Perhaps it was just a nightmare. She’d heard about lucid dreams and wondered if she could change the direction of this one. Once, she’d fallen asleep beside a floor lamp that came on with a timer every night. In her dream, the sun was glaring in her eyes, forcing her to try to turn away. Only after she woke up did she realize that what was happening around her in the real world was seeping down, impacting the dream she’d been a part of.

The cold didn’t go away, so she tried to move again, and this time she found herself on the verge of waking up. Why can’t I move?

Julianne blinked and attempted to focus, but everything was dim and indistinct. A faint smear of light was crawling over her shoulder but hardly illuminated anything around her. The musty smell of rain-dampened carpet tinged with the reek of oil and grease surrounded her.

Her right arm was drawn back behind her and somehow secured in place with a rope that’d been tied off around her waist. Although her left arm was free, since it’d never developed properly, it was of no use to her at the moment.

Her legs were also bound, and now that she began to get her bearings, she realized that she was in the trunk of a car. “Timothy,” she called angrily. “Let me out!”

First, she twisted onto her stomach and futilely kicked her legs up against the trunk’s hood.

Then, although it was awkward and uncomfortable with her right arm torqued back the way it was, she turned onto her back and tried. Despite her best efforts, though, she could tell almost immediately that she wasn’t going to be able to free herself, so she shouted again for him to let her out, then heard a garage door closing.

“Timothy, whatever you’re thinking of doing, you better think again. There’s a man who gave me your name, and if he finds out anything happened to me, he’ll come after you. He will not stop, and he’s not someone you want to be on the wrong side of.”

No one replied, but she could hear someone outside the car and it sounded like the person was going through a pile of tools.

“Timothy!” she hollered. “Untie me!”

“You don’t deserve to live.” The voice sounded coarse and deep. She couldn’t tell if it was Timothy or not. She already doubted his sanity and wondered if he might have different personalities that came out, especially when he was perpetrating his crimes or speaking to his victims.

Victim. No. Not a victim. You’re going to get out of this.