The Kidnapping

Recap: Dana’s got a few screws loose, but it doesn’t seem to hold her back.  She likes who she is, even if others give her a wide berth.  With some questionable hobbies and a lot of darkness in her past, she’s determined to find the man of her dreams.  Chris wasn’t it.  After he used and discarded her, she tracked him down, winding up  arrested.  Now out on bail, any cheer she had is long gone.  Her failure of a life hardly seems worth living any more.

While parts of Rowan’s timeline is still a mystery, right now he’s trying to distance himself from his chequered past.  Once reckless and hell bent on self-destruction, he’s found some peace within, but not without.  Right now it feels as though everyone wants him to be someone he’s not. The fans howl for his alter ego, while his ex, Emily, disapproved of all he was. At long last, his tour is over and he’s looking forward to his quiet, self-isolation.  

Story 15 – Dana and Rowan are on collision course

He’d pack up the trailer some other time. Right now, he was just glad to be home. He tossed his essentials off to the side then lie down in the middle of the room, not bothering to take off his boots. First, he just wanted a moment’s peace in the comforting silence.Little by little, thoughts and memories of the past couple of months left his attention, replaced by the soothing privacy of the only habitable room in this industrial area. Nothing could touch him here, not unwanted guests nor unwanted thoughts.As accustomed he was to months on the road, exhaustion soon crept in. It had been a long tour this time, with the past fourteen days seeming longer still. As his body relaxed, his eyes refused to stay open. Within minutes, he was asleep. Morning brought with it a sense of revivement. A long shower helped even more. He was eager to get out now. Moreso, he needed to. There was little food in the cupboards and none in the fridge.He went upstairs for a moment to check the weather. His windowless room offered no clues. The sky was thick with charcoal grey clouds and filled with the smell of imminent rain. No matter. He was eager to get back to his quiet, everyday life.He fetched his long raincoat and large umbrella to head out to a nearby bus stop, wondering what new offerings the bookstore would bring.

She entered the house, but could go no further. The judge had granted her bail. Despite her money she wasn’t a flight risk, he’d said. He was right. Where would she go but here? Slowly she sank to the floor, wrapping her arms around her knees and drawing them in close. Little by little, the thoughts and memories of the recent past consumed what potential joy still remained. This house had been her sanctuary. Now though, it felt emptier than ever before. Voices tormented her, whispering their distortions, chipping away at her shattered confidence. Soon she was racked with heaving sobs, expressing a lifetime of rejection, and hurt. When the tears finally dried, she lie down on her side with nothing left but a vacant stare. Sleep never came in fits and starts. Morning brought no relief. Tortured thoughts exhausted her, refusing to allow her to seek revival in a refreshing shower, or food to quell the dull ache in her stomach. She rejected both, giving into misery, with nothing left in her to fight it, nor the will to. She rose shakily to her feet, before stepping back outside, leaving the door ajar. The sky was thick with charcoal grey clouds and filled with the smell of imminent rain. She descended the stoop, feeling the first drops arrive, numb to their cold intrusion. Eyes and mind vacant, she started walking, not intending to return.

“Whoah!”

Rowan scrambled to keep his book from falling onto the wet ground, completely unaware of what had just hit him. He’d been too engrossed in the pages to notice.

It was a woman, about his age or so. She was soaked to the bone, her hair of undetermined color plastered to her head and face. The few clothes she wore, a light tank with shorts, clung to her small body, sopping wet from the unforgiving deluge. She’d walked right into him, clearly unaware of her surroundings. Her eyes were vacant, struggling to process what had gotten in her way. She seemed to be putting all she had into bringing the words on his read into focus, confused as to why they were there, so close to her face. 

She must have been through something, he thought, wondering if she was all right. The rain fell in torrents, merciless and cold. Only the depressed or the disturbed would simply give themselves over to it.

“Are you all-“ he began but she cut him off as if his voice had gone unheard.

“Good book,” she muttered, lightly brushing his arms as she walked around him. 

He turned to watch her go, her shoulders hunched, feet dragging as she continued with a slow march. Thinking it best to leave her be, he repositioned his large umbrella, relocating the page he’d been reading then continued on his way.

She made it a few yards before it hit her like a bolt from the sky.

HIM.

She turned around so fast she nearly tripped over her own feet. Sirens and screams assaulted her mind. The chill of the rain disappeared, replaced by a deeper, more profound trembling.

HE’S THE ONE! HE’S PERFECT!!

Excitable babble flooded her thoughts, too loud for her to bear. She slapped herself hard on one cheek in an effort to calm it. The perfect man? How could she possibly know that? She hadn’t even looked at him, or had she?

She watched his departing figure, as he glided over the path, elegant long legs moving him forward with elongated strides. Her foot too began moving forwards. They knew as she did, she had to follow.

All she’d seen was the book, Twisted Perceptions. She’d read it three times already, finding it as fascinating as he seemed to. It was an interesting look at some neurological oddities, but not written for the layman. Its reader would be a person of some intelligence, maybe even curiosity.  

There must have been hands that were holding it, eyes that were reading it, but she hadn’t even looked. 

Her memory a blank, she settled for what could see, though it really wasn’t much.

He was tall, at least six feet and unusually slim. His head was obscured by a massive umbrella, yet she felt there had been an attractive face beneath. Maybe it was just wishful thinking.

She followed him for some time, keeping well behind so as not to be noticed until, finally, they reached the main road. He crossed, heading for a bus shelter, while she darted to the right, hiding in another.

She knew when he finally turned – he really was perfect. She’d fallen for so many before though. What was it about him that made her feel so sure? So certain that he was the one to finally end her torment?

He looked nothing like the men girls usually went for. He wasn’t broad-shouldered, square-jawed or even tanned. He was pale, with a long, angular face, and large, intelligent eyes. His hair was a mess of thick lazy spikes, seeming black in this light. He was so thin, but it suited him, seeming so graceful and elegant. She found herself mesmerized by his long, delicate fingers turning the pages, wondering if he might be a musician.   

The bus came too quickly, whisking him away. 

201…201…Route 201! It’s 201!

         Once the bus was well out of sight, she dashed across the street to check the route map, crying out in dismay at the sheer length of it. He could live anywhere along that path. It could take days, if not weeks to find him, if at all.

In the end she figured it was easier to stake out the bus stop. A guess which paid off fast. He was back the next morning, headed for the market quarter.  

The bad weather had passed, leaving nothing but sunshine. She took it as a sign that the heavens themselves had given their blessings. With a restrained squeal of glee, she darted from one hiding place to another to get a better look at him. 

Days and then two weeks passed. He’d come every day, at about the same time. She knew she was too conspicuous, so got smarter about her stalking methods. She dressed as drab and as generic as possible, hoping to blend in with the crowds. To further reduce the chance of being spotted she made a rule not to get any closer than throwing distance, despite being able to throw pretty far. It was frustrating, but she couldn’t risk him catching on to her. Loathe to remove the blazing red dye in her hair, she even started a wearing a hat. She’d be too obvious without it. 

It didn’t take long to notice he liked to stop at a café in the park, usually sitting outside. As if God himself approved of her new obsession, there was a huge maple nearby to hide herself in. A grappling hook, a bit of rope and getting there before he did was all she needed. It was her own little duck blind, perfectly pointed in the right direction.

The only downside was that it was too far away for her cheap zoom lens to capture the details she craved. She’d bought it to get snapshots of unsuspecting cute guys, not capture feather details on faraway waterfowl. 

Every day she would rush to take her place across the street from the bus he’d arrive on. She’d follow him to the market square. He’d always take time selecting culinary ingredients for the day, before browsing a few other stands. Sometimes, though not always, he’d head out into the streets visiting mostly the book and music store, though he didn’t restrict himself to them only. From there he made his way to the café in the park, where she’d be, right there in the tree, watching him read.

Following him through the streets was the best part of the day, so she was reluctant to cut it short. In the beginning, getting to the park before he did was harrowing. When he showed signs of being done shopping, so began her panicked run. It took him ten minutes to get there, and her only about five or six. After a while, she got better at reading him. He always held his head up with a look of interest before continuing to the next shop or stand. When he was done, he’d take a quick peek at his purchases.  No longer needing to guess where he was going next, she could trot off instead of racing, disappearing into the branches with ample time to spare.

In order to save time (and the poor tree) she gave up on the grappling hook, leaving a rope tied around its biggest limb. I wish I’d have thought of this sooner. It had been a burden carrying everything around, now all she needed to do is grab the trailing end, then pull herself up. It was a risk to leave it there, though she doubted anyone else would be capable of scaling the behemoth to steal it. She was wrong. Two smug looking teens were up there in her spot today, laughing away.

“FUCK OFF YOU PIECE OF SHITS! THAT’S MY SPOT!”

“Finder’s keepers!” the bigger of the two snorted, blowing a foul cloud of cigarette smoke her way.

She really didn’t have the time to argue, spotting a nearby flowerbed lined with rocks. She lunged for it, filling her arms the best she could. When she returned to face the interlopers, they merely laughed. She dumped the lot on the ground save for one large, irregular shaped wedge, which she hurled without warning towards the nearest smug-faced teen, nailing him right in the shoulder.

“WHAT THE FUCK!?”

“GET!!! OUT!!!’” she screamed, aiming the next at the one who’d just spoken, who only just managed to avoid it. If he hadn’t, it would have hit him right in the temple.

“ARE YOU NUTS!?”

“IT’S MY TREE!!!”

They decided pretty quickly it wasn’t worth arguing about. She was unnervingly accurate with her throws and stronger than she looked. Her relentless assault never letting up, the boys dropped down, using a few choice words before taking off.

When they were well out of range, she checked the nearby path. Lucky for her, he wasn’t there yet. With haste, she took her rightful place on the limb up above, her mind swirling with thoughts.

