Logan breathed deeply, letting the autumn air flood his lungs. The hillside on which he stood was alight-bursts of red, yellow, and orange leaves coated the landscape, one of Maine’s primary tourist draws. Pacing up and down a small stretch of the secluded hiking trail he had selected as their meeting place, Logan waited for Emma.

He had slept for only an hour or two in a clearing not far from the trail last night, unwilling to venture back to town in the dark. Emma had agreed to meet him here at dawn, close to the main road but far enough into the tree line for them to not be seen by curious eyes in passing vehicles.

Unlike Logan, she wasn’t familiar with the forest; having only arrived Buckner, Maine, a few weeks ago, Emma had not yet shown an interest in the wilderness.

As a breeze shifted the leaves around his feet, he shuddered and pulled his thick flannel jacket tighter around his shoulders. Although he had spent all twenty-two years of his life in northern Maine, Logan had never truly embraced the cold.

His childhood here had been uneventful. His parents, owners of a local bed and breakfast, had provided him with a pleasant enough youth and sufficient attention. He had kept out of trouble in school, with average grades and a clean disciplinary record. He was the type of student that his teachers would have forgotten before the next school year had even begun.

Nothing in his simple, peaceful childhood had prepared him for the past few weeks; nothing could have ever prepared him for meeting Emma. It had been just another night spent at the bar in town, downing a beer and making polite conversation with the bartender. At least, until she walked through the door. Everything stopped.

She had strolled casually up to the bar, sliding onto the stool beside Logan. Purple eye shadow framed her deep green eyes, and her long black hair hung loose and windblown around her shoulders.

“Jack and coke.” She slid an obviously fake Georgia driver’s license toward the bartender with the confidence of a professional poker player. The bartender took a good long look at the cleavage she was so artfully showing, and pushed the ID back to her without another word.

Logan hadn’t stopped staring. The young woman turned to look at him as the bartender poured her drink and handed it to her. “What’s your name, handsome?”

His heart was pounding. “Logan.”

“Emma.” She took a long pull of her Jack and coke. “If I had to guess, I’d say you’re from around here.”

He didn’t bother denying it.

“I’m from Florida.” Logan wondered what the Georgia ID was for. She continued, “I bet you’re wondering why I’m here.” Another long pull on her drink, then, “I guess you could say for work. But maybe a little pleasure, too.”

She laughed as his cheeks reddened. Emma, like most other girls who had ever interacted with Logan, mistook that as a sign of weakness.

***

Feeling more nervous by the minute, Logan began to fiddle with the buttons on his shirt. It was a habit that that had driven his mother crazy when he was younger; occasionally he would get so nervous that he would wear out a button and lose it. The shirt he was wearing was now missing two buttons.

Hearing a sound in the branches behind him, he spun on one heel to face the trail head.

A crow burst from the leaves not ten feet away, signaling the approach of a man and dog from the main road.

He looked about sixty-five years old, slightly stooped and walking slowly with the golden retriever beside him. Logan thought he recognized him from town. The man gave him a nod as he approached, and Logan tried hard to dig up a polite smile.

“Morning.” The man stopped directly in front of Logan, the dog curiously sniffing around his heavy boots. Logan merely nodded in return. “You hear about that bear attack last night? Gotta be careful out here alone.”

Logan kept his voice steady. “No, sir. Hadn’t heard about any attack.”

He kept his ice blue eyes level with the old man’s. “Well, they found a guy not too far from here this morning, they think a bear must’ve got him. I wouldn’t be out hiking today without Arthur here.” He said, indicating the dog.

Logan nodded. “Well thanks for the tip, sir. I’ll be careful.” The dog had begun to growl quietly in the direction of his boots, and it was all Logan could do to keep still and look calm.

The man gave him a last wary glance, nodded in return, and continued up the trail with Arthur reluctantly in tow. Logan raked his hands through his hair, and checked his watch for the thirty-sixth time. Emma was now over an hour late.

***

It had been a few years since Dr. Mark Lewis had seen such a brutal case. He had worked as the coroner in Buckner for over twenty years, yet had only very rarely encountered cases involving bear attacks. Luckily for him, and the general public, the city had done a good job of educating tourists about the dangers of hiking in the woods. The few incidents he had dealt with had all been rough, but something seemed different with this one.

