Free Sara's Game by Ernie Lindsey Page A

soaked running shirt molding itself around her skin.  She felt the sun on her back, then straightened up and put her hands behind her head. 
    Breathe.  Breathe.  Don’t puke.  I’m here, you bastard.  Where East meets West.  What am I supposed to be looking for?  Some kind of key?
    She looked at the phone in her hand, waiting for it to ring.
    Are you supposed to call me?  What am I supposed to do?
    Sara spun in desperate circles, searching the area around her feet, across the bridge to the other side, up at the towering green trusses.  She heard the roar of a hulking metal beast as a TriMet bus slouched its way by, lumbering along, kicking up dust that pelted her skin.
    All the other instructions were on a piece of paper.
    She twirled, hoping to see a flash of white.  Some bit of guidance.  Something to point her way to the next level.
    I don’t see anything.  Nothing there.  Nothing on the sidewalk.  Anything wrapped around the railing?  Shit.  No.  Empty.  Is it on me somewhere?  Has it been with me this whole time?  No pockets in the shirt...no pockets in the shorts...nothing in the key pocket...Shoes?  Shoes?  Damn.  No.  Where in the hell is the key?
    She walked to the railing and leaned across it, looking for anything below, feeling the sun-warmed metal on her palms.  The deep green water of the Willamette swirled along some fifty feet down.  The height, coupled with dehydration and exhaustion, caused an overpowering feeling of vertigo.  Sara backed away, afraid that she might topple over the edge and plunge into the river.  This world, the real one, wasn’t like the landscape inside the realm of Juggernaut , where you could bump into the outer limits of the backdrop and be stopped from going further.  A trip over this ledge meant something she didn’t want to think about.
    Sara looked to her left.  A streetlamp reached into the sky and she walked over to it, intending to use the metal post as a support, something to lean against while the dizzy spell passed.
    Before she flopped back against it, she saw a small bulge protruding from the front side.  She looked closer, and then she gasped.  Right at eye level, underneath a wide, clear strip of tape, was a bronze-colored key stuck to the lamppost.
    She peeled it away with harried, scrabbling fingers.  Ripped the key from the tape’s sticky grasp.
    The phone rang.
    She answered, “I found it, found the key.”
    “Good for you, Sara.  My apologies for the delay.  I was having a bit of fun with your children.  Who knew they could... bleed so easily?”
     

 
    CHAPTER 9
    DJ
    DJ sat in a plush leather chair across from Jim Rutherford, the CEO and President of LightPulse Productions.  The private office had one glass wall that offered a view of the interior machinations of the company, another was populated with promotional posters of their past releases, and, behind him, a shelved wall held a number of awards and family photographs.  The windows to his right were covered with drawn shades, allowing parallel strips of sunlight to penetrate into the room.  No overhead lights illuminated the area, and no desk lamps were present to give off a soft glow.
    The cave-like atmosphere reminded DJ of some super villain’s secret lair.
    The desk was as big as a full-sized mattress and oddly empty, except for a single notepad, one pen, and a laptop.  DJ expected mountains of paperwork and a ringing phone.  At least a nameplate and some kitschy knickknack, like a Newton’s Cradle.  Instead, the sparseness of the desk gave DJ the impression that this was a man who had little time for distractions.  Or, a man who made it a point to eliminate the near-constant interruptions that invariably came with running a busy, growing company like LightPulse.  It was an admirable quality—one that DJ wished he had, as well.
    Jim wasn’t dressed like the average CEO.  At least, not the ones that DJ had interacted with before.  His buzz-cut salt