DaydreaminPanda: It certainly took a while, but here's the new chapter.

Notsae: I have heard about that amulet theory. I always thought he was part of some experiment or something, or that he is actually someone who merely needs a person to follow. Anyway, I already have plans to how approach this subject so look forward to it!

AutumnOrchid: Yeah. There is no running away from Hans. Sorry for not updating for a while, but here is the new chapter.

Knightmare Fox: You certainly have been a motivated reader. Thank you for leaving so many comments. To answer your question regarding the last chapter: a werewolf should have an extraordinary hearing. Because Hans killed those men Nancy was in trouble with, it would be too reckless to just mindlessly start killing every person in the area that manages to glance at Nancy. This would allow people like police to follow the trail of these murders. Once captain heard that a phone was being used, he left to get rid of the man before he could do more damage.

I do not view Hans as someone who mindlessly just kills everything he sees. He needs to have a reason or he is merely following orders. It's kind of like in nature - do not come into my turf or there will be consequences. But that is only my view on him. He is a werewolf, an animal in human skin basically - hunting and chasing prey is in his nature. It is more about his instinct than enjoying things... wow, the last one is kind of sad.

FairybabyWolf76: Thank you for your support. Here is my update for you and other readers/fans. Sorry for the wait.

Stumbling through the winter forest
Her feet froze' to the bone
The darkness holds no solace
So very, very far from home
A crimson cloak behind her drags
It's torn by thorns and snagged to rags

Pity maiden for your folly
To venture in these woods alone
Mercy lives not in the holly
No compassion from the stones
Your fear brings tears like summer rain
(Oh mother father where I am?)
They beg for me to ease your pain
(I'm cast adrift what should I do?)

-Wolf Song (By Omnia)

Chapter 7: The hunt

It is eerily silent. Nothing should be this quiet, not in the furthest corner of a library nor in an isolation room. It is the kind of heavy pressure that could crush someone's ears, make it hard to merely breathe in for a few seconds and expand the ribcage. Feather would fall, and it could create a shattering sound that should belong to broken porcelain.

Something does break the silence, though. There is a steady noise of drops falling into a crimson pool forming on the ground. It all gathers up and starts soaking the edge of a small mat spread in the middle of a small office, staining the thin fabric.

Just how much blood could actually gush out from a direct head injury? The body has not yet grown cold, but it is like the person's blood flow is still working. Judging at least from how the color red seems to be covering over half of his slacken face. The skin seems to have lost all of its living colors – it is clearly the shade of someone who won't rise again.

Maybe that is why it is so quiet. The entire building has become mute to respect the dead, the owner who is now gone. Yet, the office is not empty of life.

"What do you mean she escaped!?"

The phone is slightly drawn away from the listening ear. The scream coming from the other end is loud enough for anyone on the other side of the wall to hear it. Either by fortune or coincidence, there is no one else in the building.

The tall, silver-haired man raises his other hand, tapping the end of the phone with his finger a few times. There is another heavy pause.

Finally, there is a response. "How long have you just been standing there for!? I believe that there were strict orders not to let her out of your sight, even for a second! Do you have any idea of what kind of risks we have already taken for this!? And you tell me you left evidence? Why didn't you take care of it!? You were supposed to stay in the cover of the forest!"

Again, he taps the phone in a calm manner, contrasting to the person on the opposite end. There are no signs of distress in his body language or features. Neither from the sound of screams next to his ear nor the body only a few feet away.

"What? Someone was about to contact the authorities? You took care of that, I hope?"

Tapping. The blood dripping from the corpse slows down.

"Do you think this is an excuse enough!? You should have locked the door, given her sedatives if possible, or even tied her up! We can't afford your location to be discovered! There are already posters across Europe for Father's sake! Your job was to bring her here without any disturbances! What possessed you to spend a night at an inn to begin with!?"

There is a third silence in the room. This time, though, whoever is speaking on the opposite line, they have started panting, clearly trying to gain their composure. At least, what is left of it. They are grinding their teeth, muttering something under their breath in a language unfamiliar to an ear used to speaking English. The words were rushed, clear ire hinted in the tone and cursing.

He waits silently until the ragged breaths from the phone start to soften. Then, he taps and the phone once more, sending a message only he and the other person can understand.

"No matter. From now on, you must evade any suspicion and work swiftly. What are you still standing around for? Get rid of the body and get her back! You are already behind schedule," the voice finally orders. It is calmer, but not lacking the wrath from before. "And Captain…"

The man places the phone down, able to hear the words even before exiting the room. His heavy boots miss the pool of blood by a few inches. The corpse is long gone.

"This time, do your job properly."