As if the bear attack victim wasn’t enough, Dr. Lewis had another body in the morgue this morning. The young woman had been brought in around 5am, an obvious drug overdose. The sheriff had walked into Dr. Lewis’s office as he was starting the paperwork for her autopsy.

Sheriff Lincoln Peters, like Dr. Lewis, was a lifelong resident of Buckner. He had also seen some tough cases, but had been enjoying the sleepy town’s lack of crime as he crept toward retirement.

Things were changing, though; in just the last few months, people had been showing up from down south. The sheriff had watched helplessly as life in Buckner had slowly gone downhill.

Drugs like heroin and meth had been popping up in the local high schools, and concerned residents had informed him that a small group of individuals had been dealing out of the town’s main bar. He had been doing everything he could to stem the flow, but the girl in the morgue wasn’t the first to overdose in the last few weeks.

“Busy day, Mark.” Sheriff Peters sat down in a chair across from the cold metal desk. The coroner nodded solemnly at his old friend.

“I was just getting started on the paperwork. Come on, we can head in and go over all the details.” They walked into the morgue, toward two tables bearing white-sheeted figures.

“The first one here is the young woman. Don’t know if you recognize her, her wallet was found with her but her ID is an obvious fake. We’re still working on identity.”

The sheriff picked up the flimsy ID with a Georgia peach stamped on it. “I doubt her name really is Peachy Keane.” He pulled back the sheet to reveal her face. The girl’s eyes were closed, lids darkened by purple eye shadow. Glossy black hair spilled around her pale shoulders.

“She does look familiar. I might’ve seen her in town a few times, but I couldn’t tell you her real name. I’ll start asking around as soon as I get back to the station.”

Dr. Lewis nodded, and pulled the sheet up to cover her face again. “It was heroin. They found her back behind the bar, needle still in her arm.”

He paused before looking over at the second slab. “Now this one, you’d better prepare yourself a little more.”

He slowly and carefully pulled the sheet down to the man’s waist, revealing a chest covered in deep gashes. It took Sheriff Peters a moment, but he soon noticed the detail that had caught the coroner’s eye.

The man, who looked to be about thirty, had been bound at the wrists. The raw rope burns around his arms were visible through the numerous cuts.

“He was found in a clearing near the trail just above town. No wallet, just shreds of clothing.”

“I know this one- Tate Samuels. He isn’t a local, but he’s been around the bar a fair bit. Once I start asking around I’ll see if I can find out who his next of kin is, and why he might’ve been in the woods last night.”

“Alright, Sheriff. Keep me in the loop.” They shook hands and exchanged tired glances as Sheriff Peters walked out of the room. Dr. Lewis pulled the sheet back over the man and closed the door.

***

Logan was pacing on the trail as the sun passed the highest point in the sky. He had gone over what he would say to Emma dozens of times in his head, but he was struggling to think of a reason why she would be late.

He had done exactly as she had told him to. Tate Samuels never saw what hit him; Logan had hidden in the underbrush at the meeting location, waiting for Samuels to arrive. He had been right on schedule, with the cash as promised.

If Tate had seen Logan before being bashed on the head, he would’ve noticed that Logan had not brought the heroin bricks that Samuels was supposed to be collecting from him.

Logan had not felt like explaining. He had left the man tied up and unconscious in a moonlit meadow about a mile off the trail.

It was now, as he paced and scanned the trail for Emma, that what the old man had told him began to sink in. A bear attack; a man tied up in the woods would have been an easy target.

As the wind began to pick up, Logan decided he couldn’t wait for Emma any longer.

Leaves swirled around his legs as he ran for his truck, parked near the tree line at the trail head. He took one last long look at the hillside before slamming the door shut and starting the engine.

An hour later, he was approaching the Canadian border. Next to him on the passenger seat sat a backpack full of clothing, a paper bag filled with food and supplies, and a leather wallet.

