EMMA

"I may have escaped that place, that fucking hellhole where I was surrounded by death and pure evil. Physically, at least. But there are days where I feel like I haven't escaped at all. Like I'm still stuck there praying that it will end."

Shoulders withered with defeat, I blotted my cheeks with a tissue, tried to stop the tears that angered me more than anything else. I shouldn't have still been crying, still been screaming inside and wishing that everything could have been different. However, over the years since I'd left the studio and returned home to my life, I understood that, in truth, I'd never left the studio, not whole. Ever since the night I was carted off in that van, blindfolded so that I could never return or report where the studio was located, I'd remained fractured despite everything I'd done to rebuild my life.

There would always be a part of me that remained trapped. My sanity, maybe. Or my dignity. At least, that's what I told the people who still picked at the story, hoping to find that one small thread they could pull to make it all unravel. They knew I held one secret to heart. One secret that, for as long as I lived, I would never admit.

"It's normal to feel the way you're feeling, Emma. Many women who have gone through experiences like yours struggle to regain footing in their lives."

Adrienne Eglan stared over at me from behind the thin wire frames of her glasses, her legs crossed demurely, her prim and proper skirt suit unwrinkled and perfectly accessorized. Hair pulled into a bun at the nape of her neck, she scribbled down notes in her attempt to dissect me, but she wouldn't succeed. Only one person had been able to see past the mask I wore, the side of me I allow people to see, and that person was gone.

After returning to the States, and after going through the horrible weeks that followed where I'd been forced to repeat my story to every federal agent who demanded to hear the same details over and over again, I'd moved home with my parents and had spent several months coming to terms with the horrors I'd witnessed at the studio.

At first, I'd hoped the agents would find the studio, would free the women still trapped, would free...him. But as the months wore on and they couldn't find the place where those horrible films were made and distributed, I'd given up hope of ever finding Ethan again.

Depression overtook me in those months. My body changed, my heart broke, but eventually I discovered a new reason to live, a bright shining star that had come in to my life to remind me that I had the strength to go on.

My mother convinced me that going to therapy would help me come to terms with the events in my life, but now, as I stared across the room at a woman who had no fucking clue what it felt like to have your heart ripped from your chest only to be returned as a mere sliver of what it had been, I was beginning to believe that nothing would help me forget a man who had been the only person to ever really understand who I am.

I needed to stop my sessions with Adrienne. I'm sure she meant well, but after spending two hours a week listening to her infuriating psychobabble, I was afraid I would snap and tear off her pretty little head.

She must have noticed the way my teeth were clenched, or the fisting of my hands, because she did the reasonable thing of shooing me away as quickly as possible. With a professional smile stretching her glossed lips, she darted a glance at the wall clock and said, "It looks as if we're out of time for today. I'll see you again next week."

Relief flooded me. Yes, I was the one who'd willingly signed up for these sessions, but I still felt like a lab rat every time I walked in to tell a stranger my innermost thoughts.

It was odd how leaving my shrink's office felt like more of an escape than the night I left the studio. Walking from the building, I milled over that thought in my head, the whisper of truth that echoed until I could feel the weight of it. Pain still clenched at my heart each time I thought of the final night I saw Ethan Cole. I wondered where he was. What he was doing. If he'd ever found a way to leave the studio behind and rebuild his life away from the depravity and death that had surrounded us when we fell in love.

Over the two years since I'd returned, I'd given the police, FBI agents and the members of human trafficking task forces who'd interviewed me every detail I could about my abduction and the studio where I'd been held. It had surprised me to learn that I was missing for close to a year before being freed to go home. But, of all the details I gave them over the grueling hours of those interviews, there was one detail I never revealed.

I never told them about Ethan. About the director who had been the artistic mind behind all of those awful films.

As it turned out, the authorities were familiar with the films, had been tracking them for years to discover the fates of other abducted women, had withheld the details of those women's deaths from the families they left behind.

There hadn't been a film showing how Melanie died, but I'd given them the details, had cried while explaining where her family could be found and the name of her son. By now, that information must have been delivered, and they'd most likely had a funeral despite no body being recovered for a burial. I promised myself that one day I would visit her empty grave, would apologize that I couldn't save her, and thank her for being the reason I could slip away unnoticed.

