Loving Lily

By Suzanne Dillon

This is the story of a young woman living in the Midwest, attempting to have a peaceful, normal life just like anyone else. Coworkers and neighbors know very little about her, assuming her to be reclusive and odd. They are unaware of the gruesome secrets she hides from every day. There are a few, however, who do know her secrets, but they are missing one important detail... where she is currently hiding. For many years she has eluded capture, but her history is about to catch up with her in more ways than one. Not only is the darkness of her past about to ascend, her past will also become her savior.

Loving Lily witnesses one woman’s struggle to overcome a terrible past and internal demons in order to be free to love and to live.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Aug 4, 2014
• ISBN: 9781312394216

Book preview

Loving Lily

LOVING LILY

by

Suzanne E. Dillon

Copyright © 2014

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without author’s permission in writing.

Chapter 1

When you are always terrified of losing everything you to tend to stick to the basics: crates acting as tables and a futon become the ultimate in apartment luxury. At least it is for those on the run.

On the run? Am I?

I've been here almost four years now, about three and a half years longer than I thought I would be. Did they give up? Lose me? Decide to let me be? Or are they just waiting for the right moment? I think about that last possibility, as I often do, and finish rinsing out my bowl.

It was oatmeal this morning, just like every morning. It sticks with me longer than the flakes. It’s another paranoid habit. I don't always eat because I’m hungry; I eat to prevent being hungry. It’s a difference you come to know when you know you can't guarantee your next meal will be exactly when you'd like it to be. Unfortunately, this is something I learned by the time I was in sixth grade.

The saying, It seems like only yesterday, applies easily when you wake every day into terror, whether it exists in the present or only in your memory. It truly makes it feel as if it really were only yesterday; as if every horrid thing I've experienced has been freshly laid at the top of my memory ready to spring into view throughout my days and nights.

I catch myself spiraling downward and try to shake it off. Today is going to be a good day. I'm determined. Erikson said he wanted to talk to me, and I am going with that as being a good thing. Plus, it's nearly summer and I'm thinking I might find something more to cherish in life than having a futon and a few pieces of real silverware.

So I grab my bag. It’s a light brown canvas bag with a long strap to go over my shoulder. It's full of random papers and the usual just-in-case items I can't seem to leave behind: cash, toothbrush, toothpaste, things like that. Most importantly is a picture of my mother and an old home video. I head out the door saying goodbye to my plant. I smile, seeing that it's liking this apartment and thinking again that maybe it's not so bad to let yourself have a little bit of normalcy.

A plant. I doubt there are many who appreciate what this signifies to someone like me. It means . . . I have a home. You can’t have a plant when you are on the move, and you can’t see something grow without sticking around a while.

I'm off to such a good start to my day, you'd think it was my birthday.

No, that came and went a few days ago. My plant and I celebrated quietly, peacefully. My twenty-eighth birthday and our one year anniversary. I bought the spider plant last year on my birthday, not really letting myself think about how long I would be able to keep it, to see it grow.

I never would have thought I’d have it for a whole year. Perhaps I’ll get another year with him.

I’ve had many days and nights throughout my life where I thought I'd never live to see 13, 18, 21, and now I’m boldly thinking I might actually see 30. I can't help but wonder what 30 might look like for me. Next month, however, there will surely be a gaudy, sugary sweet brick of a cake with my name on it in the office, since they all believe I'm . . . a Gemini. June 19th . . . I have to remember. I honestly don't even remember what year I put on my job application, never intending to stay long enough for it to matter.

The scare that caused me to flee the last place I was staying, just outside of Orlando, was a close one. At least I think it was. I only intended to pass through here and maybe rest a few months before moving on. In Davenport, I came home to find my apartment broken into, everything thrown everywhere, but nothing taken that I could tell. I know it could have been anyone looking for something to steal but then found I had nothing. Yet I still ran. I ran without waiting to see if I was right, taking nothing but my bag. That is why I always carry my life with me.

