Chapter 2: The Game Begins with Blood

But the next morning, there was another gift box at our door. Inside was… our Malamute’s head… I gagged. It couldn’t be real.

My knees nearly buckled. The sight was so unreal, I half-expected someone to jump out and yell, "Gotcha!" But the blood was real, the fur unmistakable.

"He just barked! Was that—was that really necessary?"

My voice cracked as I carried the box inside. The weight of it felt like a punishment. I hated myself for not protecting him.

She sat up, rubbing her eyes, not yet aware of the nightmare waiting for her.

"What’s wrong?"

She sounded annoyed, like I’d interrupted her favorite dream. But when she saw the dog’s head in the box, she froze. She’d never been that attached to pets, but we’d had Buddy for seven or eight years. Her whole body trembled.

Her lips parted, but no sound came out. I watched her face crumble, all the color draining away. She broke. Right there.

"What happened?"

Her voice was barely a whisper. I could see her trying to piece together some explanation, something that would make sense of the horror in front of her.

I looked at her, searching her face.

I wanted to tell her everything, to demand answers, but the words stuck in my throat. I just stared, hoping she’d say something that would make it all go away.

"It wasn’t because he barked at you... was it?"

The accusation hung in the air, ugly and raw. I hated myself for even thinking it.

Tears streamed down her face.

She covered her mouth, shoulders shaking. I reached out, but she pulled away, curling into herself like a child.

"He was family too…"

Her voice cracked, the grief pouring out of her in waves. For a moment, we were just two broken people, mourning the same loss.

I fell silent. The whole morning felt suffocating. There was so much I wanted to ask my wife, but I didn’t know how. I had no evidence, not even sure her behavior was actually abnormal. After thinking it over, I decided to keep quiet.

The silence between us was thick as fog. I let her go.

After my wife left, I took the box out to the edge of town. I found a quiet spot and buried Buddy’s head. But when I took the head out, I found a card at the bottom of the box:

"Since you’re looking for answers, let’s play a game."

The handwriting was neat, almost playful. My hands shook as I read it. The world seemed to tilt, the air colder than before. I nearly dropped the card.

A chill ran down my spine. I instinctively looked around—no one suspicious. But… was I being watched? Was this about me, or my wife? I hated not knowing.

The feeling of eyes on me wouldn’t go away. I scanned the tree line, the empty road, but saw nothing. Still, my skin crawled.

I was completely lost. But the card also had a phone number. I called it, and a recorded message played on loop:

"Be at the Maple Heights Bookstore in the Galleria Mall at 10 a.m. sharp. Your first riddle is inside!"

The voice was distorted, robotic, but the message was clear. My heart pounded in my chest. This was no ordinary prank. Not by a long shot.

I frowned, wondering who this mysterious person was. If he just wanted my wife, why go to all this trouble? An affair is just immoral at worst. Even if he fought me and my wife divorced me, that would be the end of it. But this… this felt like something else entirely, like I was being sucked into a whirlpool.

I paced the living room, replaying every interaction, every slight, every forgotten favor. Nothing made sense. This wasn’t about jealousy—it was about power.

But I was just a pet shop owner—I’d never made any enemies. Before this, I taught high school for ten years. My reputation was solid—no grudges there, either.

I tried to recall any angry parents, failed students, old colleagues with an axe to grind. Nothing. My life was boring by design.

I had nothing else. So I went.

I grabbed my jacket and keys, my heart racing. The mall was only fifteen minutes away, but the drive felt endless.

I got there at 10 on the dot. Everything inside was normal; no one approached me. So I started searching for clues. After a while, I found a USB drive tucked inside a high school math workbook.

The bookstore smelled of coffee and old paper. I wandered the aisles, pretending to browse, but my eyes darted everywhere. When I found the USB, my hands shook so badly I almost dropped it.

Was this someone I’d crossed back when I was teaching? But after ten years, who really holds a grudge that long? More likely, the book was just easy to spot.

I tried to convince myself it was a coincidence, but the pit in my stomach said otherwise.

I took the USB drive home. As soon as I plugged it in, I heard sounds I could barely stand. The recording was a man’s voice, altered to be unrecognizable. The commands kept coming:

"From now on, your name is Mary."

