My story doesn`t start so dramatically.

　　My story starts across the country from Rachel, on a tiny island off the coast of Mayne. My story starts with me crouching outside the sunbaked wall of a ramshackle farmhouse.

　　I don`t want to brag, but I moved a square of plywood from the stone foundation like a boss ... then winced at the stench wafting from the crawlspace.

　　"There`s going to be spiders," I said.

　　My best friend, Dewitt, was leaning against the pickup in the gravel driveway behind me. He said, "You`re not afraid of spiders."

　　"There`s going to be sewage," I told him.

　　"Well, the pipe broke." Dewitt scratched his stomach under his Cupcake ZombieT-shirt. "You want Mrs. Reuter living in her own filth?"

　　"You`re the plumber."

　　"Handyman," Dewitt told me. "And you`re the apprentice handyman."

　　I snorted. Being a few years younger than Dewitt, he liked to call me his apprentice. We`d started doing odd jobs around the island in our teens, raking lawns and delivering six-packs. To earn a few bucks, sure, but also to keep busy: our small town lives weren`t exactly a thrillride.

　　Ten years later, we fixed boilers and replaced shingles and called ourselves handymen. Still earning a few bucks, still keeping busy.

　　Still not living a thrillride.

　　"Rock paper scissors?" I suggested. To decide who`d crawl under the house.

　　"You cheat."

　　"How do I cheat at rock paper scissors?"

　　"There`s no telling, a guy like you." Dewitt ran his fingers through his messy curls. "You want to head to Portland after we`re done?"

　　"I can`t."

　　He sighed. "You need some time away from the Rock."

　　That`s the name of the island where we lived, `Little Big Rock,` a flyspeck off the coast of Portland, Mayne. One paved road, one store, and twenty-seven permanent inhabitants.

　　"I`ve got to cook dinner for Miss Corene," I said. "Besides, we went to Portland last week."

　　"We didn`t stay overnight."

　　"Is that what this is about? You want hook up with some girl and--"

　　"You haven`t even looked at a girl since Maddie left." Dewitt shook his head mournfully. "Eleven months, bro. That`s not right. You`ve got to open the valve."If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it`s taken without permission from the author. Report it.

　　I stared at the crawlspace. Maddie. "How is she?"

　　"She`s fine, we should visit her. Carve a few weeks out of our busy schedule."

　　"Yeah, me and you in the big city."

　　Even if we headed to New Park City--which was a six or eight hours drive, and twice that on the bus--we couldn`t stay away from the Rock for weeks on end, anyway. Nobody could say away for that long, not since the Seventeen Seconds and the Storm. Well, nobody except Maddie. Dewitt`s sister, my ex, the only girl I`d ever loved.

　　The rest of us islanders started getting itchy after ten days or so. We started feeling sharp jabs of pain a week later. And if we didn`t return soon thereafter & well, nobody knew. Nobody was volunteering to guinea pig that particular experiment. We just hauled ass back to the Rock when we started feeling invisible papercuts on our skin.

　　For a moment, neither Dewey nor I spoke; nothing needed saying between best friends. He knew how I felt about Maddie. He knew how she felt about me, too. The autumn wind rose and shoved the trees around. A fresh coastal breeze blew the crawlspace stench away, and brought the distant scent of barbeque.

　　Dewitt sniffed the air. "That`s Gustav`s grill. What`re you making Corene for dinner?"

　　I lived in Miss Corene`s converted barn. She was eighty-seven, so I helped with her shopping and cooking and cleaning, and never quite remembered not to call her `Miss` Corene like I had when I was a kid.

　　"Cornflake roasted chicken," I said.

　　"With cornflakes?"

　　"Hence the name," I told him. "I`m changing a recipe from Gourmet. The cornflakes add a hint of sweetness."

　　"You are such a girl."

　　"Does that mean you`re going to mooch off Gustav instead?"

　　Gustav owned the General Store with his wife Trish. He was the postmaster and she was the mayor--or maybe the other way around. They switched back and forth every few years.

　　"You know I can`t resist barbeque," Dewitt told me. "Now how about fixing that pipe?"

　　"Well, I`m not going to make Mrs. Reuter do it herself."

　　"You`re a prince, Lark."

　　That`s my deepest, darkest secret--my name is Lark.` And even worse, my last name is Larson. Lark Larson. Like Fred Flintstone or Peter Piper. Still, my parents had wanted to call me Skylark,` so I count my blessings. Well, and I bless my sister Simone, who`d convinced them to drop the sky.`

　　Larson,` on the other hand, was my own fault. It was Simone`s married name, which I`d taken after I woke from the coma after the Storm. I`d rather have her last name than our parents`. Just one more thing that Rachel Kravitz and I had in common, changing our names. I only wish that Simone had married-and-divorced a woman named Anderson or Smith. `Lark Anderson` is way less ridiculous than Lark Larson.

　　"On the other hand &" Dewitt tossed a pebble against the wall. "I`m kind of feeling lunch break."

　　"It`s not even eleven," I said

　　He shook his shaggy head. "You know what your problem is? You`re prosaic."

　　"I`m prosaic?"

　　"Lacking in imagination and spirit."

　　"I know what it means, Dewey."

　　"There`s no poetry in your soul. That`s your problem." He tossed another pebble. "Also, the new ale`s done."

　　Dewitt brewed his own beer, and dreamed of starting a microbrewery: Little Big Brewing. He`d never gotten farther than taste tests, though. And he`d appointed me his apprentice taste tester.

　　"I thought we were against making Mrs. Reuter live in her own filth," I told him.

　　"Filth builds character."

　　I laughed and clasped his outstretched hand, and he yanked me to my feet. We got into the pickup but didn`t drive away. We just looked at each other. We couldn`t leave this mess for Mrs. Reuter.

　　Dewitt grabbed a quarter from the ashtray. "Call it."

　　"Heads."

　　He flipped, then opened his hand. "Tails."

　　"Two out of three," I said.

　　He flipped the coin again. I called heads again.

　　He opened his hand again & and grinned.

　　Two minutes later, I was crawling into the stench under the farmhouse.

　　I know that`s not a thrilling way to start my story, but it was how I spent my days. Building stone fences and digging holes, hauling trash and hanging with Dewitt. Missing Maddie. Living a cramped little life on a cramped little island.

　　Until the kidnapping.