Well, that's one reason.

I'm wondering again if they've truly decided to let me be for good as I approach the bus stop and see that Sam Rawley will be joining me for this morning's ride. He's a nice guy; the kind you like having as a neighbor. Always kind and considerate, and always looking out the windows at every small sound. I don't think a car pulls up without him knowing. I also don't feel threatened by him. He doesn't look me up and down like so many guys do, even if they don't realize they are doing it, or so they say. He looks me right in the eyes whenever he sees me, with his kind, aging eyes.

Good morning Sarah, he says looking to me and then back down to his watch. He squints down the road, likely looking for the bus, and then smoothes his grey, fluffy hair against his head.

Hello Mr. Rawley. Am I early, or is the bus late? I ask taking a seat next to him. It’s nice having a moment outside, while its still cool, before I spend the next 10 hours in a cube with no windows.

Oh, I think you are just about on time. It's the bus! It's probably some kids loading up their bicycles. I don't know why they don't just ride the whole way! Instead they make us wait on them while they load up and strap down those bikes!

I smile. He's definitely got an opinion on how everything should go in this world. He often asks why I'm not married and tells me about nice boys he knows from church or the market. I smile politely and say something bubbly and aloof, attaching to it some excuse, trying to imagine what a normal, single, twenty-something should say.

However, I know that a guy can never be an option for me. This isn't exactly a commitment issue. This is an intimacy, trust, someone touching me, someone saying nice things to me, someone knowing me, and being close to me issue. I know it’s not an option for me, but sometimes I daydream about finding someone, and some days I even let myself hope that, perhaps, in twenty or so years it might be okay, and maybe even happen. I just have to stay alive until then.

Ah, there it is! He exclaims, and starts frantically shoving his newspaper into his little black shoulder bag. This amuses me because the bus is still two blocks away, but Sam acts, every time, as if the bus is going to rush by at sixty miles an hour if he's not on the curb ready to go as soon as he sees it coming. He's my morning delight.

The bus pulls up and the driver nods to us. I climb on the bus once I see that Sam has his feet firmly planted on the deck, and I take a seat by the window, by the back door. Something about today has me extra self-aware, aware of all of my paranoid induced habits, and for the rest of the twenty minute ride I wonder if this is because things are finally good for me, or am I getting soft and making myself an easy snag. That thought makes me stiffen and look around, suspecting everyone on the bus and in every car around us. I must look ridiculous to someone watching me. I wonder if people think I'm sane. Hopefully, most would describe me as a quiet girl who works hard and keeps to herself. That's what the papers will say when my body is found. She is survived by no living relatives, just a spider plant.

An easy snag. I have no idea what might be done to me if they ever catch up to me. Killed? Tortured? Worse? I definitely fantasize about doing the same in return but, just as I start to go there in my mind, the bus stops. Luckily, my brain registers this is my stop before the bus driver gives me a holler. One too many times he's had to wake me from myself. Sam has already departed, so I wave to the driver and get on my way.

The sight of my building reminds me of Erikson; reminds me that I'm going to have a good day. I feel my hopeful side winning out, at least for a few hours, I tell myself, to satisfy the paranoia monster that is my usual master.

I walk up the stairs of the graying, three story office building. It looks the same as many other buildings in this area, their metal framed windows and faded signs making them look cheaper than they probably were. They aren't so bad though. They're just victims of the era in which they were built and a, currently, tight fisted owner. He hasn't done any renovations over the past twenty years, so he must think we like these buildings just fine the way they are. The buildings are plenty sturdy on the inside.

The nice thing about sturdy is that it also seems to mean sound proof. I can do my work and be left in nearly complete quiet, only subjected to gossip if it’s in an adjacent cube. I don’t have to worry about that much, though. Most of the cubes around me are empty except for a couple of heads-down programmers who don’t like people much to begin with, and a large, loud printer that drowns out the rest.