How long could she keep this up? She couldn’t just stalk him forever. She was bound to be spotted. Probably during an episode such as this. No man in his right mind would look at her after that and think ‘Well there’s someone I’d really like to meet!’  Today she’d been sloppy. Too emotional as always. She could have left the two youths well alone. She could have found some other way to enjoy the sight of her fixation or even just skipped her surveillance this day. Maybe those teens had been a sign. A message that today was the day to get closer to him. 

He was never going to get to know her so long as she remained in this tree, as comfortable and safe as it was. Trouble was, which side of her would he be meeting if she just walked up to him? The one everyone else backed away from, or the part of her deep inside that had something to offer?

She looked over at the café once again to see he’d shown up, right on time. That was one of the things she loved about him, he was dependable. 

Even more thrilling was the fact that he’d picked the best seat in the place. The one opposite with the clearest view. To her double delight, he was wearing her favorite outfit, again. A tight sleeveless turtleneck that highlighted all of his assets. He was little more than skin and bones, but an impressively sculpted set of them. That slender, toned chest, that tiny middle which nearly made her cry out with longing.  He had such wiry muscular arms and shoulders, suggestive of work physical enough to have formed them. As he was taking his seat, she cast an admiring eye on his mid-thigh length bondage shorts. They hugged his narrow hips, ending just high enough above his knees to really show off his long, slender, shapely legs. A pair that most women would kill for. 

She shivered at the sight of the nylons he wore. Simple black and white stripes, her favorite. He always wore something that couldn’t help but be noticed, like fishnets or even once a shocking red, like her hair, but these ones were by far the best. Bold, yet tasteful. 

Only a minute or two after placing his order he was rewarded with his morning brew. Black, as always, with little packets of sugar left to the side.

Whatever he was reading today, it must be good. She could tell through the camera that the cover was yellow, but the title once again eluded her. Something that started with a T? His hand was hovering over his coffee, poised to take the handle, suspended mid-pluck. Now and then he’d make a move to pick it up, but usually missed the target, engrossed in the page. It was only when he dipped his index into the hot brew that he was startled to attention. She giggled at his comical expression. 

He was being observed by two others this morning. She could tell they weren’t his type though. College girls with everyday hair, everyday clothes. Two clones with factory smiles and personalities that were sure to match. 

One stood up and brazenly walked over to his table while the other watched with rapt attention, her fingers to her snickering lips.

There was an exchange of words, a question maybe, coupled with her winning smile. as the woman lingered just a few inches closer to him than she should have been. He looked up from his read, listening to her flirtations, before handing her something. She stood a bit longer but he ignored her, going back to his book. 

Dana beamed with joy at this rejection, popping up to straddle the limb. Digging in with her knees she flailed her arms in unbridled excitement. She knew he would do that! What could they offer him? He lived on another plane of existence!  Just like me!

He knew that sound from anywhere. The excitable twitters, the intermittent giggles with words like “look!” and “Is it? It’s gotta be!” On their own it could have meant anything but when you lived your life in some sort of spotlight it usually meant he’d been recognized.

Rowan gritted his teeth in annoyance. He’d waited weeks to get a hold of this book and just wanted to be left in peace to read it.

They didn’t seem like the type he would see at one of his shows, but with the internet these days it was anybody’s guess how many people had seen his work by now. Irritatingly, for free.

He groaned inwardly when he heard a chair moving. The first of the two stood up and came over, leaving her snickering friend to watch. 

“Hey, uh. Aren’t you that guy? From the video? The one with the knives?”

How beautifully eloquent.

”Hm? Knives? Why would I want any knives?”

“You’re that knife thrower aren’t you! I saw you on Showclick! You are so good!”

This was so annoying. He fucking hated that income stealing platform for illicitly filmed performances. Free advertising was great, but it would be a hell of a lot nicer if those thousands of likes equated to thousands of ticket sales.

“Throwing knives?!” he cried in his best British matronly voice, absolutely aghast. “You should be ashamed of yourself!”

She now looked suitably confused.

“You need to get your mind out of the gutter dear. Stick to spoons, they’re so soothing and rounded. Here, have mine.”

The girl accepted the odd gift then returned to her table in a daze. What the hell was that?

The corner of Rowan’s lip twitched into a smile as he returned to his book. That should get them thinking.

Dana shook her fists, letting out a tiny squeal. She wanted to scream out in elation, but couldn’t risk drawing attention.

She’d known, oh she’d known he wouldn’t like those girls! Just as she knew he’d be going to the bookstore today. Based on where he was in his book yesterday, she knew he’d be needing a new one soon. 

Her biggest disappointment was that she couldn’t tell what the titles were. She desperately wanted to pick up copies of each. Was today’s read going to be a philosophical outlook on modern technology? A light-hearted look at artistic failures? Or was it a trashy romance, like the ones she’d pick up now and then for a laugh? She had no idea, but it was fun to guess.

She once snuck into the shop a few minutes behind him, hoping to figure out what he was buying by seeing what he pulled off the shelf. To her dismay, it was impossible to keep a distance, or not be seen. He nearly bumped right into her, rounding a corner and blocking her only escape route. Panicking, she darted into the nearby toilet, too scared to emerge. She had no way of knowing if he was still there. She missed seeing him at the café that day because of it.

Weeks soon became a month. She still hadn’t summoned the courage to walk over and introduce herself. There was just too much at stake. She had to be satisfied with getting to know him for now. On the plus side, there was a lot she’d gleaned. She knew his habits, his preferences and she’d gained many insights into his character that the average person might not have picked up on. 

He lived in his own little world, like she did, enough to miss what was around him sometimes. One time, he was so immersed up in the taste of a fresh peach, he failed to notice a fight broke out just behind him. Clever man, she thought, giggling as he wiped away some juice from his chin. You passed two other fruit stands to get to this one. You knew this one had the best, didn’t you? You stopped, smelled the air, and could tell right away that these were the ripest without having to look. 

Just like I do.

         He was rapidly losing the battle to keep his face dry. She could tell he no longer cared. It really was that good.

         Funny how much alike we are. Though, not exactly the same. He isn’t hopeless with human contact. He’s so friendly, so outgoing when he wants to be. He talks to people like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Not like me at all.

         As he chatted with a vendor peddling homemade sauces, she brought a hand to her chest, feeling her heart race. When he burst out laughing the rapid beat started doing things she didn’t know it could do. When he finished his transaction, he walked off, retreating back into his own world, like always. 

Watching him go, she pondered for a while. Other than this, we have everything in common.

They liked the same foods, gravitated towards the same displays. Both kept away from the mainstream, shunning the common in favor of the special. Neither really used the one piece of technology they owned, a simple phone.  

Along with being an avid reader, he appreciated the fine arts, frequenting galleries when the displays had changed. She couldn’t be certain of all the music he listened to but  had some idea. Often, Dana went to take a peek at what the owner had set aside for him after he’d left. She could only see the ones he hadn’t bought, but deduced his tastes weren’t limited to any style or genre. Most of the stuff she’d seen had little in common.

There was whimsy in him too. Also, a sadness she couldn’t place. He once picked up a handmade toy that caught his eye, a little music box. It had an ingenious design. When wound up, a little figure swung on a flying trapeze, coming close, but never meeting another on the other side. His eyes grew so bright. She could almost hear his thrilled cry, even stepping forwards in the hopes of hearing it, only it never happened. His face clouded over, and his smile disappeared. He set it down with care, looked at it for a moment longer, then walked away seeming down.

It was a total mystery as to how she’d never noticed him before. He didn’t exactly blend in. Maybe he was new to the area? Or maybe it was because she normally shopped there a bit earlier than he did. 

So far, Dana held  a perfect record of being present without being seen. He hadn’t noticed her once. 

The next day, though, she nearly blew it.

She was following him, as always, through the market square. Dana kept the distance she’d deemed to be safe from suspicion, only today there was something in the air which tingled as it passed over her skin. He looked even better that day than he usually did. Something about the way he glided when he walked. Something about the way he caught the light. Late morning sun shone on his glistening hair, illuminating little twinkles from the hair gel he’d used. 

She lifted a hand, letting it rock side to side, fingers outstretched. It raised higher, forward, seeking him from afar. Her arm then swept upwards high above her head then behind her, as the rest of her followed in an emerging dance.

She wove through the crowds like there was no one there. Her feet guided her, finding every path through the crowd, her arms every gap, moving through the nameless watchers like water around a bend. All of the sounds were now a symphony, every fruit, green and preserves a multitude of twinkling colors. The sky graced her with its blessings, the pavement swelled to move her forward.

She twisted and twirled, envisioning his life force enter hers, feeling it fill her with his very being. She breathed it in, letting it be carried by the blood coursing through her. It rushed to warm every part of her from within. It entered her mind, soothing any places within that wept, leaving only the ones that sang with euphoria.  

She imagined him turning to see her, captivated by her dance. He would love her, right then, seeing her light. She felt his arms wrap around her 

and they nearly did, as she slammed into him, unaware that he had stopped.

They both nearly went down but pulled back just in time. As she scrambled to get away, Rowan turned to see what had hit him. For the shortest of moments their eyes met. For the barest sliver of a second, they froze, noticing how the other had the same blue irises as one another. Then she was gone, moving quicker than he’d thought humanly possible, disappearing into the throng.

He quickly checked his pocket to make sure his wallet was still there. Even if she had taken it, he wasn’t sure he could describe what she looked like. Her knitted hat had been pulled down over her forehead, her clothes baggy and indistinct. She was a grey blur, her eye color being the only thing he knew for sure.

He was relieved to feel the familiar bulge in his back pocket, but also baffled as to what had just happened. Figuring it wasn’t worth dwelling on, he headed to the café, the incident already leaving his mind.