Everything is fine. The place of nightmares should be at least twenty minutes away, or fifteen. I pray it is the former. There is no way I would want it to be less than that. But I can't tell you anymore. There is no watch where I could see or even comprehend the time that passes, no thought is even passing through my mind right now. Not one brain cell inside the skull is fully functional anymore. It is like there has been a powerhouse keeping everything working and suddenly it has been shut down – that's my entire body.

The car is shaking. The world passes by as a blur behind frosted glass. And worst of all, besides the numbing senses, I am shaking and the warm blanket on top of me constantly slides down my tremoring shoulders. It is like trying to mix oil and water together – whatever comfort I might get from this, I am rejecting it and it, in turn, rejects me. For example, no matter how close I hold my shaking hands together close to my chest, they won't stop turning cold. The heat evaporates the second I cover them.

It is like I am constantly being sunk into the cold embrace of the ocean.

A tentative hand lands on my shoulder, but it feels more like a hard slap instead. I flinch and the owner draws their limb back.

"Sweetheart, everything is fine now. You are safe," the overly dressed woman reassures, staying close in the backseat next to me. She is close, but it is like I am listening to her through a whirlwind. "Just breathe. Do you want some water?"

"Maybe she's on something?" One of the men at the front quips up.

"I am pretty sure that she hit her head, though."

"Maybe we should make a turn to the hospital first?"

"I don't know…"

Their words fly over my head. They are the buzzing radio with worst connection and that keeps on letting out incoherent noises. It is weird. With all this confusion, traveling with these strangers, moving with such high speed and on my way to freedom, I shouldn't feel anything resembling fear. But that is exactly what gathers up in my gut.

The plan I had formed up within my head is nowhere. It has completely been wiped out of my memories. Maybe it was part of my plan to be almost crushed by a vehicle, or hitchhike a ride. No matter what the plan was, the hollow sound of a gun in the night continues echoing within my eardrums. It was such a… disrupting noise that will definitely haunt me forever.

He is going to find me.

The pain blooming in the joints of my hands goes unnoticed. I am clenching them suddenly with mysterious strength and shakily find myself looking out of the window. Again, the speed we travel is fast enough for not human legs to catch up, but… perhaps that man can still steal a car and find us. Then, he could choose to go down the same road we are now traveling on. But that would be impossible – he couldn't have seen me climb on this vehicle or be certain where we are headed. He definitely couldn't have placed some sort of tracking device on me for this kind of situation, which is what I want to believe in.

Hastily, I start to pat down my clothes, searching for something unusual. This is bad. If he truly put on a tracker somewhere on me while I wasn't aware – maybe that's why he was so comfortable leaving me alone in that room? – then he could definitely find us and… and then he would…

Without realizing it, the world grows even blurrier. If there is any form of morbid curiosity spiking about what it would feel like being suffocated in a human body bag, I would tell them what I feel now. First, it is empty darkness surrounding you. When you can see absolutely nothing to the point where it becomes maddening. That is when you try taking in a calming breath and find out rather quickly how fast all the remaining fresh air is sucked in by you. You want to escape, but no matter how much you try clawing or struggling, the air is gone faster by the seconds that tick by. This car is supposed to take me away from danger, but suddenly I have an urge to claw my way out of it.

My head spins.

This isn't safe. He will find me. He will find us.

"Alright then! We will go to the hospital first and then – "

"No! Not the hospital!" The voice rips itself out of my throat. The car maneuvers itself from the shock of the driver and all the others in the car.

"Jesus Christ!" The man curses under his breath and looks towards the backseat from the front mirror.

I didn't notice before, but when I try moving forward a seatbelt is wrapped around me, keeping me secure and from completely causing a car crash. "Just drive! C-continue driving! Don't stop! Please! P-please, don't stop driving!"

The other man "Calm the fuck down woman!"

"You mustn't stop! H-he will come! He will come and kill us!" The words fly out of my mouth without a thought, feeling how the humming of the engine vibrating in the car isn't calming me down.

When working for Edmund in German as his driver, escaping from a crime scene had been frightful. There was so much to lose if we had been caught or made a single mistake. The feeling of the steering wheel and the sight of the dark road ahead had both made the adrenaline rush in my veins. I had been terrified and many times unsure of what we were exactly doing. Even when he kept me at the dark of his purposes, though, my friend never once stopped giving me reassurances. Of course, it took more than a few words to get me going through with the plans, but I don't recall being this terrified of authorities.

When driving in the dark, through narrow and harsh roads to avoid getting spotted, there are dangers. You could slip down a cliff, crash into unexpected cars coming from behind a corner, and many other things depending on the terrain and season. Those were things that made me feel afraid. I was afraid for my family, for my sickly mother who I had left alone in England. Edmund's secrecy and the way I followed him around made me scared.

