Frank wakes, finding himself cold and alone. He’s been drugged and beaten but simply the fact he is still alive, gives him hope he didn’t break . Bruised and disoriented, Frank finds one hand is free. He undoes his straps and finds clothing to keep him warm, praying that help will arrive.
“Frank?”
Was it his imagination or did he hear someone in the living room. Fearing he was hallucinating, he tried to respond, but his vocal cords refused to cooperate. He groaned.
“Frank?” The voice sounded closer. It was familiar, comforting. “Oh, my God! Clark, Arnold! I found him!”
Voices jumbled, all talking at once. Hands groped him, prodding sore spots, making him curse. The poking stopped and he smelled a fresh, feminine scent. It reminded him of sugar cookies.
More loud voices followed. Glaring lights made his eyes water. He tried to turn his head away, but someone…
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Viv Drewa - The Owl Lady 