />
hands purple from lack of blood flow, and his ankles were<br />
similarly bound. he was naked and glazed with dew, and as<br />
the world came into focus, he saw that one of those carabiners<br />
from lucy’s guitar case had been clipped to his ankle cuffs. a<br />
climbing rope ran from that carabiner to another carabiner,<br />
which was clipped to a chain which was wrapped around the<br />
trailer hitch of his honda.<br />
The driver-side door opened and lucy got out, walked<br />
down through the weeds. She came over and sat on his chest,<br />
giving him a missing-toothed smile.<br />
“Morning, Donaldson. You of all people will appreciate<br />
what’s about to happen.”<br />
Donaldson yawned, then winked at her. “aren’t you just<br />
the prettiest thing to wake up to?”<br />
lucy batted her eyelashes.<br />
“Thank you. That’s sweet. now, the helmet is so you don’t<br />
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