All of the experiences in German pale in comparison to this.

In my panicked state, I fail to see how the woman next to me inches closer. I flinch when a hand is laid on my shoulder.

"Who?" She asks, clearly not understanding the gravity behind my words. "Who is going to come?"

As if in pain, I curl into a ball, bringing my knees close to my chest, shaking my head. By now, burning tears sting my eyes – a relief, for I thought that I could not feel a thing anymore. "J-just drive away… please. Don't let him catch up!"

"For god's sake, stop screaming!"

"Don't yell, Andrew!"

"Then do something about her!"

The woman huffs, her breath fanning the side of my face and nearly causing me shriek. For a second, I had thought it was someone else's breath hitting my skin. If it were not for the leather stench of the car and fragrance of strong perfume, she would think this is only another deep end of the forest where she has to spend a night in. Exactly where the dark shadows of the trees smell bitter and the fire keeps on spreading ash of broken tree twigs and branches.

"Listen, sweetheart," the woman speaks in a calm voice, hands up as if approaching a frightened animal.

No, no, I am not the animal – he is. I almost shake my head, while meeting her steady gaze, watching for signs of danger.

"I do not know what is going on, but… please. We can't help if we don't know what is going on."

I almost laugh. "H-help?" I shake my head, feeling how I am truly starting to lose it. "Y-you can't help. You mustn't stop driving."

Her hands hover but do not make a contact. "You just spoke about not letting him catch up – who are you talking about? If you need protection, the police can provide that."

A lone woman, looking like she came straight from the wild – which is not too far from the truth – walking into a police station and begging for protection against a large, beast-like man with ghost-like hair and red shot eyes…

I shake my head slowly, voice hoarse and airy. "No, they can't help."

"Yes, they can," the woman urges, and a frown marks her brows. "Did someone hurt you? Andrew, park somewhere for us."

"Park? Like where!?"

"Forget that, Betty! Let's drop her at a police station and be done with it," the man, AJ, says irritably and scratches his head. "Damn. Why did we have to end up with a crazy one?"

He probably tries to keep his voice low enough, but even when I hear his last comment the words pass through my head from one ear to another. I am shaking violently again, the thought of stopping moving sending a shudder down my aching spine. The memory of laying on hard forest ground with stone and sticks poking my flesh keeps on reminding me of how I can't end up in the same situation again. My arms wrap tightly around myself and the blanket, sinking into the warmth like it is my only shield in the world.

"But what if she has something in her system that needs to be looked at first?" The driver, Andrew, asks.

Betty is once again inching way closer for comfort and I flinch, squeezing myself between the door and the seat. "Can you tell us, if you have taken something?"

If this were any other situation, a person would be offended by such a question. I, however, am barely able to think straight in my state of panic. I end up shaking my head.

"You sure?"

"…Please, don't stop driving," I plead, hands shakily reaching out for her. Hesitantly, she does the same and when our fingers touch the edges of my eyes start stinging – she is warm. Who knew that I missed contact that does not involve manhandling me?

Encouraged by the sudden development in communication, Betty draws closer and places an attentive arm around my shoulder. I stiffen, instinct screaming for me to draw back, but then relax. She is not dangerous, her arm is not large or covered in gloves. It is thin and soft and means me no harm.

"Alright, we won't," she says calmly. "Just stay calm, alright sweetheart?"

"And how long exactly should we continue driving for? The gas isn't going to last forever, you know."

"Let's continue how we planned this. How long until we reach the hotel?"

"Around twenty minutes or so."

The car falls into silence, the only sound from the outside is how the tires move along the smooth road. The world on the other side of the vehicle is so dark that it almost seems nonexistent. I don't like it, it feels like I am about to be swallowed whole.

I close my eyes, their heaviness more apparent when everything seems to fade. Betty's side-hug is the most comfort I have gotten for a while. The strength leaves from my body slowly, trickling down from my tense muscles until they relax. An hour – probably enough time to shake that madman off.

No, not a man. A frown forms and melts from my face. Remember, it is a monster. How many times I have repeated that to myself?

I almost forgot what a bed feels like – a bed that isn't provided by my kidnapper, that is. It feels soft and cloud-like under my weight, the covers are pure white and soft. It all only gives me a small drop of relief. Instead, something has startled gradually crumbling within me for the past twenty minutes I have sat there. Finally, the movement of time is clear.

We are alone – Betty and I. The two men went off on their own downstairs for one reason or another. I wasn't listening much, my mind is wandering around the place. Never staying still no matter how much, I try calming down.

"Do you want to sleep? You didn't get to do that much in the car," the overly painted woman states from her own bed. I was given one of the three. Andrew would sleep on the couch. "You aren't hungry?"

