THAT'S NOT ME
Chapter One
It was a most extraordinary meadow, lush with bluebonnets, Indian blanket, phlox and yellow daisies and other brightly colored flowers amid creeping red fescue, big blue stem, Indian warrior and pampas, and swarming with equally colorful butterflies, hummingbirds, bumble bees, mice and likely a few snakes as well. At one end of the meadow, Nyssa and Tegan were gathering posies in baskets I didn't remember having seen before; one of these days I really must do some spring cleaning. I was crouched among the tall grasses, having caught a glimpse of something that seemed out of place: it turned out to be a burlap sack, dyed black, with a black drawstring. I picked it up, turned it inside out, sniffed it to see if I could tell what had been in it and immediately was both nauseated and dizzied.
My arms were jerked behind me and I was pulled to my feet so rapidly that I started to fall backwards against whoever was now binding my wrists tightly with something scratchy and thick. At the same time, someone scooped up the sack from where I had dropped it, pulled it over my head and drew the black drawstring tightly at my neck. I leaned slightly forward and then backwards again, this time on purpose, putting my whole weight into it, knocking the one behind me backwards into the tall grass. Of course I fell backwards onto him, too. Before I could kick out at the one in front, he had grabbed my legs and lifted me up so I was practically standing on my head, dragged me off of his partner and hefted me enough to let go of my legs and catch me at the waist, so that I was hanging upside down, Moments later I really was standing on my head, trying to breathe through burlap and grass, still held in that position by what felt like an enormous arm while the one I'd knocked down, now up on his feet, tied my legs together with the same rough material that immobilized my arms. I heard Nyssa and Tegan shouting in the distance but couldn't tell what they were saying. The infusion I was (barely) breathing made my helplessness complete by robbing me of consciousness altogether. The last thing I heard was a man's voice complaining, "Oh great, now we have to carry him."
I came to, briefly – just long enough to be vaguely aware that I'd been slung over the shoulder of the man who'd dangled me in the grass like a child, and who now dumped me into the back of a what, a van? truck? station wagon? At least it wasn't the boot; nothing slammed above me, although something slammed behind me. It smelled new. Perhaps it was a rental vehicle. I say that now; I was out again before I could finish the thought.