The police had done well to keep my return and my identity out of the press. Using witness protection protocols, I was identified simply as Jane Doe and it was reported I'd escaped a trafficking ring without details of the studio or films. I'd demanded those terms before ever speaking a word of what I knew. What would have been the point of Ethan's plan if I'd returned for my name and photo to be blasted all over the news?

Breathing out, I walked at a clipped pace down the breezy sidewalk toward my car. Unlike the careless woman I'd been before being ripped from the streets and delivered to Hell, I was now cautious, constantly looking over my shoulder and peering into alleys while walking by myself. My experience had born in me the paranoia of my mother, but instead of laughing at her now, I apologized for not having listened to her when she’d explained to me how to stay safe.

My electric car started with a few beeps and soft whir, barely made a sound as I pushed the pedal and drove down the street. Tears leaked freely down my cheeks, my heart pounding as sorrow pulsed through my veins. It was always like this after a session, after a hour spent hiding the fact that while trapped, I'd fallen in love. I didn't need to see the sympathetic stare, the eyes that told me I was weak for having fallen for the man who held me. I didn't need the judgment for admitting that even two years later, finding him was all I wanted to do.

Ethan was still a part of my life, in more ways than he knew. And for that, he would never be a stranger to my thoughts, would never fall into the backdrop of the past to be lost among the women who never had the chance to escape.

Pulling into my driveway, I quickly wiped away the tears and stared into the rearview mirror to check that my eyes weren't swollen. I hated it when I walked inside and saw my pain reflected in the eyes of my family. Thankfully, my parents were both out running errands, eating lunch, living their routine. Only one car was outside the house, and it would be leaving now that I'd arrived.

I stepped into the house and heard the television sounding softly from the living room. Rounding the corner, I smiled at Ashlynn Cates where she sat working on homework. "Hey. I'm home. Where's Kane?"

Smiling brightly, Ashlynn swept her long blond hair from her shoulder. "He's sleeping. Just went down about an hour ago. It should give you a few hours of peace before he's up and running around again."

Relieved to hear it, I dropped my purse and keys on a side table and said, "I'll take over from here. Thank you for babysitting."

Ashlynn gathered her things and took the money from my hand as she passed by in route for the front door. Turning to watch her go, I was startled when she spun back suddenly. "Oh! I forgot to tell you. A package came for you. I put it on the kitchen counter."

Brows drawing together, I asked, "For me? Are you sure? I haven't ordered anything."

Shrugging, she shifted the strap of her backpack up her shoulder. "It was for you. I didn't see the return address. Some strange man delivered it. Have a good night."

As soon as the door slammed closed, I was walking to the kitchen. On the counter sat a large manila envelope. Picking it up, I found that it was addressed to me, but there was no return information, no clue as to who had sent it. My heart rate picked up as I ripped it open. Was it possible?

Pulling the contents free, I found a letter scrawled in masculine script and a plastic encased DVD. My body stilled, my heart pounding so hard that I could feel the pulse of it in my cheeks. Unable to force myself to open the letter, I hurried up the stairs to my bedroom, sat down on my bed and brought the paper to my nose to see if I could smell him.

I knew the instant I saw the writing on the package that Ethan had been the one to send it.

More tears fell and I half laughed at how sick I was of crying. It took several minutes to settle my heart and rate of breath, and after counting to ten, I blinked my eyes one more time before opening the letter...

To My Muse,

I hope this letter finds you well. In fact, I hope it finds you better than that. I hope it finds you healthy and whole, happy and living a life deserving of the light and fire you carry inside. It would break my heart to learn that you retreated inside yourself again after returning home.

By now you know that the studio was never discovered after your escape, and I'm sure you know that the films have continued being dispersed. What you don't know is that I'm no longer the man directing them. I'm not sure that it matters to you, or if you still feel for me now as you did when we last spoke, but it was important to me that you know I left the studio behind and have moved on after completing my life's most important work.

I guess I should make some confessions before going further in this letter, confessions that will most likely anger you or hurt. But I hope you can understand why I did what I did, why it was important to me to get the details just right.

