Chapter 35
When Chris forced his eyes open, his vision was blurry. It hurt to breathe and his head felt like it might explode. Pain throbbed through his left arm. Chris tried to move his arms, but they were bound together with duct tape in front of him. He was on his back, the coldness of the concrete floor seeping into his bones, bringing clarity along with a new pain.
After several blinks, Terry’s garage came into focus. Her white Chevrolet Captiva was parked on his right and to his left, the door to the house stood open, allowing him to see into the kitchen. A workbench ran the length of the garage with six twelve-inch terra cotta flowerpots and a four-foot model airplane of Randy’s resting on top. Yellow and red snapdragons were scattered around him.
The garage was quiet, but Chris