Through the glass doors I step into even cooler air and hear the soft hum and murmur of work beginning in some distant offices. I have never worked in an office building before. It was always restaurants, warehouses, even as a janitor in a fitness center once. I'll take work anywhere that doesn't require a background check.

I have my apparent identity, but not enough paper trail to back it up. Sarah Struger, age twenty eight, from Nebraska only exists in the minds of those I meet. Here, at JNR Holdings, I file, I staple, I copy, and I even print. It's a great job. It's stable and something I can be left alone to do. Too many jobs have had me surrounded by men who like to bully or flirt or sadly, sometimes, both at the same time. I'm lucky to have landed this gig. I think Erikson, who hired me and who I’ve come to know and actually trust, must have been either feeling sorry for me or negligent in his diligence on references.

This was one of those jobs I applied for and never actually thought I'd get. It's terribly easy, but I'm afraid to do much more than my current assignment. I know I could, but when they've tried to promote me I feel fear. I figure it's because that would show more of what I can do and, therefore, might show more of me. To show is to know and I become sick with anxiety at the thought of it. So I stick to my simple, repetitive job. The worse thing about this, though, is that it leaves my mind loads of time to wonder and wander. I plan my escape route for every room I'm in or I daydream about finding an island all to myself, and maybe Allisen, the overwhelmingly gorgeous guy who sits a few rows over from me. I suppose he can come too.

Those are the good days, when I can let myself think about him. The worst part of the day is seeing him see me overly flushed at the sight of him. Yes, they all must think I'm very strange. I suppose I am.

On the second floor, I find my desk exactly as I left it. Papers stacked and stapled, pens in their place, and nope, no windows.

I lock my bag in the cabinet, sit down at my desk, and start searching for where I left off yesterday. Little Megan comes by to say good morning. I think she likes me because she knows my being here keeps the office chatter off her. If I weren't around for people to avoid and consider odd, they'd likely notice her, the next in line for the throne of the strange. Actually, I think circumstances being equal, she'd win the crown with her coffee mug obsession, dating etiquette lectures when she never goes on dates, and her apparent belief that blush can be used as eye shadow. I, at least--well, I hope--blend into the background most days. I look at Megan while she's talking. I call her little Megan, even though she's at least two inches taller than me, because she finds a way to fold herself over trying to look smaller. That's not something I tell her though. Plus, let’s face it, even two inches taller than me is still pretty short.

She's talking about a couple she saw at dinner last night and that's really all I catch before Erikson comes up behind her.  Chad Erikson is the kind of person who can make you feel worthy, like you have something to offer, some reason to be here.  When he gives you his attention it feels like an honor, but I don’t fully know why.   He is attractive and confident, of course, but there is something more. Something that pulls you in, making you want to be a part of his world, to be interesting to him.  I notice others looking for his acceptance, too, as they hold their breath waiting for him to acknowledge their comments or watch for his response to a joke.  

Hey Sarah, he says. Megan jumps at this. She looks up at him as if she's looking at a God. I can tell she's hoping he's there to talk to her and I can see the crush of her face when she realizes he's not.

Hey, good morning, I was just about to come to your office. You must be anxious to talk. I say with interest and hope in my voice.

Megan scurries away with a plethora of backward glances. Oh, she's definitely the heir to this kingdom.

No, nothing major. He waves his hand around and I can smell his cologne. It confuses my brain, triggering that place I can't go, leaving me momentarily distracted. I waiver between thinking of Erikson as a big brother and then wondering what he thinks of me outside of work. I often overhear him talking to other guys around the office about his weekend exploits and I then quickly dismiss the latter, knowing weird-o isn't his type. I just wanted to see how many copies of the Modii Files you've made so far. The binders may need to be redone. Do you have one I can look over?

