The story thus far . . .

Wyld tagged me with this today...it's a story meme, with different folks adding the next phase to the story.

So here it goes:
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(Splotchy): I had been shuffling around the house for a few hours and already felt tired. The doorbell rang. I opened the front door and saw a figure striding away from the house, quickly and purposefully. I looked down and saw a bulky envelope. I picked it up. The handwriting was smudged and cramped, and I could only make out a few words.

(FranIam): Despite the throbbing pain in my knees and the dull ache in my lower back, I bent down slowly and picked up the envelope...
Oh no. It did not say this, did it?
Oh yes, it did. It did.
The handwriting was familiar in a way that inspired a cold sweat and a bout of nausea. It was the penmanship of my former husband. You know - the one that was presumed dead.
He disappeared in a suspicious blogging related accident a number of years ago and was never heard from again. I was devastated. I had hated the blog, loathed the thing. What began as a hobby that took but a few minutes a day had morphed into an addiction, the proportions of which could not be measured. It was pure evil.
The blog turned into a cruel and demanding mistress and her siren song was more than I could compete with. One day he left for an evening event, never to return again.
All fingers pointed to one blogger, but I could never get the charges to stick. That one is slick- slick, slick, slick. He can talk a good game and write like nobody's business. But there is something about him, it just is not right.
So my husband was gone, that other one kept blogging and I had to rebuild my life, which I did.
So I finally had the bastard declared dead.
And now this.

(Wyldth1ng): Suddenly the phone rang, and I felt like I was ten inches tall and eerie music was playing in the background.
I went to pick up the phone and the music stopped.
"Hello?"
Dial tone, no one was there. I glanced back to the door, and there he was. He rushed me and rose his hand and...

Suddenly the phone rang and I just had that "black cat, Friday the 13th" kind of feeling.
I looked out into the world. No one, no one was about. I closed and locked the door and went to answer the phone.
"Hello?"
Dial tone, no one was there. I glanced back at the door and it was locked.
I directed my attention to the envelope; abruptly, I heard a knock at the door.

(MezzoSF): Or what I *thought* was a knock at the door. But somewhere back in the reaches of my brain, I realized something was . . . amiss.
All at once the world snapped back into focus – colors, noises, sounds, images - coming together into a sensory overload.
The knocking grew louder and louder…and as I got my bearings, I realized that it was the clanging of a heavy steel padlock against the doors of a barren van. Well, barren except for me, a semi-dried pool of blood, and the as yet unopened envelope that started this whole thing. Based on the road noise, we seemed to be on a highway - the kaCHUNK kaCHUNK kaCHUNK of the seams in the road kept lopsided time with the knocking of the padlock.
Wincing with pain against an unknown violation throbbing at the back of my skull, I struggled to keep my brain focused…eventually realizing that after that first phone ring, the man rushed up behind me and must have given me a good, old-fashioned pistol-whipping. Unbeknownst to me, my subconscious had been reliving that moment over and over again – attempting to wake me up through a jolt of fear. And when it finally did . . . well . . . here I am.

I tried in vain to recall the man’s features…labored to see through the adrenaline and pain and relive my last-remembered 10 seconds of consciousness . . . but the fog remained.
Struggling against the duct tape around my wrists, I reached for the envelope, hoping that its contents would provide me with a clue as to the situation at hand…
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I'm tagging the following folks to take up some more of the story - and don't tell me you guys don't like to write...!
La Vie en Route
The Sour and the Sweet
Grace Shattered
Things People Say That Please Me
The Opera Singer