As she sat in the tree now, she regarded her hand with great wonder. It had done what she’d been too scared to do, it had touched him. Her fingers had felt his skin through his shirt. She could still feel it now, the gentle curve of his side, her palm on the small of his back. 

She longed to do it again. Even if it were just for a moment, but couldn’t keep bumping into him. She could only get away with that once.

Maybe it was finally time to do what she should have done long ago. Just walk up to him and say hi. Swallow her fears, trusting in her belief that that destiny would make it work. That fate will quash the parts that drove others away, making sure her inner self shone through bright enough for him to see it.

She wanted to see those eyes again, to hear him speak. To ask him his name, and tell him hers. She couldn’t be satisfied with keeping a distance anymore. Even if it meant facing her fears, she would find the strength within her to do it, she had to. She would do today. Right now.

As soon as she made the decision, she knew it was right. She felt no fear. Her stomach, no longer in knots. Not one part of her was reacting as it should have, full of terror. Instead, she was calm and peaceful.

A wondrous feeling passed through her. Today, they would finally meet, and it was going to be fine. It really was. 

She glanced back at the café, before stretching herself out on the thick branch, bringing her camera into focus to get a better look at him. He seemed to be smiling too.

She took a shot for posterity a split second before something caught his attention. He suddenly rose from his chair, extended his arm, and pulled a woman towards him, kissing her long and hard on the cheek.

What.

The familiarity didn’t end there. He now had two arms around her waist, his body far too close for Dana’s comfort. She thought he was going to kiss her again, this time on the lips, but she playfully swatted him away, laughing. He persisted for a second before giving in with what Dana thought was a pout, offering the woman a chair.    

A GIRLFRIEND!??!?

He was startled right out of an interesting passage by the sound of his own name.

“Rachel!” he cried, standing up to greet her. “I was starting to think you weren’t coming!” He grabbed her by the waist, then left a long and lingering kiss on her cheek.

“Get off me you dog! Gideon’s going to kill you!” she laughed.

Happy to push his luck, he put his other hand around her, pulling her right up against his groin. “Gideon doesn’t have to know,” he purred, referring to his stage partner and her overprotective brother. 

She swatted him good against the side of his head. “Get that filthy disgusting stage persona of yours off my hips!”

He chuckled before letting her go, reverting to a more gentlemanly character by pulling out her chair. He then dropped back into his own with an exaggerated sigh. “Why do you always turn me away?”

“Because you’re an ass, that’s why!”

His shoulders shook with a soundless laugh. They’d been playing this game since that fateful party a couple years back when she’d mistaken him for a girl. In all fairness he’d been in very convincing drag at the time. She was all over him until he’d been able to come up for air long enough to explain he was a man. It was a shame, really. She wasn’t interested in those. He’d been pestering her about the error ever since, getting bolder with his seductions.

“How’s Melanie?”

“Oh, you should see her! She just made detective! I am so proud!”

“Have you two picked a date for the wedding?”

“Mm hmm. April 12^th, when all the flowers will be in bloom. Absolutely dedicated to having a garden ceremony.”

“So where do I fit in?”

“Do you think you put your design skills to work to come up with a way we can do it outdoors, rain or shine?”

“Like a set?”

“If it’s too much trouble…”

“Not at all! I’ve always wanted to design a wedding!”

“I thought you might! Here’s what I was thinking…”

 Paralyzed with shock, Dana clung to the tree, failing to notice the sound of her camera smashing into pieces on the ground below. No. Nonononononononono. No! This wasn’t right! He was for her! ONLY FOR HER!!!

She slowly crept her hands backwards, inching further away from the terrible scene. This couldn’t possibly be as it seemed, but there he was with his hand on hers, just gazing into her eyes.

She backed up against the massive trunk, pulling her knees to her chest. The muscles of her arms screeched their objections as she tightened her grip. Her breath came in hiccupping jolts, shallow and quick.Her eyes became vacant. Unfocused.

With only the distortions in her mind to keep her company, she began to unravel.

Wasn’t that funny? Wasn’t that fucking hilarious? It was a joke, don’t you see it? All that time stalking him, idolizing him, loving him. He’s so perfect! The yang to your yin. The Adam to your Eve. The fucking peanut butter to your jam for God’s sake. He’s never going to see that! Look over there you freak! HE ISALREADY TAKEN! He’s not going to want you! No one has. REMEMBER!? Rememberrememberremember? You’re more trouble than it’s worth! Get out of here Dana! You deal with her! You’re the one who wanted her! I DIDN’T WANT THAT!  Can’t we just get rid of her? For Christ’s sake, how hard is it to just act like a normal kid? What the hell is wrong with you? You’d better shut up you little shit or you’ll get it again! YOU KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT!! Get her away from me! Lock her up! You’re a fucking mental case is what you are, leave me alone! GO AWAY!!! Get the hell out or I’m calling the cops! She’s fucking loony is what she is! You’re a fucking LUNATIC! Mental! What the fuck, GET OFF OF ME! Steer clear of that one! YOU’RE A MISTAKE! BROKEN!! Make damned sure they know she’s violent!

“SHUT UP!!!’ she screamed into the indifferent branches. ‘SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP!”

She threw herself off the limb, desperate to just get away from the voices that tormented her. A sharp stab of pain shot up through one ankle when she hit the ground. Ignoring it, she bolted to her feet. Her personal effects long forgotten; she ran to the car before the world could see her losing her mind.

*******

Dana threw open her front door with considerable force, leaving a dent in the wall where the doorknob had hit it, paying it no heed. The thoughts in her head had become a deafening choir of discordant voices that left no room for such minor things. She paced up and down the hall in ever decreasing circles, losing the fight against them.

As the weight of their insistent taunts chipped further into her sanity, her knees started to buckle. Her face stretched into a grotesque grimace of mental agony. Her frail, defenseless body began to crumble under the weight of her overloaded mind.

She drove her fingers up through her temples, twisting them around her hair, pulling as hard as she could. She begged for the pain to overcome the din of her internal monologues, which only added to it. In desperation, she tore strands from their roots, pleading for them to take a bit of suffering away.  

Clenching her jaw until the very tendons felt they would snap, she emitted a wretched moan. It built, gaining volume until her mouth snapped open with an ear-splitting scream. A wail that expressed every rejection, failure, and abuse she had ever suffered.

When her lungs could sustain it no longer, she collapsed to her knees, convulsing with gut-wrenching sobs which violently shook her until there were no more tears left to shed. Spent, she pressed herself against the nearby wall, hugging her knees to her chest. Gently rocking forwards and back, she closed her eyes, letting the repetitive movement ease  her torment.

Her body and mind slowly relaxed. When the world around her, and the one within, had stilled only one voice remained.

It’s not like you to give up.

This voice was small. Unlike the others though, she wasn’t afraid of it. It was also right.

She considered her predicament. It seemed dire, but was she ready to give up? He was the one, wasn’t he? There wouldn’t ever be another like him. If he could just meet her. If he could just get to know her, then he would see. 

There had to be a way to bypass those first awkward moments. Something that could alleviate her fears and shut out the overabundance of external stimuli that cluttered her mind. Something to quell the internal dialogues that always had her saying and doing the wrong things. What if they could go straight to the getting-to-know you part?

Dana suddenly jumped to her feet, trembling as she was struck with crystalline clarity. There. The answer was there. It had been there all along.

They just needed a chance to be alone.

She moved from the hallway with renewed determination. It was so simple. So obvious that she cursed herself for not thinking of it earlier.  

She pulled a large shoebox from under the bed. Lifting the lid, it was full of small bottles and boxes containing tablets, capsules, and formulations of questionable origin. Remnants of times where professionals, full of optimism, had offered their once or twice a day solutions to her broken mind. Or, when nameless figures on the street had offered theirs.

Chemical answers had done nothing to appease the demons that plagued her in the end. They merely dulled both the mind and heart for a time. She had ultimately refused them all.

She selected a large bottle, setting it aside without bothering to check the label. She knew what it contained and might need them. Whether to calm him or her, she wasn’t sure.   

She rummaged through the rest unsure what was what. She taken so few of them. Anti-depressants, anti-psychotics, uppers, downers. Some with labels too worn to read. 

One stood out from the rest, it’s contents well known. Murmuring, “Haloperidol”,  Dana recalled the feeling of warm clammy hands on the soul and wouldn’t want to inflict it on him. He needed to be unawares for a while, not altered.

She gave it a moment’s thought anyway, before setting it back in the box. Resuming her search until,alas, beneath a small bag of white powder whose origin she’d long forgotten, lay a white bottle, child-proofed, containing more sleeping pills than she’d ever found use for. They’d helped a bit, back when the emptiness of the house was still frightening, but they left her groggy, unable to think the morning after. She opened the lid then shook the contents. She’d taken maybe half? A third? No matter. There were more than enough left. A double or triple dose shouldn’t hurt too badly. She screwed back on the lid then set it aside with the first.

Satisfied with her find, she placed the lid back on the box then slid it back under the bed. Just before it was out of sight, she paused to reconsider. She opened it anew to locate the small bag she’d seen earlier. What was this white powder? Scanning her memory, trying to trace where it came from. No doubt from some shady dealer, but what sort of effect would taking it have? Would it give her the energy she needed to get everything done? Or leave her motionless in a corner lost in a fog of bliss? With a sigh she placed it at the top of the collection, returning the box to its rightful place, to save it for another day.

She moved to the kitchen, taking note of the time. It was nearly two already. There was so much leftto do, like cleaning, shopping, planning and so on, all before 11am tomorrow. She must be in position by then. 

Her defective neural paths took control far too often, but they were also her greatest asset, providing nerve quick thinking coupled with sheer gall when it was needed most. She rifled through a drawer with fierce determination.   

Crying out in triumph before sliding the hunting knife from its sheath. It was purchased purely for practical purposes, though it had been some time since it was sharpened.