Oh sure. Did I get something wrong in them? I take the top binder off a stack to my right and hand it to him. I'm sure my face gives away concern and confusion, but he's not looking, he's flipping through the pages. He's never been one to ask before grabbing something from my desk. My desk is an open door, and they were right in plain sight. Back to hopeful I go. Was this an excuse to talk to me, perhaps? I find myself sitting up straighter in my chair, smoothing my hair back just as Sam had this morning.

He looks up suddenly and I visibly start, but he doesn't notice. Has he had too much coffee today? He looks back towards his office and then back at me, Will you be around today if I have questions on this? He asks holding up the binder, but didn’t answer my question.

Yeah sure, all day! I say sarcastically and overly excitedly, but still hoping he explains himself.

Okay, cool. Will you be around for lunch? I mean . . . he kind of stutters, If I have questions, perhaps we could talk over lunch? He states it as a question.

Um . . . of course . . . I usually have lunch at eleven. I'll be in the cafeteria if you need me. I'm so confused right now. This is so simple, but he's making it all weird. Am I making him nervous? He’s never awkward. He's always smooth and pulled together. Maybe I'm making him weird! I'm rubbing off on him.

Alright, great! Thanks! He returns to cool and calm and much less interested in the binder. Something shifts in him and his focus is now on me. You doing okay? he asks, hinting that he thinks I might not be. He stares at me. I think I see concern in his eyes.

Yeah, same as always, Chad. Why do you ask?

He looks at me, more deeply than before and hesitates; slightly biting his upper lip like he's trying to decide if he wants to say something, but then shakes his head. Nothing. Nothing, I just wanted to check in with you. I know we haven't talked much lately.

I wait, seeing if there is more, but he's just looking at me. However, I can tell he's not really seeing me. His mind has gone someplace else.

I feel like he stopped over here to distract himself from something. I stand up and come closer to him. I ask softly "Chad, are you okay?"

He comes to and backs up a bit. Sure. Sure, I've just got a lot on my mind. Thanks for this. He holds up the binder and turns to go. After a step he turns and looks at me and I can just barely see that his lips tighten and his eyes squint subtly. I wait again, taking him in. He blinks, then turns and walks away.

My goodness. That was odd. Maybe he should win the bronze medal on our small team of the unusual. I have a feeling someone, some girl probably, has finally gotten to him. He's trying to figure out if he can talk to me. I would be the last person to give relationship advice, but maybe I should try to push him to have lunch with me. What else do I have to spice up my life?

The lives of others, their normal lives, are my fantasies. I remember a time, shortly after I'd been here a year, I realized I was thinking of Erikson as the closest thing I've had to a friend since, perhaps, my childhood. He was the first one here who bothered to, or at least made an attempt to, get to know me. He didn't get frustrated with my walls, my vagueness. He seemed to be okay with me as me, or what he thought me to be. We didn't hang out outside of work or anything, aside from phony office dinners and lame attempts at team building events that we were required to attend. Nor did he share with me his weekend stories of the hot and steamy that he saved for the guys, here, at work. Most days, I felt as if he were genuinely looking out for me--or over me, at least. Perhaps that is where the big brother, caretaker feeling comes from or, maybe, it's some attempt to fill the father void in my life. Honestly, I'm void of a lot of things so I’m sure it's some crazy cookie dough mix of pathology twisted in my brain that makes me feel connected to him.

Glued to my desk and tethered to the copier, my morning goes by as typically as it possibly could. I file, I staple, I copy, and I even print. Megan comes by, trying to be nonchalant, but completely obvious about her quest for info. Again, considering the little entertainment in my life, I find myself amused by her passive, utterly failing attempts to ask without asking what Erikson wanted. My fun ends when two ladies of the office join her in the seemingly increasingly narrow entrance to my cubicle.

Standing there, both many inches taller than Megan, they make me feel trapped and I feel like climbing onto my desk to see beyond them, to see a doorway that could save me. The three of them are talking and probably trying to include me, but all I can think about is how many more seconds until they back away and go do whatever it is they were on their way to do. Then I realize, they aren't talking, they are all looking at me.