Logan removed Tate Samuels’ ID card from the wallet as he sat in line of cars, and carefully put the wallet and the $10,000 it contained in the glove compartment. He was whistling cheerfully along with the radio as he rolled down his window for the border agent.

Title: "Meet Me In The Woods" (Title came from a song with the same name, I wrote the story in a creative writing class that challegned us to use a song title for inspiration.)

Genre: Suspense, could also include elements of romance and horror.

Age Range: Adult

Word Count: Once expanded from short story length, possibly 30-50k

Author Name: Rachel Souerbry

Why My Project is a Good Fit: The idea for the end of the story is presented here in the short story version, and can be expanded upon to include a more developed plot. It will include a few really interesting twists and turns, as well as vivid imagery.

Bio: I grew up in San Diego, California, and am currently living in Brisbane, Australia. I work online, writing history articles for the American website Ranker.com. I love my job, and I get to learn something new every single day. I've always been interested in history, and some of my other interests (besides creative writing, which I've dabbled in since I was 8) include crocheting and cross stitching, reading, gardening, watching comedy specials, and learning new languages. Contrary to what my hobbies might have you believe, I'm 26 years old.

Education: I hold a Bachelor degree in Dairy Science (Husbandry and Dairy Products Manufacturing) from Cal Poly San Luis Obispo. I am not currently putting that to use, but I love learning and am taking classes online for my own personal and professional development. The creative writing class I took was through the Open University, and focused mainly on developing dynamic characters.

Logan breathed deeply, letting the autumn air flood his lungs. The hillside on which he stood was alight-bursts of red, yellow, and orange leaves coated the landscape, one of Maine’s primary tourist draws. Pacing up and down a small stretch of the secluded hiking trail he had selected as their meeting place, Logan waited for Emma.

He had slept for only an hour or two in a clearing not far from the trail last night, unwilling to venture back to town in the dark. Emma had agreed to meet him here at dawn, close to the main road but far enough into the tree line for them to not be seen by curious eyes in passing vehicles.

Unlike Logan, she wasn’t familiar with the forest; having only arrived Buckner, Maine, a few weeks ago, Emma had not yet shown an interest in the wilderness.

As a breeze shifted the leaves around his feet, he shuddered and pulled his thick flannel jacket tighter around his shoulders. Although he had spent all twenty-two years of his life in northern Maine, Logan had never truly embraced the cold.

His childhood here had been uneventful. His parents, owners of a local bed and breakfast, had provided him with a pleasant enough youth and sufficient attention. He had kept out of trouble in school, with average grades and a clean disciplinary record. He was the type of student that his teachers would have forgotten before the next school year had even begun.

Nothing in his simple, peaceful childhood had prepared him for the past few weeks; nothing could have ever prepared him for meeting Emma. It had been just another night spent at the bar in town, downing a beer and making polite conversation with the bartender. At least, until she walked through the door. Everything stopped.

She had strolled casually up to the bar, sliding onto the stool beside Logan. Purple eye shadow framed her deep green eyes, and her long black hair hung loose and windblown around her shoulders.

“Jack and coke.” She slid an obviously fake Georgia driver’s license toward the bartender with the confidence of a professional poker player. The bartender took a good long look at the cleavage she was so artfully showing, and pushed the ID back to her without another word.

Logan hadn’t stopped staring. The young woman turned to look at him as the bartender poured her drink and handed it to her. “What’s your name, handsome?”

His heart was pounding. “Logan.”

“Emma.” She took a long pull of her Jack and coke. “If I had to guess, I’d say you’re from around here.”

He didn’t bother denying it.

“I’m from Florida.” Logan wondered what the Georgia ID was for. She continued, “I bet you’re wondering why I’m here.” Another long pull on her drink, then, “I guess you could say for work. But maybe a little pleasure, too.”

She laughed as his cheeks reddened. Emma, like most other girls who had ever interacted with Logan, mistook that as a sign of weakness.

***

Feeling more nervous by the minute, Logan began to fiddle with the buttons on his shirt. It was a habit that that had driven his mother crazy when he was younger; occasionally he would get so nervous that he would wear out a button and lose it. The shirt he was wearing was now missing two buttons.