You're a hard woman to miss, Emma, and it doesn't surprise me that the men who stole you had chosen you specifically to take. Despite your belief that you're simply an average person with nothing special that sets you apart, you're so much more than that. Your humility alone is astonishing, but when combined with the beauty of your face and the force of your inner strength, you stand out among the crowd without even realizing it. It's what drew me to you the instant we met. It's what inspired me to direct my greatest film, to fulfill my life's dream.

You inspired me. Like no other person has or will ever do again. It's a shame that the accomplishment will be one that only a few people will see. How many depends on you, and your decision is your own. If you take it to the police, I'll understand, but something tells me you won't.

Why have you never given the police my name? And thank you for giving, at least part of it, to our son…

My heart stopped beating as I read those lines, my lips parted on expelled breath, my eyes rounded to discover that Ethan knew about Kane. Both fear and elation flooded me, the mixture toxic within my veins.

Within a month of returning home, I'd discovered that I was pregnant. My family had left it up to me whether to have a child they believed had been conceived in rape, or whether to terminate the pregnancy. There had never been a question of what I would do. But I never admitted to them that Ethan's child growing inside me had been one of the only reasons I'd been able to continue living after losing his father. After discovering I was pregnant, I'd researched Ethan online. Too afraid to name our son with his first name, I'd used his middle name instead. Ethan Kane Cole had become the unknown father of Kane Christopher Hart.

Swiping at the tears, I continued reading.

My first confession is the hard one, so I'll just get it over with and hope you read the rest. I was never a prisoner to the studio like I led you to believe. I could have left at any time, could have taken you with me, could have lost you far too soon and never completed your story. I won't apologize for that lie, won't feel sorry that I made a decision to finish the project you inspired just by being alive. When you see what I saw, I hope you'll understand why I did what I did. I hope you'll see the beauty in it, and the truth I finally found in film. I wasn't lying when I told you that I'd planned to move on before you arrived. What I failed to mention was that after finding you, I chose to stay to complete one last project.

Which leads me to my second confession. The inspiration you gave me wasn’t about what you did on stage. It wasn’t about the attempted rapes and death of your attackers, had nothing to do with what was created for the dark web. My vision for you was so much more than that. Included with this letter is your completed film. A movie not about depraved acts and crushing endings, but about a woman who was so fierce in spirit that even when trapped in a nightmare that was never ending, she'd still found the strength inside herself to love.

That is the truth you showed me, and that is the film I made. Nobody else could have played your part. No other person could have inspired a story so tragic, yet beautiful at the same time. There is not a single woman in this world that could have burned as brightly as you did on film, and I'll never regret lying to you just so I could see the project through to its end…

My fingers tightened over the paper, my eyes tracking to the DVD I'd tossed on my bed. Curiosity got the better of me. Dropping the letter, I grabbed the disc and hurried across my room to my computer. Sliding the disc in, I waited impatiently for it to load, my breath held when I pressed play.

The film started on the day I arrived to the studio, at the moment I walked through the front doors to meet Ethan Cole. He must have had more cameras inside the building than he admitted, because as I watched my life inside that prison, I realized he'd missed nothing about the year I'd spent with him. But the images weren't simply the blurry, off color shots of a security camera, they were close-ups and wide angle candid shots of the most significant moments of my life.

He'd captured everything: my arrival, my first fight with the guard, my reaction when I first saw the films he made. He'd caught me telling him I chose to die, he caught my first conversation with Melanie and the argument I'd had with him after being led to his office for the first time. I sat watching with eyes steadily leaking out the pain I was feeling, but I couldn't look away from a film that depicted what it looked like when a woman fell in love with the man who'd captured her.

Ethan was right to say there was truth in this film, and I felt every minute of it as I stared unblinking at the perfect transition of scenes. I cringed at the scenes with James and Brent, held my breath at the scene of Ethan and I in the shower. I sobbed at the scenes he'd caught of the last film he made in Studio B, of the fire and the conversation we'd had by the van.

Everything. He'd captured it all, and he'd condensed it down into an hour long film that revealed the true story of a woman fighting to fall in love. My eyes were so blurry as the camera showed the van driving off, that I had to pause the film to keep from missing the end. I sat crying for what felt like hours, but could only have been minutes.