She slowly drew it across her left forearm, with the lightest of touch. When a bead of red blood arose from the site, she grinned. It would be sharp enough.  She placed it back in its sheath then shoved it in her back pocket. Flitting from one place to the next,  collecting a few other items from various nooks and crannies before tossing them in a container. 

***

Dana took a sip from her third morning coffee. Black, no sugar, just the way he liked it. It wasn’t her personal preference, but it wasn’t bad. Besides, the bitterness was the slap in the face she needed. She’d only managed about two hours of sleep.

The first she bolted out of pure need, taking time with the second. The third was just an excuse to keep occupying the little table in the corner. It was discrete enough not to be easily noticed, whilst offering a clear enough view of the outdoor seating. When he arrived, she’d be perfectly positioned.

She tore another tiny piece from her diminishing napkin. She’d been picking at it for the past twenty minutes. Turning it, twisting it, folding and then unfolding before selecting a corner then removing it, letting the fragments fall between her feet. 

She was nervous.  More than nervous. Terrified. The chorus of voices in her head were back, all screaming different tunes, all at the same time. They were building too quickly, consuming her confidence.

Her fingers pressed to her temples, her eyes squeezed shut, trying to block the thoughts out. One leg shook, her knee driving a rapid staccato beat through her foot to the floor. She wanted it to be comforting, but it wasn’t.

She gritted her teeth even harder. I am not going down without a fight! Especially not when she was this close! 

What had that stupid court ordered therapist said?

Name five things you can see. 

She cracked one eyelid open. A table. Her mug. The saucer it sat on. A balled-up receipt. The tattered remains of a napkin.

Name four things you can hear.

Music in the background. A woman on the phone. The sound of the barista machine working its magic. Had it always been that loud? The noise of the steam wand was almost intolerable once it got into your head. 

Name three… no wait. Hear. I need one more.

Clink clink.

Three things you can touch.

The hair between her fingers, the sweat beneath them. She then brought a trembling hand down to the table’s surface. It was something that wasn’t her. A distraction. Something she could run her fingers over, yet still not quite know what it was made of. It looked like wood, but was it?    

Two… something. 

Dana sighed, gently dropping her hands to her side. Her eyes opened wide, shoulders relaxed. There was no need to continue. Though her thoughts were still tumbling around, a battle royale with ever changing odds, it was manageable. They never really went away. They either squabbled in the background or overwhelmed the senses, but they HAD quietened. Maybe that therapist was onto something.

It was then that she looked up and saw him. While she’d been busy taming her mind, he was already taking a seat outside, the closest one. He was in perfect view, setting his book on the table. 

She felt a jolt rip through her. The butterflies in her stomach became meaty hands with iron grips choking her from within. She had a job to do, only the sight of him was making it so hard. 

A server came to take his order. Coffee please, black. What’s the dessert of the day? Key lime pie? No, that’s all right. Maybe next time. No, wait, let’s give it a try.

She was mesmerized by his voice. She’d heard it once before, when she first bumped into him, but it had seemed so far away then. It was so clear now. Effortless, charming and eerily seductive. A siren’s call drawing her in. He’d only said a few words, yet already she was under his spell. 

She sighed, resting her chin on her hand as a smile stretched across her face. She could only see his back, which was enough. Time lost any meaning as she let herself slip into a world of fantasies. 

Nearly costing her the opportunity she’d planned for. 

 Startled to attention by a rather loud man’s laughter,  she noticed fresh coffee and pie on the counter. When the hell did that happen? She scrambled to her feet. 

A quick check of her surroundings reassured her that her panicked rise went unnoticed. She reminded herself to breathe, forcing a look of calm upon herself. Not daring to waste any more time, she made her way to the counter with a hopeful smile. 

As she approached, she slipped something out of her pocket. A dime bag whose contents were most certainly not recreational. Discreetly emptying it into her hand, she casually glanced at the selection of snacks. Turning her interest to the tray, she called the barista, indicating the pie. One please. As he turned to his colleague to relay the order, she let the white powder fall into the steaming brew. One bitter enough to hopefully mask the taste of the pulverized tablets. She felt confident no one had noticed. People really didn’t pay attention to things that weren’t them.

While paying for the treat, the server arrived, scooping up his order. She checked the clock on the wall before returning to her seat. There was time for her snack.

Rowan collected his book with some regret. It was a fascinating read but he really needed to go. He was meant to meet with Gideon to discuss next years’ act. Besides, something  wasn’t agreeing with him. There was a sharp metallic taste in his mouth, as if he’d been nibbling on the fork. 

He stood up, grimacing, eying his empty plate with revulsion. A few crumbs remained, the sight of them turning his stomach. The meeting could wait, a pharmacy seemed like a better option.

He headed towards the nearby shops, rubbing his chest with concern. The unpleasant taste just kept getting worse. 

He’d only taken a few steps when an intense feeling of drowsiness overcame him. He struggled to keep hold of his book, each movement becoming more and more difficult. A fever? He didn’t feel hot. With every second ticking by, he grew less concerned about why, and more about fighting it.

His steps became more erratic as he stumbled, wobbling his way to an alley. Away from watchful eyes, Rowan leaned heavily on the wall. His book tumbled from his hand, hitting the ground with a light thud. He instinctively moved to pick it up but found himself unable to operate his limbs to any degree of satisfaction. Sliding down the rough brickwork, he collapsed onto the ground. 

 “Eeeeeeeee!!!! You look so good up close!!” was the last thing he heard before losing consciousness.

****

A dense fog filled his head. It was sluggish to part. He felt nothing at first but the heaviness of his own body, pulling insistently, coaxing him to meld with the ground below.

A cold, dry air began to nip at his bare arms, the uncomfortable chill prodding him to wake with increasing insistence. He groaned with reluctance. It refused to let go. There was something wrong with this cold. It had been warm and full of sounds a moment ago. 

He tried lifting his chin, which refused to obey. Everything did. Trying to open his eyes sapped every bit of his strength. He eventually succumbed to failure. A twitch of one lid was all that manifested, the single reward for continuous efforts. 

Retreating back into the haze, his other senses began to awaken. There was a sense of awareness of being seated, some sort of pressure around his arms and lower legs. His wrists, somehow, were behind him, pressing together. 

Not pressed. This was something else. Something familiar.9

Rowan’s eyes flew open with sudden, frightening clarity. I’m tied to a chair.

The realization was quickly followed by the high-pitched sound of his own voice screaming as he tried to propel himself backwards. Mere inches from his face were two blue, inquisitive eyes along with the terrifying toothy grin of a laughing hyena. He instinctively tried to flee, struggling against the bonds, flexing and kicking as hard as he could. It was to no avail. He was firmly anchored.

Inhaling sharply, he looked back at the woman, having trouble believing what he was seeing. A fine-boned little thing with pale skin and ridiculously bright red hair perched on all fours on a table before him. Her face, one crazy spark away from erupting in manic laughter.  A grossly oversized black shirt hung loose from her petite figure, making her seem even smaller than she was. It looked as if she’d stolen the top from a much bigger boyfriend. If she had dressed to impress him, it failed. Angled forward on all fours, he would’ve been staring right down her chest had she not been wearing a tight black tank underneath. 

She bolted upright, onto her knees, her delicate hands in tight little fists at chest level. Shaking them vigorously, like a child entranced by a wondrous magic trick, the rest of her wriggled like an overexcited puppy.

“You’re real, right? I mean, you’re REALLY here!” she exclaimed, extending the fingers of one hand to touch his face.

His eyes opened even wider, recoiling in horror. “Get your hands off of me!” he shouted, trying again to wrestle his way out of the binds once more. 

She jerked back the offending digits, squealing with delight. “You’re so cute!!!!”

He looked at her in disbelief, explosive rage coursing through him. Some fan finally went too far. If his arms hadn’t been rooted to that chair, he would have throttled her on the spot.

“What the FUCK did you do to me?” he bellowed, boring into her eyes with an infuriated glare.

She didn’t seem to notice, or care. Dropping onto her folded legs, she breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh thank God. I thought you’d be upset!”

He was struck speechless.  She hadn’t acknowledged a word that he’d said, nor the anger in his voice, or the evident rage coursing through him.   

“Isn’t this great!?” she continued in her freakishly chipper, squeaky voice. “Look at that smile on your face! I should have had you over sooner!  So stupid of me!!! Aaaaahahahahahahaha!!!!”

She started chattering on about how fortunate she was to be blessed by his appearance when the initial shock of the situation began to fade. Unnatural exhaustion was still there, but Rowan was too alarmed to give into it. He nearly succumbed once again to its inviting pull, when her lunatic laugh and that blasted chill brought him right him back.

“Why’s it so cold in here?” he slurred, trying to focus his eyes. He seemed to be in a basement, though a small one. To both sides were bare concrete walls. Behind her was a staircase, cracked and warped with age.

Before him lie the table she was perched on. It was a battered old thing, sizeable enough for a small family. His captor was atop, nervously wringing her hands, saying something about the walls. 

There was nothing at all to suggest where he was, or clues to her identity. No pictures, no furniture, not even a discarded box potentially stamped with an address.

She just kept going, saying nothing of use. His patience wearing thin, he clawed back some of his control, snapping – ”Who are you?” 

She reacted as if she’d been struck. Of all the social niceties to forget. “I’m – I’m Dana.”

The lack of response left an awkward silence. Anxious, she fiddled with a loose thread on her baggy sleeve. His expression never changed. The piercing glare, that furiously clenched jaw. Choosing not to let it deter her, she ventured forward with “What’s your nam-“

“How did I get here!?” he demanded.

Dana pursed her lips, thinking it was best to be quiet on that one. She’d had to manhandle him quite a bit. He could find that a bit forward. It was a too early in the relationship for that.

