Abbie was completely alone.
Her breath came in regimented puffs, steaming up over her shoulder on the chill air. She kept her eyes on the sidewalk ahead, occasionally glancing off towards the cars parked on either side of the road. A nervous, flitting motion—one she'd had ever since the accident.
Of course, it hadn't really been an accident. That was just what they told people. What her family had insisted they tell relatives and inquisitive neighbors.
Abbie picked up the pace, heart hammering, breathing heavily as she moved through the suburban streets. Like clockwork, with practiced motions, she crossed from one side to the other. Ahead, one of the safety lights was out. It hadn't been fixed for weeks, and so Abbie pathed her nighttime jog around it.
She liked the night. Liked the way the dark skies cleared pedestrians and cars. Every time a new vehicle would cross the ill-traveled street, though, she would pull up, heart hammering, her eyes darting around on their own accord.
This time, as an old, rusted sedan pulled past, her heart leaped into her throat, but she resisted the urge to veer off the sidewalk and bolt towards a neighbor's yard...
She glanced towards the car, unable to control her wild emotions...
You can't always control your feelings. But you can control your response. Just a little nugget of wisdom from her therapist. Abbie wasn't sure how much she believed this, but at least for now, inhaling slowly, then exhaling, she felt herself calm.
The car pulled past, spitting gravel.
And then it stopped.
One of the front doors suddenly swung open.
A scream caught in her throat. She went rigid, like an ice statue. Her eyes bugged from her sweaty face as she stared at the spot where the car had stalled.
An old man, with a flat cap was easing out, muttering beneath his breath and reaching to pull a stick which had lodged in his windshield wipers.
The old man's wife was prattling at him from inside the car, waving a hand towards Abbie in friendly greeting where she'd frozen mid-jog.
The old man hadn't even seemed to notice her. Tossing the stick off to the side of the road, still muttering, he slipped back into the car. The old woman smiled and waved a final time, and then the rusty sedan continued on its way, trundling down the streets, taking the turn and heading in the opposite direction.
Only once the headlight glow had faded completely did Abbie start breathing again, hyperventilating as she did.
“Silly,” she murmured to herself, forcing a smile. She didn’t feel like smiling, but again—the choice. “Silly, silly, silly. Just a car. Just granny and grandpa out for a drive.”
She shook her head, still shaking badly and picked up the pace again.
A car at night. That’s how it had started. That’s what prompted her reactions now.
She’d escaped. Thank God.
Most the women. Most the girls hadn’t been nearly so lucky.
Plus… ’He'd been caught.
She swallowed at this thought, pushing up the street, rounding the corner and heading towards the second, single-story house on the side of the road.
As she drew nearer, a familiar sense of relief fell over her. It was like slipping into a warm bath. This homecoming heralded safety. The chain, the security system, the three locks on the door, the bars on her windows... All of them custom.
None of them kept out the night terrors...
But baby steps.
She took the stairs to the front door, her keys jangling.
Then she stopped, hesitant.
The warmth in her chest faded to a freezing grasp, like a hand closing over her lungs and squeezing hard.
The door was open. Unlocked.
She stared, not quite believing her eyes... Why had... where was... who did...
A shadow suddenly fell over Abbie from behind. She whirled around, mouth open, preparing to scream, but fingers tightened across her face, holding her lips. She let out a strangled gasp, kicking, trying to elbow the figure behind her.
Too strong.
She felt her body freeze again, like it always did. Like it had all those years ago when’he'd first caught her.
“No, no, no,” she whispered, the only words able to escape her trembling lips.
The figure behind her shoved her once, twice, lifting her with his hip, pushing her hard towards the open door. She stumbled across the threshold and then she felt a sudden jolt of pain along her right wrist.
She stumbled, trying to stand, frozen in a crouched stance in her own hallway. A large shadow stood in her door. In the sha’ow's hand: a single syringe, a needle glinting on the end against the backdrop of moonlight and darkness.
She blinked. The figure d’dn't move, simply standing there like some horrible ghoul.
Her heart was racing so fast, she thought she might collapse. Her blood bruiting rapidly, her pulse wild. She tried to scream, tried to shout, but her throat felt tight all of a sudden.
She remembered the faint sting against her wrist, then glanced down, blearily. Her gaze was swimming now, her eyes blinking, unable to take in her surroundings...
“What... no... What...,” she stammered, unable to form a sentence now, partly due to fear and partly due to something else... Some weightiness on her lips. Had he drugged her?
“Yes,” the figure said simply in a raspy voice. “Hello, my pretty.” She stared, vision still swimming as the figure placed the syringe in a jacket pocket. A second passed and the same hand re-emerged. This one carrying a small, glinting knife.
Her knees buckled. She collapsed with a dull grunt. Her muscles simply weren't responding. She couldn't move. Couldn't rise. Couldn't do anything.
Darkness came rushing in, closing in completely.
The last glimpse of a man closing her own house's door behind him, the knife in his hand glinting as he began to stride towards her.