Hearing a sound in the branches behind him, he spun on one heel to face the trail head. A crow burst from the leaves not ten feet away, signaling the approach of a man and dog from the main road.

He looked about sixty-five years old, slightly stooped and walking slowly with the golden retriever beside him. Logan thought he recognized him from town. The man gave him a nod as he approached, and Logan tried hard to dig up a polite smile.

“Morning.” The man stopped directly in front of Logan, the dog curiously sniffing around his heavy boots. Logan merely nodded in return. “You hear about that bear attack last night? Gotta be careful out here alone.”

Logan kept his voice steady. “No, sir. Hadn’t heard about any attack.”

He kept his ice blue eyes level with the old man’s. “Well, they found a guy not too far from here this morning, they think a bear must’ve got him. I wouldn’t be out hiking today without Arthur here.” He said, indicating the dog.

Logan nodded. “Well thanks for the tip, sir. I’ll be careful.” The dog had begun to growl quietly in the direction of his boots, and it was all Logan could do to keep still and look calm.

The man gave him a last wary glance, nodded in return, and continued up the trail with Arthur reluctantly in tow. Logan raked his hands through his hair, and checked his watch for the thirty-sixth time. Emma was now over an hour late.

***

It had been a few years since Dr. Mark Lewis had seen such a brutal case. He had worked as the coroner in Buckner for over twenty years, yet had only very rarely encountered cases involving bear attacks. Luckily for him, and the general public, the city had done a good job of educating tourists about the dangers of hiking in the woods. The few incidents he had dealt with had all been rough, but something seemed different with this one.

As if the bear attack victim wasn’t enough, Dr. Lewis had another body in the morgue this morning. The young woman had been brought in around 5am, an obvious drug overdose. The sheriff had walked into Dr. Lewis’s office as he was starting the paperwork for her autopsy.

Sheriff Lincoln Peters, like Dr. Lewis, was a lifelong resident of Buckner. He had also seen some tough cases, but had been enjoying the sleepy town’s lack of crime as he crept toward retirement.

Things were changing, though; in just the last few months, people had been showing up from down south. The sheriff had watched helplessly as life in Buckner had slowly gone downhill.

Drugs like heroin and meth had been popping up in the local high schools, and concerned residents had informed him that a small group of individuals had been dealing out of the town’s main bar. He had been doing everything he could to stem the flow, but the girl in the morgue wasn’t the first to overdose in the last few weeks.

“Busy day, Mark.” Sheriff Peters sat down in a chair across from the cold metal desk. The coroner nodded solemnly at his old friend.

“I was just getting started on the paperwork. Come on, we can head in and go over all the details.” They walked into the morgue, toward two tables bearing white-sheeted figures.

“The first one here is the young woman. Don’t know if you recognize her, her wallet was found with her but her ID is an obvious fake. We’re still working on identity.”

The sheriff picked up the flimsy ID with a Georgia peach stamped on it. “I doubt her name really is Peachy Keane.” He pulled back the sheet to reveal her face. The girl’s eyes were closed, lids darkened by purple eye shadow. Glossy black hair spilled around her pale shoulders.

“She does look familiar. I might’ve seen her in town a few times, but I couldn’t tell you her real name. I’ll start asking around as soon as I get back to the station.”

Dr. Lewis nodded, and pulled the sheet up to cover her face again. “It was heroin. They found her back behind the bar, needle still in her arm.”

He paused before looking over at the second slab. “Now this one, you’d better prepare yourself a little more.”

He slowly and carefully pulled the sheet down to the man’s waist, revealing a chest covered in deep gashes. It took Sheriff Peters a moment, but he soon noticed the detail that had caught the coroner’s eye.

The man, who looked to be about thirty, had been bound at the wrists. The raw rope burns around his arms were visible through the numerous cuts.

“He was found in a clearing near the trail just above town. No wallet, just shreds of clothing.”

“I know this one- Tate Samuels. He isn’t a local, but he’s been around the bar a fair bit. Once I start asking around I’ll see if I can find out who his next of kin is, and why he might’ve been in the woods last night.”

