I blink and try to touch my face. He’s got me by my wrists. They’re pulled behind me, bound together by his large hands.
I hear a low keening noise. Somewhere far away, I know I need to curse and scream and fight and kick, but I’m just frozen. I stumble as he pushes me.
“No—please!” It’s half scream, half sob. My pulse is racing so fast now, I can’t think straight. I can’t breathe. I feel my body fumbling through empty space. My feet land on the ground at odd angles. I’m moaning, my racing mind worried about hurting my ankle even as I know I’VE GOT TO DO SOMETHING, RIGHT NOW!
“Help!” I shriek.
His hand is on my face. I notice fabric flapping and realize it’s dark because he’s put something over my head.
“Good girl,” I hear him say, and realize that the ground has slanted downward. The driveway!
SHIT! HE HAS A CAR HERE!
His hands find their way around my wrists again. My brain lights up. This is called a back arm lock, my brain regurgitates. All I have to do is stumble forward and throw one foot behind me, toward his crotch.
I wait until we’re almost sprinting down the driveway. Then I feign tripping, and when he loosens his grip on me to keep from tripping, too, I kick behind me, toward his crotch, and feel my shoe connect.
He grunts. I jerk away and fumble forward as I grab the hood off my head. I see in that second that he’s wearing one, too.
I can run downhill toward the road, or cut back up toward my house. House! There’s a key in my shoe. My body jolts into motion, flying up the incline of the top part of my driveway, kicking rock and dirt behind me.
“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!”
I stop before I reach my porch and reach down toward my foot. My fingers fumble between shoe and sock. I get the key but something hard slams into me, sending me flying, landing on my backside. Pain flares through my lower back and for a moment, I can’t move.
He’s right there over me, his hands on my shoulders, his black mask face not really black, I realize, but dark camouflage.
“I told you to stay calm!”
I bat at his face like a crazed cat until he grabs my arms. I try to knee him in the crotch but he’s not at the right angle.
He laughs. “Feisty.”
“What do you want?”
“Just to talk, like—”
I punch him in the face. When his hand flies to his nose, I wriggle out from under him and fly toward the enclosure. Papa, Papa, Papa…save me! I think I may be screaming as I punch the code in: wrong, again, then right. The gate clicks open. I rush in and slam it shut behind me.
“Fuck!” I start to sob. Run to the stock shed. I start running toward the stock shed and am almost there when I hear a loud smack. I whirl and shriek. He jumped the fence oh God he jumped the fucking fence!
I fly at the shed’s front door, but it’s too late. He’s on me, hard and harsh; his elbow comes around my neck, I hear him say something but my brain’s flying too fast to process. Then there’s something sharp in my neck. I feel a blinding flare of heat sing through my body. Before I fall down, I pull his hood off.
I frown up at him and see a fish bowl…
Then the ragged pattern of the fallen leaves engulfs me.
* * *
Barrett
Doc is right. The more I write it down, the easier it’s getting. I’m going to try the Prazosin again tonight, but half the dose. Or maybe not. Maybe I can just push through. With Gwenna by me, it seems possible.
I wish there was some way I could tell her how much I love her. Something I could do. I remember how much buying my house helped her, and that makes me feel good. As I drive, I see a green and white striped awning that I recognize from satellite view: a florist.
My throat feels tight as I park out in front and walk slowly inside. Behind the counter, there’s a girl with shoulder-length black hair and big brown eyes. I feel her gaze roll up and down my body, see the slow curl of her red lips.
“Ziggy Stardust?”