My cracked lips sting when I open them. Tired? I was tired enough while walking through the forest, but at the same time, I was wide awake. Does that make sense? Dragged and carried and having to walk through the thick forest while constantly jumping out of your own skin from every small voice. Hungry? I was hungry, but it disappeared the moment I witnessed a rabbit being skinned alive. The bottom of my stomach clenched at the time when the stench of freshly torn flesh was burned by the fire.

Just how long did I walk between rows and rows of trees? The bruises on my back could barely tell me a thing. I did not have a pen or a way to mark the day as I could do with a calendar or my phone. The more I think of how the time moved forward, the more confused I am how long it has been since I was at home.

Home.

"What day is it?"

Betty looks shocked. It is the first time I have spoken since waking up in the car and being taken here. "Um… you mean the day of a week or," she trails off but stops from the blank look I hold. "It is Monday."

I frown, the facial movement nearly causing cracks on my face. No, something really does crack inside of me. "Eight of February?"

She shrugs. "I guess. Don't really keep a track on those, though."

I do, at least now. The last day I wrote in my diary was… my eyes widen in horror. A small voice escapes from my throat, but that is all. It draws Betty's attention, but my hands clench and relax from feeling only the softness of the sheet. My diary!

I had left it in that inn. The realization makes the color drain itself from my face and the clearly older woman frowns but does not move closer. That might as well be a very smart move. I don't think that I could handle a human contact right now, despite being lulled into sleep previously in the car by her hug. This is different – my sanity has been both literally and figuratively leaving behind.

Suddenly, jumping out of the window seems like a pleasant idea.

"Hey, sweetheart, are you alright?" Betty asks, she seems to draw us back to that question a lot.

It is pathetic. Feeling like a broken piece of garbage left on a street just because a mere diary is gone now. I am now desperately trying to keep myself together. It has everything in it; what Ed and I did, what happened after dad died, how I spent my days back in England, German and here in the US is all written down there. It is where I put my emotions into, hid them, and treasured them… It is all gone now. Anyone can read it now…

Without a second thought, my hands cover my face, body leaning forward as if someone has punched me on the stomach. Weakly, my shoulders start to shake. Am I alright? No, I couldn't be more un-alright than I am now. The more I recall, to the smallest detail, what has been written down in my diary, the weight of the reality keeps on getting heavier.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," Betty says softly seeing my form beginning to curl up into a tight ball. "There is nothing to be afraid of – you are safe here."

"No," I shake my head, strands of dirty hair swaying like dead branches. My voice cracks and turns into weeping. "No, I am not."

"Yes, you are," she reaches out similarly to the way in the car and touches my shoulder firmly. It is like she is afraid I will otherwise fall into pieces. "Shh. We are far from that place. Nobody is here to hurt you."

Involuntarily the muscle on my lower lip starts twitching, then it trembles until I have to bite down on it. Too late, though. The stinging in my eyes has become unbearable. "I… I want to go home."

I can smell the stingy touch of perfume on my nose. It reminds me of customers that come to the salon to get their hair under control and I have to always bear with it. I may have hit my head too many times because suddenly I miss that. I want to go back to work, cut and trim and brush other people's hair. Hear about the daily gossips of the neighborhood and things beyond that. Then, I want to go back to my house, to see my little brother playing his silly video games, visit mom in the hospital, visit dad's grave in the green graveyard and go on with my life.

I want to even go back to those days, when Edmund and I shared drinks, laughed, and told stories. When we were little, we promised to always stay in touch. Now, his haunting phone call keeps on resonating in my ears like that one song that irritably doesn't get out of your head. It keeps on playing itself over and over.

"Why – why are you saying things like these? We aren't in trouble because of that, right?"

"No. This is not really about that."

"Edmund, please – "

"I am telling the truth. Trust me."

The ends of my long nails scratch the skin on my face. I do trust you... But why am I suddenly recalling wavering in his voice?

"You should lay down."

Again, I shake my head. Tears are rolling down my cheeks, but I do not mind. I feel numb and they are warm. "No. H-he will…"

"Whoever this 'he' is, he can't find you. We drove off with a car and nobody drove after. The person after you doesn't have a car, does he?"

I almost want to bark out a laugh from that question. After all that trekking – for four fricking days – any form of vehicle transport is out of the question. "He doesn't."

Betty nods. "Then, he can't come here."

My vision spins, but it may as well be from the way I keep on shaking my head. The tears on my skin harden into faint trails but are washed away by fresh ones. It is of no use. No matter how unbelievable it may sound, there is a nagging voice inside of me that tells me I will be found, sooner or later. The ends of my hair stand up as if anticipating an ominous shadow approaching. It is the same feeling I got in the forest when he chased me down in the dark.

