North Denver, 1977.

Vance had been taken by the grabber four days ago, keeping track of the days by carving every nightfall he could see through the tiny barred up window into the wall.

The disconnected black phone on the wall- a useless peice of plastic junk that had long since worked- rang occasionally with calls from the other side. Calls from the ghosts of the grabbers other victims.

Vance sat on the shitty old mattress bolted to the floor, dissociating. The basement had high concrete walls and a toilet at the end of a hallway. That was it.

Suddenly, the phone rang- Vance rolling his eyes jumping up to answer it. "What."