I'm running through the abandoned shopping centre at the edge of town. Sneakers slap the pavement around me, scattering for the exits, but one heavier set of boots is growing louder behind me. Fuck.

I swerve for the nearest exit in a panic, but the slow hydraulic opening saps all my momentum in a fraction of a second. I pivot and pinball through the crack, but he leverages his speed to bodyslam me out the door and into the dim daytime of the parking garage. Fourth floor. Graffiti covers every wall and most of the floor, turning the spiraling downramp into a swirling river of dragons and sea monsters. I crack a smile at the absurdity of diving into the pavement waters, and then my head hits the ground.

Well, not the ground - this guy's wrapped me in his arms not just so I can't get away, but so his padded elbow can cradle my head and break my fall. Still, the shock rattles my body and sucks out all my air. I reel on the ground but he never stops moving. He rolls me over and snaps a cuff on my wrist - there's no way he's licensed for that - then the other to the door handle, now clicked locked behind us.

He sits back and admires his handiwork while I struggle to take in air, and to understand my situation. I'd been doing a little harmless trespassing at the run-down old mall with a few of my hometown friends, just to reminisce, when this psycho decided to take his job seriously and run me down. My friends got out, I'm sure, and they'll follow old protocol. They'll meet at the Dairy Queen around the corner, realize I didn't get out, and come back to get me. 20 minutes, tops.

Plenty of time to call the cops. He might have already triggered an alarm. I gasp in a giant breath and he smirks. "Good, you're fine." I cough and huff a moment longer, then spit a wad at his feet. His face darkens and he grabs my hair, speaking directly in my ear.

"Listen, buddy, I don't want to call the cops, either. But you got caught, so you have to deal with the consequences. You look like someone who could be open to making a deal, though..."

He lets go and stands up, and I rasp out, "What do you want?"

His hands go to his belt buckle and pause. Oh, score, I think. Rarely did the police let you off so easily.

I nod, and he smirks again and opens it wide. My fear subsides and my temperature rises, giving him no indication my attitude has changed. When I look around with this new perspective, the parking garage jumps to life - eagles swoop for fish on the guard walls, deer and elk stand sentinel around the doors. Even a hive of bustling honeybees brightens the door I lean against, arm hanging above my head...

Cuffing Season