Betty's eyes meet with mine. It must be the first time since she and her friends almost ran me over with their car. They are stark blue framed by ash black mascara. They are far clearer than mine, though. I can feel how redness is blooming on my face, swelling from emotions I have been holding back for so long.

Broken from the inside, helpless and afraid again for what is definitely coming for me, I give her a sad, tiny smile. "Your eyes are like my dad's."

A rustle of clothes. A scent of wood and grass.

Gentle hands reaching out.

"I told you that the monster won't hurt you."

I am pulled against a warm chest, strands of sunlight hair tickling the side of my face. It is peaceful, safe. I want to stay here forever.

"He won't harm or curse you."

A featherlight touch of something soft graces my forehead.

"But he will hunt you down."

Unconsciously, I snuggle closer. These arms are both unfamiliar and at the same time not so far from being familiar either. It is an embrace that belongs to a parent who will keep their children away from harm. I do not want to let it go.

As if knowing what I am thinking, the arms loosen and fade no matter how tightly I try holding on.

"He will not let you go."

Darkness swallows me, a thousand pairs of eyes look down at me. The black mass swirls, laughs mockingly, wrapping itself in an endless swirl of madness. There is no sense of security left and the desire to run away rises. Whatever this monstrosity is, it keeps on wrapping itself tightly around my body, hold hard and far from being warm.

I know this fear. This is the scenario where I, the prey, am being frozen while the predator sinks his teeth into my flesh with bone-crushing strength. That is what I am waiting for. The bloodlust and desire to devour move rapidly in the air. I can smell the blood.

"Such a poor, poor child… you are so alone."

The kind voice echoes in the air but does not disband the dark fog. In fact, it only agitates it further until I am sinking.

"I told you to run… not to drag others down with you."

I panic, reaching out for anything to hold on to. The eyes around me glow as if amused by my attempts. They narrow, cringing from the sides, but the strange voice keeps on speaking. It has turned sad, almost broken.

"He is here."

"Run."

The first noise that researches my ears is the distinct sound of a slap and a short cry of surprise. A few seconds later, there is a small throb on the side of my hand and a familiar face comes into view. The next thing I realize is the way my heart hammers, how sweat has somehow build-up and is sticking the back of my shirt to my skin. The light in the room is almost painfully bright, there is a strange ringing between my ears like I just ran.

"Shit!" Andrew curses and holds his hand, a grimace on his face. "The hell was that for?"

I stare up at him, realizing that he had just tried to wake me up. And my reaction had been to strike him. I can't bring myself to feel fully sorry for his pain, my thoughts are muffled. Where was I? I look around the place. The hotel room is spacious, and I have sunk into the comforts of the bed like a rock to the bottom of the lake. The walls are white and green curtains have been drawn firmly closed.

I frown, confused. I inhale deeply, lungs screaming like I haven't taken in any air for a while. My ribcage expands painfully, pulling on the bruised flesh and fully reminding me what has happened. A cold feeling settles into my gut. Was I dreaming?

"I'm sorry," I say faintly when I turn to look at Andrew and then down at his hand. To my surprise, a gradually expanding redness has appeared on his skin. Cold sweat trails down my back."Oh, my gosh. I am so sorry."

He shakes his head, sending me a small glare that holds no malice, just annoyance. "Yeah, yeah, but Betty wanted me to come to check up on you since she had to go and make a call."

"A call?" I ask different ideas of what or who she could be contacting coming to mind.

My body language must tell how on the edge I am because Andrew lifts his hands in a universal peace sign. "Calm the fuck down already. She has to contact her folks that we are being held back up in here."

His answer makes me feel a bit better, but a frown has not yet left my face. He sits down on the other bed, facing me with a relaxed disposition that I can't bring up or show. The eyes regarding me are criticizing and I cross my arms for comfort. This person is obviously uncomfortable with my presence just as much as I am with his.

"You really aren't on something?" His blunt question creates silence.

My eyes roam over his face, taking in the sight of a tattoo on the side of the neck, long locks of unkempt braids falling from his head. I have seen worse hairstyles, but I can even in my current state feel almost insulted.

"No."

"You look like you rolled down a hill or something."

If only you knew, I nearly say it out loud, but my lips form a thin line.

"Maybe you should take a bath."

"Hey, 'Drew, quit it. Bett will be mad if you are being mean," the other man, AJ, comments as he suddenly strides inside the room.

I flinch, unconsciously shifting closer to the end of the bed. If the two notice this, they don't luckily comment, but that doesn't really stop the awkward atmosphere. I can somewhat understand – I am nervous, and they can sense it. I do not dare to look up at their expressions to find out more, though.

"Let's go eat something," Andrew finally sighs and stands up.

