MOUNT CHARLESTON, NEVADA : PRESENT

Ryan Wolfe tripped over a root that had arched out of the ground and fell, landing on cracked ribs. The pain took his breath away and he couldn't move for several minutes. Finally he was able to roll onto his back, staring up at the clear sky with an unmerciful sun. Ryan slowly picked himself up, whimpering with every effort move he made against his ribs and limped into the shade of the canyon wall. He slowly sat down on a sandy spot, laying his head back the canyon wall. Sleep that had been begging him to let it have its way, drug him under in seconds.

And then it played games with his mind.

DUBUQUE, IOWA : TWO AND A HALF WEEKS AGO

Gagged and bound to the sides of the coffin, Ryan was helpless. He heard voices: two females and at least four men. They were outside the hearse negotiating a drug sale.

"What's in the other coffin?" the second female asked.

"My pet," the first answered.

"Pet?"

One of the men laughed. "Chrissie decided to keep this cop she has a crazy obsession over."

"Don't call me crazy!" Chrissie snapped.

"Sorry. Forgot."

"Forgot what?" one of the men said.

"You have a cop in there?" another asked.

"He's not a cop anymore," Chrissie said and then laughed, adding, "He's my pet!"

"This I have to see!" the 'forgot what' voice cried.

Footsteps come near the hearse and then the lid was opened. Ryan blinked against the bright sunlight, trying to focus on the dark form at the end of the coffin. When he could finally see him, he didn't even bother trying to ask for help. The man's appearance was enough to tell him this guy was not a savior – his hair was long and stringy and his shirt looked like he'd been wearing it for a week.

"Oooo EEEE!" he laughed. "You really do gotta cop in here!"

The others gathered around. Chrissie smiled, reaching for Ryan's leg. He tried to pull away, forgetting is ankles were tied to the coffin. She rested her hand on his leg.

"My pet," she crooned.

The man started toward him. "I thought you were talking about a dog!"

What happened next was somewhere between a blessing and a curse. Ryan knew what the guy had in mind for him and all his struggling wasn't going to stop the guy. Suddenly Chrissie drew a gun and shoved it against the man's temple. He laughed, looking at her so it rested against his forehead.

"Come on. Isn't that why you kidnapped him? Use him to keep the cops away and get your jollies off?"

"My pet," Chrissie told him, her voice suddenly cold and sinister.

Ryan hadn't heard this tone before but instincts told him that some switch had been flipped and that this guy was perilously close to where her sanity met insanity.

"Oh just let him have him, Chrissie," her accomplice told her. "Maybe he'll stop fighting you if you break him a little."

The man turned, moving toward Ryan again. Chrissie cocked the gun and he froze again.

"My. Pet," she told him. And then pulled the trigger.

Ryan cringed when blood and brains splattered him. The man slumped over the end of the coffin, spilling blood into it.

"CHRISSIE!" her accomplice screamed.

She grabbed the corpse and pushed it out. She turned, aiming her gun at her accomplice.

"My pet," she repeated.

"Okay. Okay, Chrissie. He's yours. We won't touch him unless you say so. Just… Don't shoot anyone else, okay? We need buyers."

"Okay," she said, smiling happily. She turned, laying her free hand on the coffin lid. "Sorry about that, Ryan. It won't happen again." And then she closed the lid.

MOUNT CHARLESTON, NEVADA : PRESENT

Ryan's eyes snapped open. He was panting and sweating from the fear the memory had invoked again. He looked up, noticing that daylight was fading. Ryan struggled onto his feet and started walking again, putting distance between him and the hearse.