Grabbing the letter, I opened it without watching the last scenes of the film. I was too afraid of both, but eventually chose to read what he had to say rather than watch what could have come on film after my escape.

You helped me realize a dream, Emma. And I hope it's something you can live with and forgive. I'm no longer the man I was before you walked into my life. And having accomplished the one task I set out to achieve in film, I've retired in a way, have gone into hiding in a place where I'll never hurt another person again.

Thank you for who you are, and thank you for who you became in my life. I could have never done this without you.

I want you to know I'll never forget the time we spent together, and I'll never truly let you go. I know that your film had its ending, but that your life story continues forward with a twist I never saw coming.

Kane is the most beautiful child I've ever seen, and it is my hope that you'll protect him with the fire you carry inside and that'll you'll inspire him to realize his dreams as much as you inspired me to realize mine. We'll see each other again. That much I know, but until then, I hope our son fills the empty places inside you that were left behind from what I've done.

Love him as ferociously as you loved me. And until the day comes when I can touch your cheek and stare into those frustrating and glorious eyes again, just know that I'll be watching.

The letter ended without a signature, without another word, without anything other than the flourished script of Ethan's hand on the last letter of his confession.

A bark of laughter shook my shoulders like a small burst of insanity slipping free. I should have been running this letter to the police to turn in a man who'd so callously done this to me, but instead I found myself clinging to the tiny bit of hope that he really was watching like he claimed.

Focusing my eyes back on the film paused in place on my computer screen, I hit play to see the last scene Ethan used to complete his vision of me.

My jaw went slack, my heart came back to life in my chest, and I stared in a state of shock at a film that couldn't have been completed until just recently. How I'd not noticed, I wasn't sure. How had I'd been so focused that I wasn't looking over my shoulder at just the right time?

Before me the final images played of me standing in the small park across the street from my house pushing Kane in his swing.

Ethan had been so close, and I'd somehow missed him entirely. It had only been a few days since he could have shot that scene, which meant...

Some strange man delivered it...

Running from my room, I almost fell down the stairs to get to my purse in the living room. I found my cell phone buried at the bottom and dropped the purse to the floor as I hastily dialed Ashlynn's phone number. She picked up on the third ring.

"Hey, Ms. Hart. Is everything okay with Kane?"

On a rush of breath, I answered, "Yes, everything is fine with him. That's not what I'm calling about." I paused, took a breath and tried to speak at a slower pace. But the barrage of emotion inside me was pushing me too fast, filling me to such an extent that I couldn't hold it inside. "Ashlynn, what did the man look like? The one who delivered the package?"

She was quiet for a moment, so quiet that I pulled the phone from my head to make sure the call was still connected. "Ashlynn?"

"He was handsome and wore a suit," she finally answered. "Um, black hair that had some grey in it, clean shaven. He kind of freaked me out a little bit though. His eyes -"

"What about his eyes?"

"Nothing. It's just that it felt like he could see through me. I don't know, it's weird and I'm being stupid. He had really pretty grey eyes, but I just, like, froze when he looked at me."

Leaning against the wall, I pressed the phone closer to my ear and closed my eyes. She wasn't stupid to feel that way. Ethan Cole simply had that effect on people.

"Is everything okay, Ms. Hart? You sound -"

"Yes," I blurt out a little too quickly. "Everything's fine, Ashlynn. Thank you for telling me."

I hung up before she could say anything else.

Every last bit of energy drained from me in that moment, my body sliding down the wall until I was sitting on the floor with my eyes shut and my hand still clenching the phone.

It's hard to describe what I was feeling, probably because I was feeling so much of everything at once that I couldn't cling on to one thought, one emotion, one single, solitary response that would make sense to any person besides Ethan or me.

It wasn't until my heart slowed and my breathing was normal, wasn't until I could wipe away the last of my tears and actually think again that one truth broke free of the chaos to make itself known.

No matter what Ethan had done to me, no matter the lies, the horror, the films, and the effect that year had on me, I couldn't deny that the film was beautiful.

And I couldn't lie to myself - or to Ethan - that I wasn't happy to discover he was still, and would always be, watching.

THE END