“Alright, Sheriff. Keep me in the loop.” They shook hands and exchanged tired glances as Sheriff Peters walked out of the room. Dr. Lewis pulled the sheet back over the man and closed the door.

***

Logan was pacing on the trail as the sun passed the highest point in the sky. He had gone over what he would say to Emma dozens of times in his head, but he was struggling to think of a reason why she would be late.

He had done exactly as she had told him to. Tate Samuels never saw what hit him; Logan had hidden in the underbrush at the meeting location, waiting for Samuels to arrive. He had been right on schedule, with the cash as promised.

If Tate had seen Logan before being bashed on the head, he would’ve noticed that Logan had not brought the heroin bricks that Samuels was supposed to be collecting from him.

Logan had not felt like explaining. He had left the man tied up and unconscious in a moonlit meadow about a mile off the trail.

It was now, as he paced and scanned the trail for Emma, that what the old man had told him began to sink in. A bear attack; a man tied up in the woods would have been an easy target.

As the wind began to pick up, Logan decided he couldn’t wait for Emma any longer. Leaves swirled around his legs as he ran for his truck, parked near the tree line at the trail head. He took one last long look at the hillside before slamming the door shut and starting the engine.

An hour later, he was approaching the Canadian border. Next to him on the passenger seat sat a backpack full of clothing, a paper bag filled with food and supplies, and a leather wallet.

Logan removed Tate Samuels’ ID card from the wallet as he sat in line of cars, and carefully put the wallet and the $10,000 it contained in the glove compartment. He was whistling cheerfully along with the radio as he rolled down his window for the border agent.

You can tell yourself whatever you like- that I'm bad, that I'm good- but I'll still slip in slowly and overturn everything you have ever built. I'm not your dream, I'm not your nightmare. I'm the thing in between that makes you forget who you are, who slowly chips away at your dreams until they are nothing but tiny pieces of rubble in my hands.

You don't know the paths I have traveled, but I know yours very well. I'm much older than you are, and I have ways of seeing past the flimsy masks that humans wear. When you think you look strong, I can see the cracks in your bones and the tears in your fabric.

You think you found me broken, in need of love and longing to be wanted. This was a story you crafted for yourself. You thought I looked forlorn and pitiful, but you saw what you needed to see. I knew you would.

You are blind to it all. I show you the ice in my heart, I singe everything I touch, and still you stay. You make it so easy; I play you like a violin. Plucking each string perfectly, making you dance to my beat until there is no other way for you to move.

How far will you let me take you? I have been here before and I will be here again, but for you this is your only chance. Your chance at happiness, at life, and you waste it on me. If you think I can love you, you are only fooling yourself. Which you can do if you like, it does not matter to me. But soon enough, we will be done and I will move on.

I have been here before, and I will be here again.

Aubrey Willis sat down at the old oak table, running her hands along the scars in the boards just as she'd done since she was small. Now 23, it had been a while since she had sat here with her whole family surrounding her; but it all still felt the same. Like how home should feel.

Her mother had covered the table in all the Thanksgiving favorites, and as her father passed her a plate she mentally debated where to start first. 

"So mom, how's work been lately?" Her mother raised her head slowly to meet Aubrey's gaze as the rest of the family fell silent.

"I guess I forgot to tell you. I got laid off from the research lab."

Aubrey didn't know what to say. Jane Willis had worked as a high-clearance government researcher for the last thirty years. She couldn't believe her mom had failed to mention such a monumental thing as loosing her life-long career. 

"I'm ok." She continued, seeing Aubrey's shocked face and the look of concern creeping in. "I've found a new use for my time."

Everyone else at the table was still silent, picking at their food as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. Finally, her brother David spoke up. 

"It's really ok, Aubrey. If you want, after dinner we can show you what mom's been working on out back." He forced a grin, trying to change direction. "Anybody else as mad as I am that the Vikings dropped that pass? I mean come on!" 

With the conversation now successfully changed to the day's football games, Aubrey finished eating her green bean cassarole in silence. 

As the family finished cleaning up after the grand meal, nobody saw Jane slip out the back door. Holding a bag filled with what remained of the Thanksgiving turkey, she moved quickly and quietly toward the back of the property, where an old, dark shed loomed in the moonlight. 