AJ sputters and gestures at me – the unmovable, strange woman at the bed that they bought for themselves. "We can't just leave her here alone."

"Betty will finish with her call soon anyways," he shrugs and walks towards the door with his possessions. Obviously, he doesn't trust me to leave them here – surprisingly smart.

"Andrew!" AJ calls out but stiffens and looks at me. "Oh… sorry for scaring you."

My fingers are digging deeply into the flesh of my arms through the long sleeves. I can't help the automatic reaction to a loud voice. It is a bit scary – I am like a jumpy mouse. The moment I try to look up at the man's face it is like my muscles turn to ice and stiffen. The only thing making sure that an uncontrollable sob doesn't escape from my throat is the sound of their voices. These are not the man who took me, suffocated me in his silence.

I am free… why is it that there is a sensation of chains wrapping around my neck?

The room is cold. I shiver and goosebumps spread all over my limbs. I do not make eye contact, and AJ falters from my muteness. I really am like a frightened animal backing and curling to a corner.

"Let's just go," Andrew mutters, breaking the silence.

In the end, both of them leave the room.

He will come. Through the dark and shrouds of the woods. Silver hair unruly. Corners me against a tree like a prey. Heavy silence will crush me. Those blood-soaked eyes piercing and dull. Corpses laying on the ground. Metal heavy in the air.

"You want to use a phone?" Betty parrots. As soon as she walked in, I asked the question. "There is one downstairs. I can come with you – "

"No need," I say and am about to walk past her, but freeze. Whether it has something to do with gender, but I do not feel as tense with her as I was with the other two men. I can't see the shadow traces of that white hair on her. So, I manage to look up. "Thank you."

As soon as I am out in the open, out of the room and in the hallway, however, everything becomes deadly silent. There are no guests or workers walking around the place – it is disturbing. Even when the elevator is on the same hallway that the room I left from, the walk there – mere ten feet – is a disturbingly long one. I glance around, seeing how Betty's eyes follow my movements and I am thankful she has not retreated back to the room just yet.

It is unnerving how unsettled I am. There is an itch to just cover myself with my hood and hide in a corner. There isn't a place to hide in a straight path, though. A door could open in this place and I would be seen as clear as a day in the middle of a long mat covering the entire length of the hallway. What am I so scared of? I continue asking from myself, cold sweat trickling down between my shoulder blades.

Frankly, I have never had a problem with silence. It is something I, in fact, find enjoyable. No one bothers me, I have space and time to just think inside my head. Not to mention the issue of how my family struggles with basically me as the main breadwinner and savings that we have. I am the oldest between me and my brother. I have had to make sure he stays out of trouble, eats and dresses properly, doesn't get in trouble with the school… and with those expectations usually, arguments arise. That is precisely why I love me-time more than anyone could probably comprehend.

But now, I hate it. I am again, back in the forest with the hard ground beneath my feet, muscles aching, bruises forming at every step. A shoulder being pressed against my stomach and a large hand gripping me, dragging me… it is reaching out to me…

"Everything okay?" Betty's voice is suddenly much closer, and I jump. Somehow, she has crept right next to me and we both freeze from my reaction. "Sorry! Didn't mean to startle you."

Her voice snaps me back to reality. Unlike what I thought, I am standing only a few feet away from the spot that I started walking from. This is still significantly far away from the elevator and the realization of this clogs my throat.

I am losing it; my mind is crumbling.

Betty doesn't say anything for a while, which makes my skin crawl. Thoughts of how she might only be a fragment of imagination pop into my head, for some reason. I am scared. Scared that this place is not real, much like me walking down the hallway for the past few moments hadn't been real. That kind of thinking actually makes me pause in breathing. The air just completely ceases its movement into my lungs.

"Maybe you should… just rest," Betty suggests carefully. "You might feel better in the morning."

It is not morning yet? The fact makes my eyebrows knit together. A whine gets stuck in my mouth and I clench my fists. After the wake-up, I had earlier, going to sleep is the last thing I want to do. I am awake, alert, and… too scared to close my eyes again.

I end up shaking my head. "I really need to call someone."

"Might that person be able to pick you up?" The woman asks with a bit of hope coming through her tone.

The question makes a rock plunge itself into my gut. "No… I just need to call and tell them… t-that I am okay."

For now.

Does it really matter at this point, if I tell this stranger about myself? I am safe, after being held captive by the most terrifying man – a monster – for what felt like forever. This is a safe haven. There is a chance of someone understanding or trying to be emphatic right next to me.

She will think you are crazy.

The cruel voice makes me want to vomit. My fingers clench around the fabric of my sleeves. I can still smell the scent of the trees and earth on these same clothes. To man, the scent wouldn't be unpleasant, but to me, it is positively revolting. I want to suddenly wash away all the dirt, every bruise, and every memory of my situation. These things make me feel dirty. I do not feel like a totally innocent victim here.