It had been easier than she’d expected. He’d been kind enough to drop only a few drags from a busy street. The apathetic taxi driver she’d hailed with the unplaceable accent never questioned the state of her companion. He’d seen worse. 

Once she got home though, the real trial had begun. She hadn’t thought to get a trolley or some otherdevice to move him with, so she’d had no choice but to be a bit rough. Problem was, he kept stirring. She was ready for that. It wasn’t easy getting more into him, but she managed. A half hour’s wait later, not even a shout directly into his ear could have woken him. Neither would some vigorous shaking.

At least she’d pre-planned how to get him down the stairs. She’d carefully placed his body over the cardboard sledge. A bit of rope around his ankles, and he was down just like that.

Once she’d tied him up, it was just a matter of waiting. Minutes turned to hours. He showed no signs of awakening. She prayed she hadn’t overdone it. He wouldn’t be much in the mood for romance if she had.

About eight hours into her scrutiny, he finally groaned. It was time!  She ran her fingers through her hair to get it just right, making sure her shirt wasn’t bunched up unattractively. 

“HOW THE HELL DID I GET HERE?” he inquired again, snarling.

“You REALLY need some coffee!” she chimed with a pointed finger. She wasn’t a morning person either and boy had he had a long and difficult pseudo-night. “Black, no sugar, right?”

“WHAT?”            

Her expression turned to one of horror. “Oh my God, you must be hungry! It’s been HOURS! What was I thinking?”

His eyes popped open in utter disbelief. For the second time, he was dumbstruck. He watched her slide off the table, making a high-pitched squeal of delight as she disappeared up the stairs.

He stared stupidly at the opening, struggling to process the past few minutes. 

Of all the things he could have done with his life, remaining as an acrobat with his mother probably would have been the safest option. There were no psychotic fans to deal with there. But no, he’d decided to use his God-given gift of charisma to allure others. An act fraught with seduction and danger. One that earned him a minefield of starry-eyed followers who would go to lengths to have him.

It was his own damned fault. How many times had he drawn some hopelessly smitten woman or man to the stage, caressing them in ways that should have been reserved for a private setting? Whispered sweet nothings in their ears before twisting their hunger into terror? His annoyance on stage was real. Manipulating their adoration into fear was his bit of revenge. He couldn’t get them all, but he could at least torture a few.

There had been a time, a long time, when he reveled in their adulation. How many had made it to his trailer to be slammed against the wall then mindlessly fucked? They just wanted the swaggering seducer, ready to sweep them off their feet. Take them to places of pleasure they could only imagine. Rowaneventually disappeared from the limelight into pockets of outsiders who didn’t know his name, friends he could trust, or the beds of men who only wanted one thing.

Every now and then though, one would go too far, rushing the stage or breaking into his trailer. He’d been stalked, groped, and blatantly assaulted. They were aggravating pests, but he’d accepted them to a certain degree as part of an anticipated by-product of his particular performance style. 

He’d never imagined though, that someone would take it this far. 

Rowan shook away his wandering mind. This was no time to reminisce or contemplate his life choices. There were more pressing matters right now.  He did quick check of his circumstances

His wrists were bound with what he figured to be three or four loops of nylon cord. Much more of it was wrapped around his chest and upper arms, but he didn’t appear to be anchored to the chair. A glaring mistake on her part. His lower legs seemed pretty secure though, the rope digging more into him than other areas. No matter, it was his arms he needed first. If he could keep her out of the room long enough, it wouldn’t take much to get them loose.

Even then, he might not get out. She was clearly deranged, that was a problem. Unpredictable, potentially dangerous. The euphoria he could fathom. It wasn’t the first time he’d looked into the deranged eyes of an obsessed fan. Nothing could deter them. No rage or reasoning would get through. Her object d’amour was in grasp at last. 

There was more though. Something that left him chilled. She’d plucked him from a public place in broad daylight, succeeding to get him here, presumably on her own. How the hell? Was it just dumb luck that she’d succeeded, or was there a cold, calculating mind behind it? One that might not hesitate to thrust a knife into his heart should he try to leave?

He craned his neck to the left, trying to discern what was behind him, limited by his secured chest and shoulders. 

Returning to his forward gaze, he hadn’t learned a thing. If there was something back there that could aid in his escape, he wouldn’t know it until he rid himself of these irritating binds. 

For whatever reason she hadn’t strung up his waist or thighs. Perhaps she hadn’t considered those areas a threat. Maybe she’d been too nervous to get that close. Then again, maybe she just ran out of rope. Regardless, there was less for him to unravel, so that was a plus.

Where was she anyway? 

As if on cue, he heard skittering somewhere above him, then the padding of her bare feet on the stairwell. She wore that ever present Cheshire grin, along with her enormous lovestruck eyes. In each hand there was a plate, heaped with freshly cooked noodles. 

Dana hurried over, setting them down on the table before climbing back on top. Tucking her legs beneath her once again, she wiggled with excitement. With a wide-open grin, she spread her hands far out to the side, as if to say ‘Ta-dah!’  Her chest puffed out with pride as she exclaimed “I made it just for you!”

He looked down at her offering with great discomfort. It smelled fantastic, but if she thought he was going to comply, she had another thing coming.

She took some utensils out of the back pocket of her black denim shorts, holding them out for him to select. “Do you prefer chopsticks or are you a fork person?”

He glared at her, lip curled, wondering how a person could be this stupid. Had he overestimated the threat?

At first, she seemed confused. It wasn’t the response she’d expected. He watched the gears turning in her head before DING. Her enthused smile became a sheepish O as she realized her error. “Right… right yeah. The ropes. Silly me huh?” she said with a nervous laugh.

“Well – I guess I’m going to have to feed you” she said, tossing a vegetable in the air,  skillfully plucking it from its apex with the chopsticks. ”Pretty good, huh!” she grinned, as if expecting applause.

She began picking through his plate, selecting the best morsels. “I like to cook, how about you?”

He narrowed his eyes, clenching his jaw. He wasn’t going to entertain her with answers. Or cooperation for that matter. When she brought the food near, he recoiled as best he could. 

She seemed hurt by his refusal. “Hey, you gotta eat. You don’t like Pad Thai?” 

He responded with stunned silence. How slow-witted was she? The type of food was hardly the problem! Losing his patience he snapped “You drugged me once already!” 

“Twice actually!” she exclaimed, putting down the food to happily display two fingers. “Once to knock you out, and once to keep you quiet!” illustrating the first with a soothing swish of the hands, the last with an enthusiastic hard punch to her opposing palm.

Rowan looked at the visual in horror, replaying her loony sing-song voice in his head. The woman was stark-raving mad!

She tried to feed him again, getting the same silent refusal.

“Fine,” she snarled, moving the plates out of the way. She discarded the mouthful in favor of a larger chunk. The bigger the piece, the better her chances.

She shuffled in a bit closer then shot out her free hand, grabbing him tightly by the nose, cutting off his air. Rowan’s eyes flew open in alarm, kicking out his feet, trying to push himself away, but the binds kept him rooted to the spot. Desperate for any advantage, he tried to throw his weight from side to side, hoping for a temporary escape by tipping the chair, but to no avail. It was annoyingly sturdy, his movements stilllimited. He knew it was only a matter of time before he’d be forced to take a breath, but he wasn’t going down without a fight.

Dana regarded him patiently. There was nowhere for him to go, she’d made sure of that. His thrashing would just tire him quicker. She could practically count it down. 5. 4. 3. 2….

As expected, his mouth gaped open, desperate for oxygen. Poised to react, she shoved the home cooking into his mouth, shifting the other hand to cover it lightly. He needed to swallow at least some of it. 

He fought at first, but then blinked, suddenly aware of the range of flavors. It was remarkably good. Possibly the best he’d ever had. 

Seeing his pause, Dana drew back a bit, keeping her hand at the ready just in case. Her heart was pounding furiously. If he enjoyed it, it was the opening she needed. If he rejected it, it was going to be a long night.

For the briefest of moments, he forgot his predicament. The exquisitely balanced seasonings had awoken his body’s craving for nourishment. All he’d eaten that day (or was it even still that day?) was amoderate serving of pie from the cafe. He eyed the plate on the table, his stomach indicating its interest with a low rumble.

She smiled, sitting sat back in satisfaction. That was the reaction she was hoping for. “I’m not going to hurt you,” she sighed with relief. “I just wanted to get to know you. Well, actually, I wanted you to get to know me.”

There was guilt in her expression, as she curled her shoulders inwards, hands tucked between her legs. Her eyes wandered to a scratch on the wood beneath her. Better to look at that than meet his judging eyes. “This wasn’t really what I had in mind. I wanted our first meeting to be, well, different.”

Any suggestion of shame or regret faded away, as a darkness clouded her expression. “But then I had no choice” she snarled. 

He tensed with sudden alarm before swallowing. Until now she’d been bouncing to and fro withvarious manic extremes. For the first time, he could see dangerous side. She had dropped her chin, letting a few strands of fine red hair obscure her simmering eyes. The voice emanating from her lips, far from the chirrupy tweets of excitement presented so far. This one was laced with menace.

Anger bubbled up, or was it panic? It was hard to keep track of her now wildly changing moods. “You are so wrong about that one. But you didn’t know that, did you? I’M RIGHT HERE!” she asserted, leaning uncomfortably close, aggressively jabbing a finger into her own chest. Checking herself, she sat back on her folded legs, now flustered. “You just, I mean, how could you know that?”

Rapidly switching the tone again, a manic smile returning as she held her arms out to the side, indicating the room, him, herself, everything. “I figured, THIS way we could get to know each other.”

Rowan eyed her with extreme caution, keeping a neutral expression. He had underestimated her instability. Was she hoping for reciprocation of her clear affections? Would she drive one of those chopsticks into his eye if he denied it? Fighting his way out seemed off the table for the time being. Not until he had a better picture of what she was capable of.