As she approached the door, she could hear an unnerving growling sound coming from inside. The sound of cages rattling became louder as she turned the key in the massive padlock that kept her new projects safe. Smiling to herself, she stepped inside with the turkey carcass and closed the door behind her. 

Already today, I've been told several times that I would be surprised what humans will do in order to survive. I'm not sure if I can bring myself to believe them just yet. Things have begun to change, and fast; but even so, I'm holding onto hope that we might make it through this latest ordeal. So far it looks like most people's survival plans involve looting stores, taking whatever they can hold onto, and holing themselves and their families up in their newly heavily protected homes. I'm lucky I guess; my family has been gone for so long. I don't have to worry about their safety, or worse- watch them parish along with everyone else. I just have myself. I've built a small shelter, and I hope to slowly make it bigger and stronger. I have some medical supplies and some food, and I plan to share it with anyone I come across out here in the woods. If I die, at least I'm going to go out among these beautiful rolling hills, knowing I won't contribute to anyone's suffering.

Logan breathed deeply, letting the autumn air flood his lungs. The hillside on which he stood was alight-bursts of red, yellow, and orange leaves coated the landscape, one of Maine’s primary tourist draws. He had selected a hiking trail through these beautiful trees as a meeting place. Pacing up and down a small stretch of the dirt path, he waited for Emma.

He had slept in a clearing not for from the trail last night, unwilling to venture back to town in the dark. Emma had agreed to meet him here, close to the main road but far enough into the tree line for them to not be seen by passing vehicles. Unlike Logan, she wasn’t familiar with the forest; having only moved to Buckner, Maine, a few months ago, Emma had never shown an interest in the wilderness.

As a breeze shifted the leaves around his feet, he shuddered and pulled his thick flannel jacket tighter around his shoulders. Logan was used to the cold, having spent all twenty-two years of his life in Northern Maine. His childhood here had been uneventful. His parents, owners of a local bed and breakfast, had provided him with a pleasant enough youth and sufficient attention. He had kept out of trouble in school, with average grades and a spot on the football team. He was an average kid- almost forgettable.

Nothing in his childhood had prepared him for the last few months, and nothing ever could have prepared him for meeting Emma. He would never forget the day he met her. It had been just another night spent at the bar in town, having a beer with a friend he’d known since he was a kid. She walked through the door, and everything stopped. Purple eye shadow framed deep green eyes, and her long black hair hung loosely around her shoulders. She had gone up and sat right next to Logan at the bar, fearlessly introducing herself. She was from Florida, she had come to Maine last week, and she was nineteen. She had confidently pulled out a fake ID from Georgia, ordering herself a whiskey on the rocks. Logan had been helpless.

Feeling more nervous by the minute, he began to fiddle with the buttons on his shirt. It was a habit that that had driven his mother crazy when he was younger; occasionally he would get so nervous that he would wear out a button and lose it. The shirt he was wearing now was missing three buttons.

Hearing a sound in the branches behind him, he spun on one heel to face the trail head. A crow burst from the leaves not ten feet away, signaling the approach of a man and dog from the main road. He looked about sixty five years old, slightly stooped and walking slowly with the golden retriever beside him. Logan thought he recognized him from town. The man gave him a nod as he approached, and Logan tried hard to dig up a polite smile.

“Morning.” The man stopped directly in front of Logan, the dog curiously sniffing around his heavy boots. Logan merely nodded in return. “You hear about the attack last night? Gotta be careful out here alone.”

Logan kept his voice steady. “No, sir. Hadn’t heard about any attack.”

He kept his ice blue eyes level with the old man’s. “Well, they found a guy not too far from here this morning, they think maybe a bear got him. I wouldn’t be out hiking today without Arthur here.” He said, indicating the dog.

Logan nodded. “Well thanks for the tip, sir. I’ll be sure to be careful.”

The man gave him a last wary glance, nodded in return, and continued up the trail. Logan raked his hands through his hair, and checked his watch for the hundredth time. Emma was now an hour late.