If what Edmund texted me means what I think it means, then I am in trouble back in Europe. How many times have I thought about that one text message by now? Something happened to him. That something will happen to me, soon.

I need to call back home.

"Alright," Betty nods evenly at my statement and suddenly gestures towards the elevator. "Let's go down there together. I don't think you should be left alone."

Or you will end up hurt. My mind finishes the sentence for her. That is what I think she is implying. She thinks I might do something stupid… which is also what I am worried about.

Because we agree that I am an unstable time bomb just ticking forward, I give her a small thanks. The sound of it is low, but she hears it and nods. Thanks to her, I make it to the elevator, and the frantic voice of my paranoia halts for a few minutes. The shutting doors of the moving contraption aren't a thread. They make me feel more secure like not even a machinegun could get through them.

"By the way, what's your name?" Betty suddenly asks, when we are between floors three and four. When I look, she has a small smile on her face. "I am called Betty O'Connor."

That's right, I realize with a jolt. I haven't told her or those two men my name yet. It is one of the basic things you do when you meet someone. The absurdity of only noticing it now is startling, to say the least. But given the circumstances… it is to be expected.

In my tiredness, I do not use a fake name to identify myself. I am not worried about it being leaked to the wrong people. All I want to hear, is someone calling me by my real name, something that I have taken for granted since the day I was born. We all definitely do that.

"Nancy."

Betty's smile widens at my response. "Nice to meet you then, Nancy."

This is the first time that the monotonous voice of the phone is the most disheartening noise anything on this planet can possibly make.

"The number you are trying to call – "

I place the phone down, shoulders dropping. The phone is in a secluded corner behind a fake plant. Whoever planned this kind of furniture arrangement did it either accidentally or understood privacy. The shadows created by the plants also cover the deadly white shade of my face. I feel like collapsing here and now.

Needing support, I place both of my hands on a table. Calm, calm, calm, the mantra is not remotely helpful. It only intensifies the stinging sensation spreading across every corner of my eyes. I cover them as if that will stop the tears from simply bursting out. There is now a boulder in my chest that I can't remove. I can't reach Michael, nor my mom in the hospital.

I cannot hear the voices of the two the most important and beloved people in my life in a time I need them the most. I do not recall wanting to see them this desperately when I was in Germany.

The trembling is back – it probably has stayed with me this entire time. When I attempt dialing Michael's number again my finger is shaking worse than a thin branch in the wind. I end up letting it fall down to my side, defeated and hopeless.

A phone – I need another phone!

The small flicker of hope makes me stumble around and head towards the reception desk where Betty is waiting. Sweat keeps on sliding down my back as I approach. One would think that I was out running and not trying to call someone.

However, because both the desk and the woman I am looking for are located behind a corner, I do not immediately sense that something is amiss. It is only when I round that said corner and see four more people standing in front of the petite woman. Four men – two are her traveling companions. The rest of the men are strangers, at least as far as their identities are concerned. From the matching uniforms, it isn't that hard to guess their profession.

Literally, my feet get stuck on the soft mattress beneath them. It is like someone put glue on them to create a human trap. That is exactly how I feel like I am trapped. I am a cornered mouse once again.

Betty pauses with whatever she is trying to say to the officers and turns to where I am. Her eyes widen, a fleeting look of panic mirroring mine passing on her face. "Ah, Nancy! Here she is."

She heads towards me, but I take a step back in return. Seeing this, she halts in surprise by my reaction.

I told you not to call the police, it is what I am saying with my gaze. Every muscle on my face, though, is stiff. The skin is definitely losing color and my shoulders rise and fall rigidly. There is not a single thought other than the word 'traitor' flashing in my head.

"Nancy, calm down," Betty says calmly, raising her hands to show her palms. "It is alright."

"No," I wheeze out and see how the two officers are making their way towards us from behind her. Seeing that my attention has shifted on them, though, they both slow down and almost freeze. "I-I told you – "

"Sweetheart, if you are being chased by someone you need help," Betty chastises, cutting me off. "I understand that you are scared, but you will be safe in the hands of these gentlemen."

I shake my head, blood rushing to my head. I sway and take a hold of the wall next to me. He will find me, the words resonate around me. That man will get angry that the police are getting breathing is hard like I am having an attack. From experience, I know that it is not yet time for that, though. I merely trying to stay calm.

However, Betty and the men behind her seem to think otherwise. I must look ready to faint or scratch my skin off because the blue-eyed woman takes another step closer and actually touches my arm. It sends a jolt of anger down my spine.

