Jealousy’s Grip
Ava Harper stepped out of the corner drugstore into the chilly October night, clutching a small white bag with her father’s cold medicine. The street was quiet except for the occasional swish of tires on wet pavement. She pulled her coat tighter and started the six-block walk home.
She never saw the black van until it rolled up beside her, tires hissing. The side door slid open with a metallic shriek. Two men in dark jackets lunged out. One clamped a gloved hand over her mouth; the other hooked an arm around her waist. She kicked, tried to scream, but the cloth pressed hard against her face carried a sickly-sweet smell. Her limbs went heavy. The world tilted, then vanished.
When consciousness clawed its way back, Ava tasted copper and chemicals. Her head throbbed. She
