A Helping Hand

by Jody Wenner

About the Author: A Twin Cities native, Jody Wenner writes mysteries and thrillers during the dark, cold months–which, let's be honest, is most of the year in Minnesota. She goes outside for a few weeks when the temperature reaches above eighty degrees and she enjoys hiking, water activities, or just about anything else outside as long as she can feel the sun shining on her face.

Excerpt

When he came to, he felt distinctly like a mixed drink on the rocks–not in the sense that he was craving one, but that he was one. Chilled. Shaken, not stirred.

He had no feeling in his right arm. Had he passed out on it again? He shifted his weight and attempted to stand. There was a crunching sound. His vision blurred. He slipped back down.

He lifted his hand to soothe the aching throb in his skull. A sticky substance made contact with his forehead. An acrid smell hit his nostrils with a force powerful enough to make him black out again.

Violent shivers forced him back into consciousness.

His double vision began to merge into a single sight, but he was still having a hard time processing what he was seeing. Clearly, he was still drunk. He blinked, but damn if it wasn’t still there—or not there, more accurately. He emitted a scream resembling a sheep going to slaughter.

When he came to again someone stood over him. “Dude. What happened to your hand?”

The man cleared his throat. “That’s what I was planning to ask you.”

“Not sure. I just got here,” said the kid. The man didn’t know him, had never seen this kid before but his first thought was that he was an awkward teen still coming into himself—tall and gangly with some scraggly facial hair.

“Where is here?” The man asked. The tub of ice water he was half-submerged in appeared to be located in a bathroom circa 1970.

“This is Beaver’s place.”

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