Manipulating her on the other hand…

He softened his expression, doing his best to give her a hopeful smile, aiming to quash any telling signs of animosity or intent. “Could I… could I have some more of that please? It was really good,” he added, letting his natural charisma come through. Nice and friendly. 

Her eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas morning.

Feeling more assured by his clear enjoyment of the meal, Dana relaxed significantly. The rapid cycling of moods now ceased, leaving what could have been her truer self. One that was energetic and good-natured, with an occasional burst of excitability. Still, the demon lurked within, ready to surface. Sometimes he could see it in a twitch of her eye, a reflex response to an irritating memory. She’d driven a chopstick hard into her own leg in anger when he had politely refused dessert. The bruise it had left was instantaneous. It must have hurt like hell, but she showed no indication of feeling it.

Each time he saw her face cloud over, he led the discussion to something more pleasant, getting better at it as time passed. Food, and her skill at making it was the logical start. It also turned out to be a passion of hers, though he refrained from making clear it was one of his as well. Aside from mentioning certain dishes he enjoyed, he revealed nothing about himself. 

Any time the conversation turned to him; he’d throw her in another direction. Where did she shop? What exotic things she could make? Eventually, though, it grew tiresome. Apparently, she could talk for hours in that excitable high-pitched babble. How long had it been? Forty-five minutes? Sixty? More? At some point he had to make his move. A connection, albeit a false one had been made it seemed to be working. Aside from the chatter she seemed more stable. 

“This has been really great,” he said with as much sincerity as he could muster. 

“What? Dinner?”

“No this. Just talking,” he said with the false but convincing smile of an experienced actor. “I have to admit, I think I misjudged you and I’m, well, I’m sorry.”

Dana’s heartbeat quickened so fast, her hands flew to her chest, as if trying to keep it in. Overwhelmed with joy, she momentarily forgot to breathe. Blushing furiously, she bit down on a fingernail, stifling a giggle.

There was a flash, a split second when a different kind of a smile spread across his face, that of a predator finding a weakness. 

Struggling to regain her composure, Dana’s nervous energy began exerting itself through her restless fingers, tugging at her shirt. “Really?” she squeaked. “I’m – I’m so glad you see that.”

“It’s all right,” he purred, trying to lull her further. “I get it now. We have a lot in common.”

She shuddered out a nervous sigh of relief. “Oh, thank God! I mean, I thought it would take longer. I was SO worried.”

He tilted his head with unwavering charm. “We’re getting along, aren’t we?”

She dropped her fidgeting hands letting the weight of her fears lift from her shoulders. “Yeah. Yeah, we are!” she said with a nervous laugh. “You know, I knew there was a connection between us.”

Forcing back the sarcasm he wanted dearly to express, he said “You’ve been so good to me. I.. I feel ungrateful to have to ask this but…”

She leaned forward, nearly falling over herself in her eagerness to please him.

“About these restraints…” he said sheepishly.

She froze, terror in her eyes. “I- I can’t do that.”

Seeing his chance starting to slip away, he wanted to scream but kept himself in check, maintaining his friendly and even tone. “It’s just, they’re really uncomfortable. Can’t you just loosen them a bit? A compromise perhaps?”

She was backing away now, shaking with fear. “No, no, no…. no that’s no good.”

He was losing her. In a stroke of creativity (and a fair bit of necessity) he tried to get her back with a problem she wouldn’t be able to ignore. 

“I really need the toilet!” he exclaimed, recoiling from the sound of his overly loud voice.

Her eyes flew open, mouth snapping shut. She hadn’t thought of that.

To emphasize the urgency, he made a point of shifting his weight with obvious discomfort.

She shuffled to the back of the table, wanting to disappear. One leg after another slid to the floor as she dropped the rest herself down too. All that could be seen in the end was her panicked eyes, along with the whites of her knuckles gripping the table’s edge. 

Suddenly, a single finger raised up, a suggestion of inspiration then slowly lowered again, one knuckle at a time. 

She then stood up and began to pace back and forth, her distress increasing in leaps and bounds. She couldn’t release him, but the alternative? A violent shudder ripped through her. They’d only just MET. She couldn’t possibly put her hand there!

Her mind was starting to seize. It would be useless soon enough. She didn’t want him to see that. She needed to get away.  

What about those sedatives she’d set aside from her box of medications? They’d worked on him when he started coming to, so maybe they could help her regain some self control. No! No no nononono!!! her inner voice cried, discounting the idea with a violent shake of her head. He has to see me as I am! Well, the better parts of me, that is. Dosing herself took away any chance of that. He was supposed to get to know and like her all on his own. Not be exposed to some fake version he might like better. She needed an idea.

She stopped her pacing and bolted for the stairs, taking them two at a time. As the last sounds of her footsteps faded away, Rowan grinned. This should buy him more than enough time.

Her attempt to secure him might have thwarted the average person, but he wasn’t by any means average. He’d escaped far more devious means of bondage when he was just a teen. Granted, many required a secreted key or a hidden trick, but not all. Ropes could be loosened with a little work and patience, especially ones with a bit of give like these. He suspected she’d used some sort of climbing rope. They were less abrasive on the skin and had just enough elasticity. With a bit of time, he could work his way out, but there was a quicker way if he could reach it. 

He questioned her intellect again as he began working his chest and shoulders, wriggling them about to loosen the rope and move it downwards. Any half-witted fan of his would know his history as an escape artist. He’d even used it in some of his more recent shows for God’s sake. Trying to pin him to a chair in this way spoke volumes about her disconnect from reality. 

His efforts were working. His shoulders now moved more freely, as did his forearms, just enough for him to wriggle his hands closer to the knife that was strapped to the small of his back. How she hadn’t noticed it was anyone’s guess. Surely, she must have checked?  He reached his fingers through the back of the chair, searching for the clasp. There. The lightweight blade dropped into his fingers as he mentally thanked himself for always carrying it. He’d learned that lesson long ago when an aggressive admirer took his rejections rather badly. He’d been lucky to get out of that one alive.

Free at last and feeling smug, Rowan sat back in the chair with a smirk. Won’t this be a nice surprise?

He was eager now to confront her, but there was no sign of her return. He tapped his worn, but impeccably cared-for boots on the floor to express growing impatience, eventually getting bored. Where was she? More concerning, he really did need a toilet now. The pressure in his bladder had become unbearable. He glanced behind him towards one of the few places he couldn’t see before.

Jumping to his feet in astonishment, he took a step back. Before him lie rows of shelves. They reached as tall as the ceiling and ran as deep as the length of the house. Nestled in dusty racks were hundreds, possibly a thousand bottles of wine. 

At least, he hoped they contained wine. Considering his captor, they could have contained any number of disquieting things.

Approaching the racks with some hesitation, Rowan prayed all was as it seemed. He glanced at the first few, pulling one out for a closer look. Brushing off dust, he found an elegant label declaring it a Chardonnay. Holding it up to the light to see that its contents appeared to be true, he carefully replaced it before examining a few others. The ones in this section all appeared to be the same. It was a collection. A vast one.

He backed away from the impressive hoard, his head full of questions, but not ones he cared enough about at that moment to seek an answer to. There were more urgent matters to attend to.

Next to the house’s utilities was what he now desperately needed. A tiny room that might have once been promised a better presentation in a refurbishment that never happened. A long-neglected lavatory.

Moments later, he emerged, humming softly, ears perked at the sound of movement at the top of the stairs. Rowan quieted, looking intently at the staircase, while slipping a hand into his pocket, feeling for the false bottom. He quickly slid the second knife from its sheath casually leaning his slender figure against the door frame.

She came rushing down the stairs in her excitable manner, her bare feet making little sound as they flew from one step  to the next, carrying her lightweight frame. She held a strange mix of cords, clothing items (including a skirt), duct tape, a saw, three belts, rubber bands and worryingly, what appeared to be a large jerry can. No longer fearing for his safety, Rowan regarded the collection with mild amusement.

Her head buzzing with ideas, she failed to notice his absence. When she reached the basement floor and turned, it became abruptly apparent. 

She screeched to a stop, dropping her load in a clatter. Panic overwhelmed her as she stared at the empty chair. Slamming her back against the wall, she brought her hands to her gaping mouth in wordless horror.

Out of seemingly nowhere, a knife drove through the right strap of her undershirt, and into the wooden panel behind her. She’d felt the air as it passed, the razor sharp edge brushing her skin, the shudder of the handle as it pinned her to the wall.

She froze in terror, afraid to breathe as another found the space between her left arm and her side. Letting out a petrified shriek, Dana shut her eyes as tight as she could, fearing another hit. 

Rowan stepped forward. He hadn’t been hiding, she just hadn’t noticed him. He felt he’d made his point clearly enough. He was the one in control now. 

He walked over to her with angry purpose before grabbing the slim hilt protruding above her right shoulder, leaning in close enough for her to feel his breath. She was trembling badly, tears welling up in her eyes.

“Open your eyes!” he commanded forcefully, yanking the blade out of the wall.

Her trembling became violent as she tried to back away, finding nowhere to run but the solid concrete she was already pressed against. Terrified of his palatable fury, her shoulders began to heave with quiet sobs.

He tore the other blade from the wall, repulsed by her cowardly whimpering. “OPEN YOUR EYES!”

Too terrified to disobey, she did as asked, desperately wanting to escape the raging blue fires delving deep into her tear-streaked own. 

“Which way is out?” he said with a deep, threatening growl.

She pointed up the stairs with a quivering hand. As he turned to leave, her legs gave out beneath her and she fell to her knees, still quaking with hiccupping sobs. 

Rowan started up the stairs, seething with rage.

Seeing her hard work about to leave, desperation overcame her fear, and she leapt to her feet. “WAIT!”

