It was the best truck stop sandwich I’d ever eaten. The bread was stale, the lettuce wilted, and gods only knew the deal with the egg salad, but it was solid enough to keep me from shaking to pieces.
I sat in the corner of the Sheriff’s office and pulled the blanket they’d given me tight. Everything leading up to that point circled in my head; one moment I was being held at gunpoint, and the next I was in a ditch, screaming my lungs out. Between them were several hours and twenty miles into the next county no-one could explain.
Tears pricked as I curled into my lap. Every part ached for the familiar; my own bed, and my family. Whatever that strange light it ripped them away, and cast me into the unknown. Something greater than myself looked past where I stood, and blew the world into frightening proportion.
The Sheriff knocked on the glass and peered inside. He mercifully ignored my sobs, and cleared his throat. “Son, your parents are here.”