This story takes place before the events of Reset, but I can't promise how much that will matter. I do plan to return to Reset eventually, but no guarantees. Hopefully this story will relight my inspiration for the other one!

Warning: this story involves alcoholism, death, abuse, suicidal thoughts, and adult themes. It also contains harsh language-but I promise no slurs will be used.

You lost your little sister.

The men searched for weeks. Don't worry, ma'am. She could not have gotten far. We know which bus she took. We know which stop she took. We'll find her.

How can I help?

Just sit tight. Talk to the detective, give him recent pictures and a description. Is there anybody who could have wanted to take her from you?

Our parents. But they're on the other side of the country. They don't know where we are.

We'll get someone out that way to talk to them.

But you didn't want them to know. They didn't deserve to.

Ma'am, they're suspects. If you want Artie home safe, we need to do everything we can to find her.

So the men searched. You sat tight. You heard her AMBER Alert on the radio. You fucked your boyfriend. He left you some time later. When he asked for his things back, you told him you didn't have his gun. He believed you.

You sat tight some more. Your parents were a dead end. They found your number somehow, left a message on the answering machine, but you deleted it. You drank. You read about Mt. Ebott at the library. Your little sister wasn't the first to disappear, you learned. None of the other children came back either. You drank some more. You threw up in your bed that night. You wished you'd been sleeping on your back, not your side.

You visited your ex-boyfriend. He let you fuck him. He wouldn't share his stash with you. He said you're better than that. You called him a liar and went home.

A policeman was at your door. You neighbor reported a strange smell, hadn't seen you in weeks. Turns out the smell was an animal that died under the porch. The policeman kindly removed it for you. Later that day, he sent his son to help you out. Tidy up a bit, do the dishes, clean the gutters. You gave him a cold beer, but he didn't finish it. Kids never like beer. Well, your sister hadn't minded it, but you forbade her from drinking. You're too young. Addiction runs in our blood.

Your ex-boyfriend ignored your calls. So you fucked a guy from your grief therapy group. He was there for his dead mother; you didn't have much sympathy for that.

A year ago, you lost your little sister. Artie was last seen in a striped shirt. Her favorite color was green. She liked to cook in an old Easy-Bake Oven you bought at a yard sale. Someone found her little shoe. The police told you she probably wasn't taken. She probably ran away. It might've been a bear.

You took your ex-boyfriends gun and filled up the gas in the car. You topped off a flask with cheap whiskey. You picked up some bear pepper spray and a cowboy hat at the bait shop. Picked up some shotgun bullets from the gun store next door. Thank god for rednecks.

You drove an hour. You parked on the shoulder of the high way when you saw the bus stop. You took your flask and your gun and your spray and you hiked up that mountain. You took short breaks to gulp down some whiskey, but never sat down. You walked for hours.

You woke up sore and itchy. You had fallen asleep, your back against the thick trunk of a hickory tree. You took a swig from the flask, but it was empty. You stared at it long and hard.

"Where are all the fucking bears?" You asked it. The flask had no answer. With a low grunt, you stood up. You swiped at your legs, knocking off the leaves, dirt, and insects that had found themselves on your body in the night. The sun was still low in the sky. A squirrel chittered at you. You gave it the finger.

As you walked, your head pounded. Your throat was dry as a bone. You felt sick. You placed a hand on the shotgun on your hip, its barrel threaded through the belt loop of your dirty jeans. It wobbled with each step, somehow comforting to you. You pulled the hat from your head and waved it over your sweating face. It was so humid. Your leg ached, right where it had broken years ago. Must be a storm coming.

The storm came down hard. The canopy did little to shield you from the rain, but you didn't mind. You faced the sky and opened your mouth, welcoming the cooling drops of water. It was a good storm, summery and wild. Lightning stuck close by and thunder shook the ground. You laughed loudly and defiantly after each boom, daring the storm to aim even closer.

Something electric pulsed through you. Involuntarily, you crouched down. A massive explosion beat at your ears. A second later, a tree several yards away came crashing down—its trunk bare and charred black. You stayed frozen, head covered by your arms, for many minutes more. Your ears stung, the sounds of the storm now dwarfed by a high pitched ringing.

Eventually, your heart slowed and your breathing turned to normal. Your ears weren't getting any better, though. You lifted your head. The rain was lighter now. You began to stand, your limbs aching from holding that position so long, but froze. Before you was a massive hole, almost perfectly round in shape. How did you miss that before? You inched closer, still crouched, and placed your hands on the edges and peered inside. It was dark. You thought you could make out something slightly yellow. You couldn't be sure.

You turned your head, eying the destroyed tree. It was dead, partially help up by the neighboring trees. Were they grieving? You shook your head. Stupid question.

"Hello?" A voice from the hole called out. "Hello? Is somebody up there?"

You turned back towards the darkness. Rain rolling down your face, into your eyes and mouth. Were your damaged ears deceiving you?

"Please, I'm stuck. Help me!"

"Um. Hey. I'm, um, coming down. What's your name?"

Upon hearing your response, the voice grew more desperate. "Help me! Please help me!"

"How do I get down?!" Your voice shook.

"Jump down! It's not a long fall!"

You drew back. "I'll be back! I'll go find someone with a rope and-"

"No, please! I need you now!"

"I-"

"NOW!"

You stared down into the dark. Your body pounded with fear. They needed you. They were just a little kid. They were frightened. They needed you. You stood up, your sore legs protesting. You placed a hand on the weapon at your hip and mouthed to it a silent prayer; gun, please keep me safe. Carefully, gingerly, you turned around to climb down into the hole. You made it a foot down before the ground gave way and you fell.