Rick parked his truck in front of his house and sighed. Rowen was probably drunk and passed out on his couch, and if he wasn't, he was hungover and preparing to drink some more. It was late, but after dropping his keys off in the house, Rick decided to go check on his friend. It'd be bad if he drank himself to death.

The woods were dark as Rick walked through the trees towards Rowen's place. When he could see the house, he jogged up to the front door and knocked. "Rowen? It's Rick."

There was no reply, and Rick tried the door. Not surprisingly, it was unlocked. As predicted, Rowen was lying on the couch, more than enough empty beer bottles and cigarettes surrounding him on the floor and coffee table. Rick got a glass of water from the kitchen and took it to the living room. "Come on, man. It's time to get up," he said, patting the drunk man's cheeks to wake him.

Rowen sat up slowly. "What's going on...?" he asked.

Rick handed him the water. "An intervention. You need to eat something. I can already tell you haven't used your kitchen since Friday."

"Friday..." he murmured. His face turned gray and he reached for a half-empty beer bottle.

Rick grabbed it before he could and stood up. He took the bottle to the kitchen and poured its contents down the sink. "You need to eat, Rowen. Not drink."

"I'm not hungry," he grumbled.

Hungry or not, alcohol on an empty stomach was bad news. Rick started preparing something anyway that wouldn't make him sick from all the alcohol. "I know you're upset, but you have to stop moping," he said.

Rowen merely stared into his glass of water with a sour look.

"How much did you drink?" Rick asked.

Putting the glass on the coffee table without drinking any, Rowen stumbled to his feet. "Enough to make me sane..." he said, heading for his bedroom.

Rick dried his hands with a cloth before following him. "It was going to happen eventually," he insisted.

When Rick entered the room, Rowen was standing by his nightstand. Rick was about to put a hand on his shoulder when he turned around, a gun gripped in his hand. "Eventually? You know what would've happened eventually?" he asked, taking aim.

Rick held up his hands in defense, but he wasn't really afraid of what would happen. He knew Rowen well enough to know he wouldn't do anything. "Put the gun down. You know this wasn't my choice," he said. "Kevin wanted to go home himself."

This wasn't what Rowen wanted to hear. He stormed towards Rick, pressing the gun to his chest. "But you took him. You-..." He struggled to speak.

With practiced hands, Rick eased the gun away. "Calm down. It's not like he's gone forever. He's at home and you can visit him anytime."

Rowen leaned on Rick's shoulder; the fight had gone out of him. "But he doesn't want to see me..."

Rick set the gun on a nearby dresser and took Rowen to his bed. "Sit down. Tell me what you're talking about," he said.

Wordlessly, Rowen pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket, staring at it sadly. Upon reading it, Rick understood, and he shared in his friend's pain. "Oh, Rowen... I'm sorry. I didn't know he wrote this," he said. "But you can't take this in a bad way. Kevin is just hurting."

Rowen didn't look at him. He just stared at the paper solemnly. 

Rick rubbed his back in comfort. "Just remember, he doesn't hate you," he insisted. Rowen still didn't reply, so Rick stood and started for the door. "I'll make some tea."

Before he made it more than a foot from the bed, however, Rowen he grabbed his arm, standing up. "I just..." He hesitated. "Did he get home safe?"

Rick gave his shoulder a squeeze. "Safe and sound. You have nothing to worry about."

*******

I tried to roll over, but something cold held me down. My eyes opened slowly, but I was confronted with complete darkness and a dizzying headache. I tried to lift my hand to rub my aching forehead, but there was a clang and my hand's movement was restricted. I tried to sit up, still wheeling like I was on drugs. Both my wrists were cuffed to the sides of a metal table. I pulled on them a few times but it was useless. As my eyes adjusted to the room, I could see a high up window covered by closed metal blinds, and two large, wooden doors near one wall. The only light came from cracks in the doors and the spaces between the metal shade slats.

"Hello? Is anyone there?" I called. My heart was racing with fear.

There was no response. I twisting my hands around in the cuffs again, hoping to slip free, but they were held tight. I dropped my head back on the cold table, exhausted from just that tiny amount of effort. I needed a change of strategy. I looked around at my surroundings to determine where I was. I could see that the walls were made of wood, so was the ceiling. It was a large room and I could just make out a ladder to another floor about twenty feet away. There was some stuff hanging from the walls, but it was too dark to make out what it was even by shape. If I wasn't wrong, given the context clues, I was in a barn. I could smell hay, and if I listened, I could hear something outside that sounded like pigs snorting.

I wanted to sit up, but the cuffs had no give in them. I started tugging on the restraints in frustration as stress and fear seized my senses. "Someone-...! Someone help! Help! I'm in here! Someone please help me!" I shouted.

I was shouting like that for many minutes when one of the doors to the barn was suddenly thrown open and a man stormed in. I couldn't see his face or any other defining feature; he was a silhouette in front of the sunlight outside the barn.

"Where am I?" I asked. "Who are you?"

He didn't reply. Instead, he walked right up to me and grabbed my shirt with one hand. "Be quiet," he demanded.

His sneering face was so close, I could smell his breath. "Where am I?" I asked again.

My head bounced off the table with a sickening crack! as he lifted me by my shirt only to slam my body back down in the table. "I said be quiet," he ground out.

Closing my eyes tightly as the back of my head throbbed with pain, I didn't say any more. He straightened and started for the barn door again. When I realized he intended to leave me there, my bottom lip trembled and I gripped the sides of the table. "Please... Let me go..." I whispered, trying to sit up.

He ignored me and the door slammed close, plunging me into darkness once again.

*******

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