catatonic.
* * *
Rebecca yawned as she passed the sign that informed her there were only seven miles left to Bleser. She really needed caffeine and she also needed a nice, clean restroom, but she didn't want to deviate from the schedule.
She wasn't exactly sure when she was allowed to open the third envelope, so she waited until she passed the faded "Welcome to Bleser!" sign and pulled into the parking lot of a McDonald's.
She took the envelope out of the glove compartment and tore it open. The first piece of paper inside read:
You've come a long way, this I know.
But try to be strong, you've a long way to go.
You'll find a small bar on the outskirts of town.
Drive over there now, and try not to frown.
Before I explain what to do, my comely young lass.
Know that writing in rhyme is a pain in the ass.
So enough of that bullshit. Find the bar. Have a drink if you want. All you have to do is start a fight with one of the patrons over a football game. A fistfight. One that you'll lose. It doesn't have to be a long, extended combat, but at least one punch needs to knock you to the floor. When you're done, check the trunk for further instructions. Good luck.
She couldn't believe this. A fistfight? Her? She'd never been in a fight in her entire life. And the most she knew about football was that all the best commercials played during the Super Bowl.
It didn't make sense. Gary wasn't the type to get involved in bar fights. He was rowdier around his friends, sure, but even at his most obnoxious he was never violent. And he liked football as much as any guy, but didn't take it nearly seriously enough to pick a fight over it.
The kidnappers were cheating. If Gary had been in a bar fight about a football game, he definitely hadn't started it. Either some drunken moron had put him in a situation where he was forced to fight, or she was also playing Scott or Doug's parts.
And Scott and Doug were dead, weren't they?
She didn't know that. And to keep herself as sane as possible, she'd go with the "drunken moron" theory for now.
* * *
The second item in the envelope was another small map, which led her all the way through Bleser to a road way out in the boondocks. When she finally reached the bar, she figured it had been at least five miles since she passed the last human-made structure.
She pulled into the parking lot next to three other cars. The bar didn't even have a name, at least not one that was displayed, though the numerous neon beer logos in the windows clarified the purpose of this establishment. The place looked like the last touch-up had been done shortly after the Gold Rush.
It was barely after nine on a Monday morning. What were any cars doing here?
She shut off the engine and walked inside. The bartender looked up as she entered, as did the two other patrons, who sat at separate tables, watching ESPN on a television mounted over a door. One of them was a big guy with a beard that severely needed trimming and a huge gut, the other was an older man, maybe in his sixties, wearing a red ball cap and smoking a cigarette.
Which one of the three was involved in the kidnapping?
Were any of them? Maybe she wouldn't have to start a fight. Maybe she could just punch herself in the face and walk back outside.
And maybe she should just leave Gary for dead while she was at it.
"What can I get you?" the bartender asked.
"For right now, just a bathroom."
The bartender nodded toward the door right under the television. Wonderful. Nothing like knowing that a couple of creepy-looking guys were staring in her direction while she was using the bathroom. At least it couldn't be as bad as the outhouse.
She emerged a couple minutes later, longing for the good old days of the outhouse. But restroom facilities were a pretty small problem compared to her task at hand.
She sat down at a vacant table, trying to figure out how to approach the situation. Who should she confront? The old guy looked like