The voice was cold, commanding. My skin crawled as I listened.

Then I heard a familiar voice—my wife:

"Yes, Master!"

Her tone was flat, robotic, nothing like the woman I knew. My heart hammered in my chest. I couldn’t breathe.

Next came the sound of a whip. My wife screamed in pain. The man’s voice again:

"A good dog doesn’t speak. Remember, you’re my dog now!"

The words echoed in my head, each one a dagger. I gripped the edge of the desk, knuckles white.

My wife replied:

"Woof!"

It was a sound I’d never forget—humiliating, broken. My whole body shook.

My heart lurched. There was no video, but just imagining the scene was enough to make me hurt so badly I could hardly breathe.

I pressed my palms to my eyes, trying to block out the images. But they burned behind my eyelids, relentless.

The ‘dog training’ commands kept playing, until finally, the man said pointedly:

"Hey, pet shop manager—your training tips really work!"

He was playing with me. The mockery in his voice was unmistakable. I wanted to smash the computer, but I forced myself to listen.

Suddenly, two countdown timers appeared on my computer screen. One had only three seconds left. As the blood-red zero hit, my computer exploded…

The blast was sharp, sudden—a flash of pain across my cheek. Shards of plastic and glass flew everywhere. I staggered back, blood dripping onto the carpet.

I sucked in a breath through my teeth. The shattered screen cut my cheek. Thankfully, the blast wasn’t too strong. It seemed whoever was watching me didn’t want to kill me—at least, not yet.

I pressed a towel to my face, heart racing. The smell of burnt plastic filled the room. My ears rang, but I was alive. Barely.

But then I realized the real problem: there had been two countdowns! The first was for the computer. What about the second? Another bomb? Where?

Panic surged through me. I looked around wildly, searching for anything out of place. Every shadow felt dangerous.

In a flash, I thought of my wife. No matter how she’d ended up as that guy’s ‘dog,’ I had to find her. A life was at stake—I had to try to save her.

I grabbed my phone, hands shaking. There was no time to think, only act.

I considered calling the police, but the timer only gave me an hour. By the time the police arrived and started searching, the bomb could have already gone off.

I cursed under my breath. Sometimes, you’re on your own, no matter how much you want someone else to take over. Again.

I quickly set an alarm on my phone for when the bomb would go off—it might be off by a minute, tops. Now for the real problem: I had no idea where the bomb was. The USB drive had been destroyed in the explosion, so there was no time to think things through slowly.

I stared at the blank screen, mind racing. Every second felt like a lifetime.

But one thing was certain: it had to be somewhere I could reach within an hour, or the countdown would be pointless. I ripped the city map off the study wall and calculated the half-hour driving radius. Time was running out. He wanted me to solve the riddle, so he had to give me time to do it. And he must have known I was at home, or he couldn’t have rigged the computer.

I spread the map out on the kitchen table, tracing routes with my finger. The city looked different when you were searching for a bomb.

Now I had to think: where would be a good place to hide a bomb—and a hostage? Three places fit the bill: an old abandoned factory, a deserted construction site, and a closed-off subway station under construction. But the three were in different directions; I couldn’t check them all in an hour. If I guessed wrong, my wife’s chances of survival dropped to one in three.

The pressure was suffocating. I closed my eyes, trying to remember every detail from the audio.

I took a deep breath and tried to relax, replaying the audio in my mind for clues. But the more I thought about it, the more my wife’s bark—"Woof!"—echoed in my head. It wouldn’t leave me alone. Frustrated, I slammed the table and lit a cigarette, leaning against the balcony as the wind blew past. Suddenly, I remembered a detail: there had been a constant background noise in the audio. Not loud—so I could rule out the subway construction site. That would have been much noisier. As for the old factory and the construction site, both should be quiet, but the difference was that the construction site was by the river. So that noise must have been… the sound of the Maple River!

I flicked the cigarette into the yard, adrenaline spiking. The answer was right there—I just had to trust my gut.

I drove there immediately. If I found a bomb, I’d call the police right away.

My hands gripped the steering wheel so tight my knuckles went white. Every red light felt like a personal attack. Come on, move.