What? I ask apologetically.

We're headed down to lunch if you'd like to join us?

Did everyone take a strange pill today, or is there some sorority-like plot to befriend the weird-o? I notice Megan is standing tall and I realize she's stirred up some ridiculous gossip about Erikson and I, and they must want in on it. Oh dear God, do they have nothing else better to do? I see no way out of this, and again, what else do I have to do? Oh wait . . . Erikson.

Give me just a second. I need to see if Chad needs any more help with the Modii binders. I push past them towards his office. I can see them glance at each other in their knowing way.

The door to his office is mostly closed; it's quiet.

I call to him Chad? When I hear nothing I slowly push the door open. Knock, knock? He’s not here. I stand there a moment taking in his office. I suddenly feel like I've never really looked around his office. I suppose this is the first time standing here without him sitting at his desk, his presence encouraging my eyes not to stray.

His office is what I would expect from someone who enjoys his job, as he seems to. Player aside, he's a workaholic. He's got certificates of greatness and plaques of prestige littering his walls. His desk is neat, aside from the piles of binders from other projects stacked around his chair like a barricade. Why he insists on finalizing each one either speaks to his crazed obsession with control or lack of trust of the ten or so other people who contribute to these final works of binder glory. I think he sees himself as the master chef of a binder bistro.

I close the door and turn to leave and walk right into him. Oh! I'm sorry! I came to see if you wanted to have lunch. I blurt out without thinking how that must sound to him and the three guys standing around him. I suddenly feel so small. These are guys from the sales department and I’m sure they are trying to not snicker in sympathy for Erikson. They look at me like I’m an amusing child who has a big girl crush on the varsity quarterback.

Oh, I think I'm good. I haven't found any errors yet in the binder. Will you be in the cafeteria if I need you? He's again Mr. Cool and Mr. Kind all wrapped up into a perfect cheese stuffed ravioli.

Yes, definitely. I assure him quickly, aware of the eyes focused on me with surely raised eyebrows. I want to scream, Am I really that obscene and horrid!? Or maybe they are all wondering what I'm like in bed. Eck, why do they all look at me like this? Why look at me at all!? I turn and walk away quickly, not waiting for any additional response.

I find Megan and her lady friends acting as if they weren't trying to overhear. He's good, so I can go with you guys. They start to come my way, considering that the cafeteria is behind me, but I need my bag. I'm sure they laugh around the office about how I am never without it. I’m the crazy bag lady.

My assumptions are confirmed when they purposely block the way back to my desk. Don't worry, you don't need your…purse The brunette hesitates as she's not sure what to call it.

But I need my wallet. I contend.

One of them says, I'll buy you lunch. We've never had lunch together; I owe you! I wonder if they are getting a kick out of finding a way to make me part with my purse as they call it. I feel a tightening in my chest from anger. They can't fathom what my bag represents. Even so, I stutter a response and allow them to usher me in the direction they intend.

I ease my panic by reminding myself, reassuring myself, that the only things I care about in life are locked safely in the cabinet.  I know they are meaningless, worthless, to anyone who finds them, and therefore, they are safe.

Mostly convinced, I then start thinking about how much I don't want to sit through lunch with these women. Why waste an hour listening to them chatter on about their lives or worse, have them question me about mine, when I could be eating peacefully reading my latest book, a science fiction novel. I can lose myself the furthest from reality in a good fantasy series.

As we walk, I spiral into a hatred of every second I'm about to endure, until Megan nudges me. Whoops, they were talking to me again. Oh, I sure do manage to give them all the data they need to classify me into a social category far, far away from them.

I look at them and don't even bother to apologize or ask, What? I just wait to see if they will bother to repeat whatever they were saying. They don't disappoint me.

So, were you and Chad supposed to have lunch together? We didn’t mean to . . . interrupt something. It takes all I have to not roll my eyes at the insinuation. Instead, I just shake my head. No. I was just seeing if he had any questions on the latest round.