For all she had put him through, he wanted to hurt her back, but this tiny blubbering thing hardly seemed worth it. He could so easily wrap his hands around that delicate little neck, but to what end?  He looked down at her at the foot of the stairs and projected his wrath in words instead. “I’VE MET SOME BAT-SHIT CRAZY FANS IN MY DAYS, BUT YOU TAKE THE CAKE!”

About to reach for the banister, she hesitated, puzzled. “Fans?”

Rowan stopped his ascent, caught off guard. He searched her face for signs of a lie, but her confusion was genuine. “Don’t you know who I am?” he asked, letting his icy guard slip.

Her voice dropped to a quiet admission, wringing her hands slowly. “I don’t even know your name.”

Silence filled the staircase before he responded. “Rowan.”

There was an awkward moment before she raised a hand in a tentative wave. “Dana,” she said, her voice breaking a touch. It was the closest they’d come to a genuine connection.

“If you aren’t… if this isn’t… What the hell is this all about?” he stammered, his usual ease of speech failing him.

She averted her eyes, sputtering a strangled, nervous laugh. “Well, I mean, you seemed, I mean I thought…”

“What?” he said, with irritation resurfacing.

She flinched at his tone. “Well, that book, I mean it’s a great book, but I was only half paying attention when suddenly BAM it hit me and you were walking away, and well I suddenly NOTICED you, you know? I mean…”

Losing his patience, Rowan snapped a little harder than intended “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT!?”

His anger hit her like a slap in the face. She grew quiet, collecting herself. “That day. It was raining. You were in the park.”

He frowned for a moment until recognition dawned.  “You bumped into me,” he said softly.

“Twice,” she cautiously added.

He knew then that it was her eyes that he had seen the day before. “The market. You tried to knock me over!”

“No! No. I didn’t. It was just an accident.” When he didn’t respond, she felt encouraged, but still fearful of his wrath. Her voice nearly disappeared. “I’ve been following you since that first time…”

His whole body tensed as he bore into her eyes with an intense angry glare. “You’re stalking me?”

Scared, Dana was poised to retreat, “Well stalking is such an ugly word,”’ she reasoned.

He let out an explosive breath. “Unbelievable. You’re a fucking lunatic and I hope you like jail!”

In full panic, she reached out her hands, pleading. If he just knew WHY he’d understand! “I just wanted to get to know you!” she called out.

He spun around with shocking speed. “KNOW me? Whatever fantasy is floating around in your head is not KNOWING me. You’re no different from the idiot fans of mine that think they know who I am because they saw me flash a smile!”

Dana’s alarm vanished, replaced by sheer determination. She was NOT going to lose him. He was wrong. She DID know him. 

“You’re an outsider!” she shouted..

“NO SHIT!” he responded with bitter sarcasm, punctuating his point by grabbing his tank top and tugging it hard. “Black clothes, Doc Martens. Did they tip you off or was it a psychic vision? Brilliant fucking observation!”

She refused to be deterred. Gritting her teeth, she responded with fierce resolution. She had to make him see.

“Not like that,” she began. Grasping for the right words, she sputtered “You’re a rare breed. A genuinely nice guy.” 

“Riiight. I’m Mr Perfect!” he said with a sarcastic smirk.

She was losing him, but wasn’t giving up that easy. There was so much to tell him, but it was all coming out wrong. A thousand thoughts fought to come out at once, and all she could come up with was feeble statements. She had to gain back a bit of ground but found herself, too flustered to get the right words out. 

“Everyone has at least a few annoying traits,” she muttered unconvincingly.

He shot her a piercing look of disgust. “NOT IMPRESSED. BYE!” he said, clenching a fist and turning back to his ascent.

She found some strength within and called after him, shouting. “I know you like to cook!”

“We just spent an hour talking about that!”

“No, from before! It’s why I made you what I did! I already knew you liked it!!”

He tensed with alarmed suspicion. “How the FUCK- You followed me home!!?”

She stood her ground, responding in a calm, even voice. “Not at all. You go to the market every day. Most of what you buy is fresh produce. You take your time choosing what you want.” 

She tilted her head slightly, her expression devoid of the earlier lunacy, her eyes crystal clear. “I was curious to know why you go to the little farm stand by the deli instead of Vinnie’s. They don’t sell much. I checked it out. Seems the masses were wrong. Vinnie doesn’t have the best tomatoes, they do.”

Now he had no words. She took it as an encouraging sign and went on.

“You’re open-minded and curious. You shop every section of that little record store and the owner’s always got something weird and new to play for you. Jazz, pop, death metal, doesn’t matter. You’re eager to hear it every time, and usually buy what he’s got.”

Rowan’s face lost a bit of color. She’d been watching him a while. 

She placed a foot on the step above her, confidence growing still. “I said that you’re an outsider, but it’s more than being a nice guy, or wearing the clothes that you do.”   

“In a world of consumption and shallow pursuits, you’re the only one in the crowd not glued to a phone, not following trends or playing the games that people live by. You wear it like a badge on your sleeve, but you’re not proud or arrogant about it. You think for yourself, enjoying little discoveries around you, while they…. They…” she trailed off, uncertain how to finish. The statement seemed to speak for itself.

“…They’re stuck in a meaningless loop of consuming what they’re told to,” he said quietly.

He considered her for moment in silence before continuing. “You could have just said hi.”

She twisted a lock of fine red hair with a wry, sad smile. “‘I’m not good with people,” she muttered.

He looked at her appreciatively, eyebrows raised. “I can see that.”

“Could you please not call the cops? I get in enough trouble as it is.”

What did she mean by trouble? He’d started relaxing his guard, drawn to her words. Enough to almost forget what she did. For the tiniest of moments anyway. 

She then gave him a guilty smile, hunching her shoulders. Her voice was meek and apologetic. “I kinda lost it when I saw your girlfriend”. 

“Girlfriend?” he asked with confusion, searching his mind. 

She ran a nervous clawed hand down one cheek, responding in a deranged melodious voice. “You kissed her at the café.”

Recognition dawned. He narrowed his eyes. “You mean Rachel?”

“Well, I didn’t know her name,” she replied, her voice fading as she realized the foolishness of her admission. In hindsight, it could have meant a lot of things.

The entirety of the past few hours came rushing back to him. This brief moment of lucidity was nothing more than the eye of the storm. It was preceded by chaos and instability and would certainly be succeeded by it. He’d nearly forgotten that. His face clouded over, simmering rage returning to life. 

“All of this because you saw me say hi to a friend?” he snarled in disgust. “So much for knowing me. She’s my stage partner’s fucking sister!” 

“Stage? You’re a performer?” she replied with interest, oblivious to the turn in atmosphere, Dana seemed eager to hear more.

Her ignorance of his anger only served to confirm his initial impressions. The woman was dangerously off-balance. “Why the hell would I answer that?” raising his bitter, stabbing voice. He took a step towards her, fists clenched and hissed. “Should I tell you where I work? You going to follow me there too? Stab anyone who gives me a smile!?” he spat, leaning in for the final blow.

Dana backed away, trembling and scared.

“Stay the HELL away from me!” he screamed, descending close enough to hurt her if he wanted to. 

Dana froze in terror, eyes welling up with tears once more.  It wasn’t supposed to go like this. 

Rowan sneered a wordless stab of disgust then turned back up the stairs. His good nature had gotten the better of him. She had offered him a flash of humanity; a potential connection between them. For the briefest of moments, he’d fell for it, dropping his guard. He’d felt something akin to interest, but just as he was being drawn in, he’d been given a stark reminder that such a mistake was not safe. 

Shutting out her pathetic whimpering, he hastened his ascent. 

Terrified of losing him, Dana pursued, nearly colliding with his suddenly still form. 

She backed down a step, bewildered. He was frozen mid-stride, just about to enter the hallway. His hands were at his side, slightly raised in a gesture of caution, his eyes slowly scanning the sight before him.

She cautiously leaned in, close enough to follow his gaze, but far enough to hopefully avoid enraging him further.

He stepped off the landing and into the corridor. 

It was a gallery of sorts, but unlike any he’d seen before. There appeared to be paintings, photographs, even what looked like multimedia pieces, but there were no orderly rows or thought to positioning. In fact, the entire arrangement was bizarre. 

The ones closest to him were larger, more distanced from each other. As they moved down the hall, the sizes grew smaller, the space between them more compressed. The display ended with a tight cluster of tiny images, each no bigger than a hand converging on a doorway at the right. Some very loosely followed a central line, but most seemed to be randomly placed wherever her mind deemed fit. One had even been affixed to the ceiling. None appeared to have any relation to its neighbor. The overall effect was as chaotic and unpredictable as she was. 

The walls themselves were deep burgundy. An odd choice considering the pieces were equally dark. None of them stood out particularly well, though the dim lighting didn’t help. It looked disturbing from this angle, a gothic paradise of depressing shadows.

As he walked down the hall, he examined each piece. An eclectic mix of styles, subjects ranging from black and white, to colorful and dizzyingly complex abstracts. The Poor light had played tricks. Many, if not most were vividly colored. The initial impressions  about the general tone were misplaced. They were not so somber after all.  

These were also not works of amateurs and were quite likely expensive. She also had remarkably good taste. He recognized a style or two from his own experience. His career and personal pursuits had him crossing paths with a wide variety of artists. The long, exhausting days on the road with his travelling show were made infinitely brighter by invites to gallery openings, private viewings and countless inspiring performances from his like-minded ‘family’.

One image in particular stood out, primarily because there was nothing remarkable about it at all. It was a poorly executed photo of a vineyard. The kind a child with a parents’ camera might have taken. He wiped a white smudge off the glass before realizing it was part of the image. He examined it closer, finding no answer as to what it was.

“It’s a stag.” Dana quietly said. He hadn’t even noticed her presence.  “A white stag”.

