Frank had the phone in his hand in the kitchen when the dulcimer sounds of Lauren's voice caused him to look up.<br/><br/>"Dust storm?"<br/><br/>Sure enough, he saw something out the front window. But it wasn't a dust storm. It was an old, beat up truck, kicking up debris from the dirt road. It wasn't moving fast but it was moving---headed straight for the cabin. There was no place else for it to go. The cabin was the end of the road.<br/><br/>Frank narrowed his eyes and stepped toward the window. The truck looked to be a mid-1940s model. Looked like a Ford. It was a sort of burnt orange color.<br/><br/>"Fuck me. Who the hell is that?"<br/><br/>Frank looked sternly at Lauren. "Get in the bedroom. Now."<br/><br/>He didn't wait for her to comply.<br/><br/>Frank took her by the arm, grabbed the cuffs, and marched her into the bedroom. There, he snapped a cuff on her left wrist and the other on the headboard.<br/><br/>"Keep quiet," he said in a no-nonsense way.<br/><br/>In a perfect world, he'd have gagged her but there wasn't time to properly do it anyhow. He would have to trust her big mouth.<br/><br/>Frank gently patted her on the cheek and kissed her. On the lips. Maybe she would be too stunned to talk or yell.<br/><br/>Frank stepped outside the cabin as the truck parked next to Frank's car. The driver was older. Maybe in his 60s. Maybe even 70. He stepped out of the truck, wearing denim overalls and a grimy looking t -shirt.<br/><br/>"Howdy!" Frank said in a friendly manner.<br/><br/>"Landlord sent me," the man said. "Time for the monthly check up on the place."<br/><br/>Frank cursed everything. The timing. The fact that no one told him about these check ups. His life, at the moment.