***

It had been a few years since John Lewis had seen such a brutal case. He had worked as the coroner in Buckner for over twenty years, and had rarely encountered cases involving bear attacks. Luckily for him, and the general public, the city had done a good job of educating tourists about the dangers of hiking in the woods. The few incidents he had dealt with had all been rough, but there was something different with this one.

As if the bear attack victim wasn’t enough, Dr. Lewis had another body in the morgue this morning. The girl had been brought in around 5am that morning, an obvious drug overdose. The sheriff had walked into Dr. Lewis’s office as he was starting the paperwork for her autopsy.

Sheriff Lincoln Peters, like Dr. Lewis, was a lifelong resident of Buckner. He had seen some tough cases, but had been enjoying the lack of crime in recent years. Things had been changing though; in just the last few months, people had been showing up from down south. The sheriff had watched helplessly as things had slowly gone downhill. Drugs like heroin and meth had been popping up in the local schools, and residents had informed him that a small group of people had been dealing out of the town’s main bar. He had been doing everything he could to stem the flow, but the girl in the morgue wasn’t the first to overdose in the last few weeks.

“Busy day, John.” Sheriff Peters sat down in a chair across from the cold metal desk. The coroner nodded solemnly.

“I was just getting started on the paperwork. Come on, we can head in and go over all the details.” They walked into the morgue, two tables in the center covered with white-sheeted figures. “The first one here is the young woman.” He pulled back the sheet to reveal her face for the sheriff. “Don’t know if you recognize her, her wallet was found with her but her ID is an obvious fake. We’re still working on identity.” The sheriff looked down at the girl’s closed eyes, lids darkened by purple eye shadow. Glossy black hair spilled around her pale shoulders.

“She does look familiar. I’ve seen her around, but I couldn’t tell you her name. I’ll start asking around as soon as I get back to the station.”

Dr. Lewis nodded, and pulled the sheet back up to cover her. “It was heroin. They found her back behind the bar, needle still in her arm.” He paused before looking over at the second slab. “Now this one, you’d better prepare yourself a little more.”

He pulled the sheet down to the man’s waist, revealing a chest covered in deep gashes. It took Sheriff Peters a moment, but he noticed what had caught the coroner’s eye earlier in the day.

The man, who looked to be about twenty five, had been bound at the wrists. The raw rope burns around his arms were visible through the numerous cuts.

“He was found in a clearing near the trail just above town. No wallet, just shreds of clothing.”

“I know this one- Tate Samuels, he isn’t a local but he’s been around the bar a fair bit. Once I start asking around I’m sure I can make a connection to find out who he is.”

“Alright, Sheriff. I’ll let you get on it, and I need to finish my work here. Keep me in the loop.” They shook hands and exchanged tired glances as Sheriff Peters walked out of the room. Dr. Lewis pulled the sheet back over the man and closed the door.

***

Logan was pacing on the trail as the sun passed the highest point in the sky. He had gone over what he would say to Emma dozens of times in his head, but he was struggling to think of a reason why she would be late. He would tell her it wasn’t his fault. That the man had come at him first; that he hadn’t had a choice, the deal had gone bad.

As the wind picked up, Logan decided he couldn’t wait any longer. Leaves swirled around his legs as he ran for his truck, parked near the tree line at the trail head. He took one last long look at the hillside before slamming the door shut and starting the engine.

An hour later, he was crossing the border into Canada. Next to him on the passenger seat sat a backpack full of clothing, a paper bag with food and supplies, and a leather wallet. The ID inside the wallet read Tate Samuels, and Logan used it as he crossed the border.

"The hotdog is symbolic for our business relationships. Look at the toppings-the flavors that bring everything together, like our assistants. The bun is our sales team- keeping us in place, protected for the future. And the juicy meat is the developers, giving us something to work with. Tasty! We're pitching a vegan grocery store, but you get the idea."

It's very different from love. With love, you want to make somebody smile, you want to make them feel safe. With lust, an unexplainable rush of chemicals moves through your body, causing you to move and feel in unfamiliar ways. Your brain is flooded with only thoughts of your new person, and your heart feels like it could explode from needing them. Lust is powerful, consuming, and often fleeting.