I suppose JNR wouldn't let me keep my job if I were to smack her grin into Tuesday. So, I take the opportunity to lose myself in the swarm of the hungry and hurried in the cafeteria. Ugh, what happened to the great day I was supposed to have?

Sitting down next to Megan, I notice my gigantic bean burrito stands out against their trendy, miniscule yogurt cups and chicken Caesar salads.

I’m confused by Caesar salads. I'm staring at the nearly white lettuce drowning in creamy white dressing wondering if there is anything healthy about it when the brunette, wait they are both brunette, I hadn't noticed this until now, asks me how my weekend was. I'm not sure why she cares, but I look up to answer. As I am trying to think of something normal to tell her, my eyes wander away, past her to the cafeteria patrons behind her, and my eyes catch Erikson in the cafeteria, after all. I hadn't even noticed he was in a suit today. Then my blood runs cold. I actually feel as if my heart has stopped before I even register what I'm looking at; who I'm looking at.

Erikson is talking to a group of men, tall men, also in suits. They aren't from JNR, but I know exactly where they are from, exactly who sent them, and exactly why they are here. Richards, with his unmistakable foulness is recognizable from forty yards away, even after so many years. They've found me.

I don't know how they could have, but I am instantly transformed into another world. All of my nightmares, all of my fears, all of everything I’ve been running from are suddenly right here in the middle of my public life and it's blocking my way out. I’m trapped again, but in a way that isn't just an annoyance like it was few minutes ago with these girls. This is the darkest of evils between me and my chance at life.

I am in a moment of suffocating shock, and I've gone deaf, or maybe I'm just hearing everything all at once. The cafeteria sounds too loud and muted at the same time. A portal of sight directly from me to them is all I'm capable of registering. Then, with a sudden rush, the world comes back to me. The brunettes couldn't have missed the expression of horror on my face because they are both turning towards where I was looking. I gasp, realizing they've just made a tunnel of sight right back to me. So, I push off my stool and collapse myself around it.

What do I do!? Oh dear God, others are looking at me now! I've just thrown up a beacon to the suits. I stand up just a little bit and look to see if they've spotted me. I can't tell what they've registered, but I can see they are definitely looking around, now. I do the same, my heart beating up into my throat.

The whole back wall of the cafeteria is glass, windows to the outside. I suppose it was designed to help us forget about being caged in cubicles all day. Normally, the wall makes the atmosphere a little more tolerable with real sunlight coming through. Right now, I just want to be outside. I'm breathing like there is no oxygen left on earth, and as I turn to my right I see a door. The door looks like the rest of the wall of windows, but I read the words Emergency Exit across the top.

The girls at my table are confused and starting to panic, likely because they think I’m about to kill everyone with a bomb or something.

What are you doing?!  One of them screeches at me.

They clutch onto each other and suddenly stand up like I’m a monster oozing venom, and this makes quite a few others definitely take notice. I steal a glance back and see the suits all looking in our direction at the commotion I started. Shit, this is it. With absolutely no thoughts in my mind other than flight, I bolt upright and run towards the door. I have only about four seconds of ground between me and them, and I'm not going to let them have me.

Halfway to the door I run right into someone. I think he falls onto a table of food, but I don't stop to confirm.  I slam into the metal bar across the door releasing the latch and shove  it open, setting off the alarm. I won't look back to see who, if anyone, is following me. I can only hope the mass confusion I just caused will slow them down. Perhaps another unlucky soul will block their way worse than my victim.

I run up the small hill just outside the cafeteria and decide to run for the woods. There is no cover in the surrounding office park and my car is obviously not an option. I'm sure they are tracking it or even have someone sitting on it. Hell, I realize I don't even have my keys. The woods are behind the building, far from the cars and the front door, which is good.

