Blood coated my hands. I couldn’t tell exactly where it was coming from, but there was too much of it. I searched for the wound, my hands scrambling across her torso to find it. 

She wore a bulletproof vest that left her lower abdomen exposed. I felt gently around and found the tear in her skin. It was too wide, something from a blade. 

I covered it with my hand, trying to minimize the blood. 

She wasn’t moving, wasn’t responsive to my touch at all. Her skin was cold to the touch. 

“Help!” I yelled at the top of my lungs. 

I knew back up was too far. We should’ve waited, should have followed protocol the way we were taught. 

A hand on my shoulder startled me. 

I glanced up to find a young girl staring down at me, her eyes filled with terror. 

“Go find help,” I ordered sternly. 

I needed to get her away from the scene, away from the blood soaking the ground. 

I used my hand cradling Blythe’s head to feel for her neck and pulse. 

There was nothing, not even a weak beating. 

She was gone. 

I woke, sitting up straight, and grabbed for my phone.

My heart was racing, and my skin had a cold sweat coating it. The phone trembled in my hands as I swiped a finger over the screen to turn it on. The time flashed on the screen: 3:00 in the morning.

I put it down and laid back in the bed.

If I couldn’t get a grasp on these nightmares, I was going to slowly drive myself back toward that dark place.

It was the reason I’d drowned myself in alcohol and drugs those three months after her death. Only the haze they left me in drove away the memories, and now, they were all coming back again.

I sighed as I pulled the covers tight and tried to close my eyes. I knew it was useless; my mind would never settle now.

I stayed that way the rest of the night, eyes closed but refusing to allow myself fully back to sleep.

8. Lenny

8

LENNY

He knew.

He knew, and I ran.

I ran until my legs ached, and I found myself miles down the stretch of beach I frequented when I could. This time, the sand and waves were a blur. My mind raced, every horrible thing I feared plaguing me, and I couldn’t stop it.

He knew, and now everyone would know.

I was the coward who ran. The Jane Doe who snuck out of the hospital before they could even identify her. I’d been mutilated and left to die, and by some stroke of luck, I’d survived.

I’d been unconscious for weeks, my body recovering. When I woke, the wounds were healed, but the scars remained.

Weeks, and no one had come for me.