Hanson

Present

I run through the thick fog, zigzagging through the woods, avoiding stumps and rocks as best as I can. I trained for this all these months, so I have to give it my all. I have nothing to lose.

Nothing will stop me from reaching my goal … Freedom.

I know I don’t deserve it, but damn, did I hunger for it.

And now I’m finally out here in the real world again.

This was unplanned and completely outrageous. I didn’t think I’d succeed, but now I don’t want to stop. The more I run, the bigger the grin on my face even though I know it’s wrong. The farther away I get, the bigger the taste for more. The outside world is waiting for me.

Despite my brain telling me to go back, to surrender, to fight this selfish desire, I can’t stop myself from putting one foot in front of the other and doing everything I can to stay out of their claws.

Even when I’m being chased and forced to run and swim for miles on end, I can’t give up.

The primal need inside me is too strong to ignore.

I must escape.

I have to see her.

* * *

Lillian

A few weeks later

The onions are strong, but they’re not making me cry. Maybe because I refuse to ever cry, not even for the onions. There’s only one exception … her.

I chop the onions into tiny pieces. They smell good today. Perfect for the pasta I’m making with homemade tomato basil sauce. A vegetarian dish with a sprinkle of parmesan cheese. Daisy’s favorite.

I never used to like cooking much, but I do it with love for her. Especially when she gives me that sparkly eyed look when she peeks into the pot to see what I’m making. She grins and squeals. “Pasta! Yay!”

“Go set the table, honey,” I say, smiling back at her.

She tiptoes around the kitchen, trying to open the cabinets that are just out of reach, so I give her a hand by lifting her. “There you go.”

Her face is radiant as she grabs the plates and carries them to the table, so proud of every little thing she can do to help. It’s as though she’s catching up on every little thing she missed. It’s sweet, and it definitely reminds me of myself, always wanting to be a little more grown up than I was. Boy, do I miss those days with no work, no drama, and no bills to pay.

I sigh and dice the garlic before adding it to the sauce while Daisy places the utensils and two glasses on the table. She runs back into the kitchen and washes her hands under the sink, but as she runs away, she forgets to turn off the faucet.

“Daisy! You left the water running,” I call out.

She doesn’t reply.

Then the screen slams shut.

I place down my knife and gaze outside when I notice her running through the grass. My eyes narrow. She’s chasing something … a paper plane.

My heart begins to palpitate.

There shouldn’t be a paper airplane here.

We live on a farm in the middle of nowhere. My nearest neighbor lives miles away.

Shit.

I drop everything and run after her, but as I exit the house, I stop dead in my tracks. A man in the distance captures my attention; his short black hair in stark contrast with the bright afternoon sun. The look on his square face dead serious as he stands there, his feet firmly planted on the soil.

Only his eyes follow her …

“Daisy!” My voice is primal. Like the call of a lioness whose cub is in danger.

“Look! A paper plane!” Daisy holds it up in the sky like some kind of trophy.

I want to rip it from her hands and shred it to pieces. Burn it to the ground. But I can’t take my eyes off her and neither can he.

“Come here, Daisy,” I say with a stern voice. It’s harsh enough to make the smile disappear from her face.

She comes to me slowly, but when she’s within arm’s reach, I grab her tight and hold her close to my body. I cling to her as if he could take her away at any moment. Maybe he could. Would he?

The mere thought makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

“Go inside,” I say, still glaring at the man standing on my property.

I can’t let him get any closer. I have to stand my ground.

However, the moment I release Daisy, and my eyes briefly follow her inside, he’s already taken five steps forward.

“Stop,” I say.

I’m not afraid. I’m not afraid.

I repeat that mantra over and over in my head—as if hearing it often enough will make me believe it—but my knees are buckling with each step he takes.

“Hi …” His voice is rough but smooth. Like a stone in a river sanded down by time.

What is he doing here? Stalking us?

“I just wanted to see you,” he says, taking a step toward me.

“Stay away,” I say, inching back.

I’m shaking like a leaf. I don’t want him to see, so I straighten my back and ball my fists, burying my nails in my skin.

The closer he gets, the weaker my knees feel, so I follow my instinct and grab my cell phone. I don’t think as I dial 911 and show him that I mean business.

“You don’t have to do that,” he says, holding up his hand.

“Yes, I do,” I bark, and I turn around and run back into the house. As the door slams shut, a woman picks up on the other end. “Hello, yes? I need the police.”

The woman asks for the reason, so I tell her a man on my property is refusing to leave. I’m in full panic mode now, running solely on adrenaline as I lock the door and close the windows.

However, as I look outside at the rustling high grass, I lower my phone.

He’s gone.