I've walked in these woods before, sometimes on my lunch break to get away from work, and they go deep, further than I even know. I'm up the hill and a good way around the building when I hear the cafeteria door slam open again. The more than four second delay makes me think my pursuers did get waylaid a bit by bystanders.

All adrenaline, anger, and fear, I hit the woods at full pace. Thank goodness I don't wear heels like the rest of the female workforce at JNR and, luckily, I know where the trailhead leading into the trees is located. I'm hoping I’ve cleared the tree line and am out of sight before they make it around the building. It feels like a thousand thoughts are racing through my head as fast as I'm running, but none of them are registering. My mind wants to sort out this hellish turn of events, but I'm just trying to get my feet to plant, not trip, and keep moving forward over rocks and roots.

I run further into the woods, skidding down slick slopes, at times cutting off the path through low shrubs and vines. After goodness knows how many minutes of stumbling and clawing my way further from my nightmare come to life, my energy, my rush of fuel starts to  fade. I can feel my insides wanting to come up, my legs are getting wobbly, and I almost go down.

I nearly tumble down a steep slope into a creek when I hear a crash of what sounds like a human smashing through plants, not too far behind me. Shit, how are they still tracking me? There is no way some suit has made it this far and kept up with me. I run every day to prepare for this, and even that has not given me the strength to outrun these bastards. I keep going though, because there is no other choice. I won't let them take me without first giving everything I have in me to get away.

The next crash is louder, closer. I hear a splash into the creek, and now I can hear actual footfalls. I want to scream and cry. My lungs and my legs feel like they are going to explode simultaneously. I think my hands are bleeding but I feel no pain. Now I hear loud breathing behind me. My mind goes numb. The very terror that sabotages my nightly dreams is actually happening!

Hey! someone calls to me. Slow down! He says it like a truant officer to a kid running in the halls. It gives me a burst of energy hearing the voice attached to this demon and I can tell he falls a couple steps behind. Ahead is a ditch and I throw myself down it, coming down hard on my feet. My right foot must have been a crooked when I landed, because my ankle bursts into pain on impact. I keep going, even though it's rapidly becoming unusable. I scramble, as best I can, up the other side and feel a hand grab my left ankle. I reactively jerk my foot free causing all my weight to come down on my right leg. Pain shoots up through my shin, but I force myself to keep going. There will, hopefully, be time later to revel in this pain. I come up the other side and start running down what appears to be the path I thought I had lost a long time ago. The path here is sloped downwards, which makes it a little easier on my lungs, but is killer on my ankle as I slam down on my joints with each step. The pain becomes blinding, making me dizzy, and my toe snags a root. I stumble, arms flying in pinwheels to keep me upright and just as I regain my balance --SLAM! A large, hard body slams into mine, flying through the air with me, and landing on top of me knocking all air out of my lungs. We skid to a stop, tearing my hands and arms even worse across jagged rocks and earth.

I thrash in the panic of a captured animal and as one who is suffocating due to a crushing force not allowing me to fill my lungs. We struggle, but he's twice my size so it doesn't last long. He pins me on my stomach, his large hands clamped around my wrists stretching my arms above my head.   

Elizabeth! his voice is breathless and right in my ear. He's pinned me to the ground with his body, his chest against my back, and his face is almost right against mine. I go rigid. I can't struggle anymore. Hearing that name just made time stop and the world go blank to me. I haven't heard my real name in so long that it brings upon a new level of fear in the form of realization that this is the end.

I'm not even sure I'm breathing when he speaks again Elizabeth, quick, you have to listen to me before they get here.

I don't understand what he is saying but he doesn't wait for comprehension. I'm going to help you, but we have to go along with what they want for just a little bit, and then I'm going to get you away from them.

His words aren't making sense to me. Never have the demons of my dreams spoken like this, never have they spoken of saving me. They only growl their threats of torture until death.

He continues. I can't say anything more right now, but don't say ANYTHING about this when they question you. Stay quiet, and . . . he trails off, still panting, trying to catch