Even with the identity stated, it remained just a blob to him.

“I know it’s not a very good picture.”

“Why display it?” he asked, still trying to make it out.

She answered with a voice that was difficult to read. “That’s between me and the stag.”

He turned very slightly to regard her from the corner of his eye. Who was this woman? What he had dismissed as pure insanity had lucidity, even keen deductive reasoning. Her house was falling apart but there was evidence of wealth in her wine and art collections. She didn’t know his name, yet she knew more about him than any fan of his would.

His mind was awash with questions as he resumed his appraisal, mulling over what to say when a painting on his left caught his attention. This one he knew. Well.

He hurried to the piece, astonished. The style was unmistakable. He’d only ever seen one artist that used such materials in this manner.

“Is this…?” he asked, hardly believing his eyes, before lifting it from the wall.

Horrified, Dana rushed from her carefully maintained distance, wanting desperately to stop him, but fearing both his wrath and the fate of the priceless piece if she laid his hands on him.

“Hey! What are you doing?” she shouted in alarm.

Taking care not to mar or damage it, he inspected the back, holding his breath. There, in the corner was a diagonal arrow piercing a solid white circle.

“This really is a Gold Adams’, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. How’d you know?” she quietly responded.

“It’s practically impossible for it not to be. The mark, and I mean, look at the way it’s sculpted rather than brushed on,” he said, turning it back around. “Like he wove it all together.” 

“He kinda did…”

He turned to her in wonder. “This painting must be worth a small fortune. Where the hell did you get it?”

She gave him a wistful smile, looking down at the floor. “The artist was sort of a friend of mine. He let me have it.”

Rowan was stunned. Turning back to the piece, he carefully sat down, cross-legged, setting it against the wall before him. He took one hand and traced the raised lines with his fingertips in awe, exploring the complex relationships between them.

“It’s absolutely beautiful,” he murmured, his face brightening with each delicate stroke.

“You can have it,” she said, averting her eyes.

He turned to her in astonishment. “I can’t possibly,” he began.

“Something good should come of this right?” she replied, attempting a smile, but the light in her eyes had gone. 

He stood up slowly, careful not to brush against the artwork. He opened his mouth to protest but stopped himself. For a moment he felt for her. She seemed so lonely. Had isolation driven her to do what she had done?  Losing the urge to fight, he gratefully accepted the gift in silence.

He stood up and thanked her, uncertain what else to say, but lingered for a moment to study her. There was no sign of overstimulation. Her tears had long dried. She was trying her best not to let them return, but he could see it would ultimately be in vain. She stood as a different person than the one he’d first seen, now miserably resigned to her fate. She didn’t look dangerous; she really did look alone. 

He resumed his exit in silence and with some hesitation. He couldn’t get his mind off this enigma behind him. There was so much he wanted to ask but feared reviving her previous instability. There was a story here, something that made her what she is.

Deep in thought, he nearly missed it. An open doorway beckoning him to enter.

He caught what was inside in his periphery then slammed to a halt, nearly dropping the painting in the process. 

Dana’s eye flew wide, grabbing his arms in sheer panic. “You can’t go in there!” she cried.

He disregarded her touch, setting the painting down gently. He half-heartedly tried to shake her off but in truth, he barely noticed her interference, completely captivated.

As he entered the room, she abruptly let go, backing off in fear. Any chance she might have had at salvaging this day had now blinked out of existence. The very worst of her worst was in there.

The room was large. Very large. It may have once been a master bedroom with a closet and bathroom removed. Nearly every surface was painted black, even the concrete floor. What had stunned him at first was the chaos. A dizzying array of objects of all shapes and sizes, some whole but most broken, mangled or perverted. It was difficult to understand where to look first.

As he scanned the room, its meaning came into focus. It was her story, a life’s journey, from hope, joy and wondrous discovery to heart-wrenching loneliness and pain.

Empty cans of paint thinner suggested the room was ever changing, and there was evidence to support it. Layers upon layers of additions could be found, while other regions had been stripped bare, ready to be rebuilt. It was a living thing, this room. An ongoing expression of her trials and triumphs. 

Above all, there was anger. Broken glass and shattered objects littered the floor. Some pieces had been driven into the wall with considerable force. He ran his fingers along a metal rod, baffled by how she’d buried it deep into the layers of paint and beyond. Craters had also been beaten into the work, creating blackened voids. Paint had been recklessly thrown over them with no regard to where it landed. Lines, shapes and words had been violently etched into the surface or scrawled onto it by various means. A mirror, shattered into a thousand pieces, reaffixed to the wall with so many nails it was as if there’d been fear it might leap from its place to find her.

Huge regions of the space spoke of heartache and pain, if not crippling depression. Torn photos, blackened images, making one wonder, had these once been filled with hope and promise.

Chills emerged when he spotted the tiny simple doll in one corner. It had been dressed to look like a child. Its hair was roughly shorn. Eyes burned. It was surrounded by shimmering white walls, vivid colors blended in. Glittering, brightly colored objects, like sequins or torn pieces of shiny paper decorated this halo of hope and promises, as they radiated from the figure. A radiance that quickly turned to a nightmare of dark and terrifying shadows stretching as high as his shoulders, poised to consume. Hungry red eyes on each hulking figure pierced him. He shuddered, backing away, knowing it was a profound and personal story. A child of light. A child filled with promise, ripped to pieces by figures in her past. 

All was not pain though. There was beauty too.  

His eyes travelled upwards, taken aback by the elaborate ceiling. A fantastical night sky, dotted with dozens of miniature stars. A rainbow array of fairy lights. They wove in and out of hanging strands of different materials. Tendrils of colored gossamer fabric, hundreds of metallic ribbons. Cascades of assorted threads and strings. Glittering ornaments, positioned to reflect the lights, spectrums captured by shards of broken glass. It was a canopy of wonders that lifted the spirit, bathing the one beneath in its bright assurances.

He gleaned its purpose. No matter what horrors lie in this room, there would always be cheer and optimistic splendor up above. 

A playful composition lay just to the left, stretching from the floor to nearly the ceiling. The figure was only suggestive, but easily recognized by blazing red hair. It was a painting of her, dancing in a field of innumerable colors.  What wondrous joy she must have felt back then.

Another was completely abstract. Layers upon layers of excitable splashes, in shining white, yellow, orange, pink and red. Here and there a little lilac had been thrown in. It stretched halfway down the longest wall, high enough to make one wonder how she’d ever gotten up there. It looked as if a bursting of euphoriahad shot through her, with no thought or feeling that could be contained, nor expressed in realized images. 

Other signs of positivity were dotted around the room. Sometimes it was just in the colors she used, sometimes it was more tangible, like a solitary ivy kept alive in the dim. It must have been moved in and out of the room regularly to get some sun because it was clearly growing, and robustly at that. Little plastic flowers affixed to it just made it that bit cheerier.

All of the brightest colors were the newest of her works. Some partially obscured the darker elements, others obliterated them entirely.

Moving his eyes across its enchantments, Rowan fixated on the wall at the back. It had been completely stripped of texture or decoration, then painted over in black. In the center was a white heart, about the size of a hand, radiated hope. Gleaming, defiantly strong against a darkness that threatened to swallow it whole. He wondered if it represented him. 

Nearby was a small table, adorned with a work in progress. Scraps of paper had been torn from unknown sources. Each bore a passage, some whole, others in parts. He lifted the one on top, drawn to the words upon it.

He looked at the darkest place within her and saw a light. 

She looked at him and saw the same. 

In an instant he understood. The words spoke to him as much as they had to her. 

A violent tug on his arm tore his thoughts away. In his reverie, he’d forgotten the presence of another. Turning to an outburst of wordlessly pleading, wracked by powerful fits of sobbing. Her body shook, losing the fight to keep control.

“GET!!! OUT!!!’” screams echoed between heaving gasps. 

He dropped the paper, horrified by his own actions. His presence here was an obscene violation. This isn’t an art project. It’s her soul. 

He stammered a response, knowing that nothing said could offer consolation. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be in here.”

Regarding her in a new light, he allowed himself to be pulled from this place. Had it been a one-dimensional expression of anger or sadness, he might have walked away, but there was so much more here. A whole life expressed in images. We have more in common than I thought.

They walked to the front door in silence as Rowan contemplated the events of the last day. This can’t end here. He stole a glance in her direction, grateful to see a sense of calming, though only a touch. She was still shaking, but less so. Tears had been reduced to infrequent fits of quieter outbursts.   

As she unlocked the door, they stood still. Rowan’s head tilted slightly, with careful contemplation, anger diminishing. He could so easily turn and leave, but his heart told him that would be a mistake. He wasn’t ready to walk away just yet. 

“Do you have a scrap of paper and a pen?” he asked, with a tranquil smile of encouragement. It was OK. He hadn’t been deterred.

Still wiping the tears away with a look of confusion, she found herself unwilling, or unable to speak.The request had been so sudden and unexpected.

She handed them over from a small table in the foyer, with shameful, downward facing eyes. He jotted something down, flashing a reassuring smile once more as he opened the front door. 

The sky was dim, but lightening, a rich orange warming the horizon. Rowan stopped for a moment to take in his surroundings. A quiet suburban street. I must have been out for quite some time. Twelve hours at least.

Setting those thoughts aside, for the time being, he turned, handing the note over, searching for aresponse. Nothing on earth could have prepared her for this.  

Glancing at the words with total confusion, it read;  “34 Albion rd. – Side door – Ring for admittance.” 

“6 o’clock tonight,” he said. “I’ll make dinner.”

Her eyes flew to his as she stood paralyzed with shock.

“You will come, right?”

Her head started swimming, hands shooting out to grab the door frame, falling, weak at the knees. Heturned to walk away with a spring in step, satisfied with her reaction. He genuinely looked forward to their ‘date’.