
Foreseeable Harm
The Purloined Paintings
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Narrated by:
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Virtual Voice
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By:
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M.G. Lewis

This title uses virtual voice narration
About this listen
The sun was shining in Gabe's eyes. And his face was being washed with something rough. He opened one eye. A beautiful collie was licking his face and making little moans of concern. The collie's once-lovely coat was now wet, muddy, and tinged slime green by the bumper crop of algae flourishing in the ditch.
“Hey, Boy."
The collie, heartened by this greeting, wuffed a couple of times and then started barking in earnest. A little boy in a t-shirt and shorts parted the reeds enough to spot him before pulling back. “Come here, Chance!” Chance wuffed but was loathe to leave his new friend.
Gabe said, “Little Boy, get your father...or mother...or somebody. I need some help.”
He heard footsteps running away; Chance wuffed and then leaped out of the ditch to follow his master. It seemed like a long time passed. He was thinking about trying to stand up when an imposing man-shape blotted out the sun.
He briefly wondered if it was his attacker/abductor come back to reclaim him, but the man said, “How the Hell? You drunk? Or high?”
“A long story. And no and no. Can you get me out of this ditch?”
Chance was jumping into and out of the ditch, barking like a fiend, clearly excited by this novel twist to his morning walk. The man discovered that Gabe's wrist was cuffed, and then discovered the cast iron radiator. “You sure you aren't high?”
“Very sure.”
The radiator was buried in the muck, but the man ripped it loose and heaved it onto the bank. Strong hands lifted him out of the ditch and deposited him next to his iron companion.
“I didn't. Call the police. Now. Please.”
It was nice to be out of the water, but he should probably figure out why he'd been lured to Crisfield, clobbered, and kidnapped by a man in a white mask? But he may have taken a short nap instead.