She has been trying to keep me calm this whole time without really understanding the root of my fear. These people haven't seen him. That man who murdered three people at the side of the road is out there and he is armed… and I just barely got away. I can't stop wondering why there was the sound of a gun in the building and who or what had received the blow.

I shake myself away from the horrible memory and glare at Betty. The sharp look comes out much muted, though. I can't do anything if these people decide to drag me away. Food limited to rodent meat and berries for a few days sure can cause a person to go weak in the limbs.

"Miss," one of the two officers suddenly speaks up and makes me take a step back. Seeing that I am ready to actually bolt, he doesn't step any closer with his partner. "If you have a problem with someone and that person is planning on harming you, then you need to tell us. The matter won't be solved otherwise."

"H-he has a gun," I whisper. I didn't plan on saying it – the words just jump out of my mouth. "You can't help. He w-will kill."

"So, the person after you possesses a weapon?" He asks the voice is suddenly heavy and grave. I don't like it.

I shake my head, recalling the moment I was in my car and heard those horrid screams of my assaulters. They didn't manage to go through with whatever they were planning to do with me, so I can't help but feel more pity towards them. The memory of something cracking only sends a chill down my spine. My eyes wander around the place, unfocused and frightened.

"He d-doesn't need o-one."

"Miss, I am asking, if the individual you are running from has a gun and has used it."

I bite down on my lower lip, barely hearing the man through the ringing in my ears. "H-he is going to k-kill me."

"I told you that the monster won't hurt you," the voice echoes in my memories. It is a faraway voice, one that I can't be sure I have heard in real life. It is nostalgic and weak, so the words are gone as soon as they are repeated in my mind.

Betty has suddenly an arm around me. She has probably noticed from our short time together how I do not struggle with her. I don't push her away or avoid the touch even now. I am not angry at her anymore, nor can I feel such emotions at the state I am in. Her perfume is strong and muffles the scent of animal blood from the woods. I can still hear the crunching of bones being torn with the muscle from the small creatures that ended up as dinner.

"I think she should be taken to the hospital," one of the men – AJ, probably – chimes in from the desk, but his words fly right over my head.

"Yes, I think that is the best. We can question her there."

The arm around me tightens. "She doesn't want to go to the hospital. She also said she didn't want us to call the police."

"C'mon Betty, what were we supposed to do?"

"You could have waited for her to calm down, that's what."

"Hey, I think we need to just calm down and take this conversation to somewhere else."

Their voices are mixing together. One moment the noise is clear and then turns muffled. Much like in the elevator, nearness of a person – someone normal – brings me comfort. Still, it provides fewer feelings of safety because now my luck is shifting.

The thought of prison brings back vivid fears from my time in Germany. I was helping Edmund break into houses, steal, and even drove for him. The nightmares of sitting in the middle of a cell haunted me. Now, the word 'protective custody' is foreign to me and for a second it doesn't feel real. I can only see myself sitting behind bars as people try figuring out my story.

But what else could I do now? If I go with them, who knows what they can find about me. I am already more than aware that I have an accent, not to mention my belongings and passport are nowhere with me – these will raise more than enough question marks. Michael and my mom are still in the UK. I get a free plane ticket there and it might still not be safe to set a foot to Europe.

The faces of my brother and mother flash in my mind, and guilt stabs my chest. The knife twists and turns…

As suddenly as the heavy emotion surrounds me, just as abruptly the hairs on my body stand up. Coldness replaces the warmth and even Betty's closeness can't radiate enough heat to melt the ice surrounding the limbs. The argument between the woman and men fade from my ears, the world turns into a blur.

Ba-thump!

I can feel the shape of my heart in my throat as it nearly jumps out of my body. W-what's this? This strange sensation of dread spreads from the tip of my toes to the ends of my hair. I can't breathe, my throat clenches, and cold sweat trails down my face. My hands turn clammy and I can barely distinguish any shapes and colors.

All of sudden, I am terrified for no good reason.

"He is here."

Again, there is an echo of a voice in my head. It feels like a memory as if someone said something important to me before. It is fuzzy and no face that the voice belongs to comes to mind.

So… why does it send a sharp chill down my spine?

Without realizing it, I turn my head. The movement happens slowly, I can't do it faster. Sweat just keeps on pooling around my body and I shiver. Betty notices it, or at least I think she does. Her arm shifts and she holds my shoulders, lips moving briefly in my line of vision.

Then, I finally am able to see the door. It is the same one leading to the parking lot outside. The double doors are completely made out of see-through glass and on the other side of them, there is nearly completely black. It is like you are in space and only a thin door is protecting you from getting sucked into oblivion. The fear does not come from that unlikely scenario, though.

Everything spins when those haunting red eyes meet my wide and horrified ones.

"Run."

A scream gets stuck in my mouth.