Numb. That is all I feel. Lying in my bed, completely surrounded by darkness, I just stare at nothing. My mind is completely blank. There are so many thoughts and questions unanswered that it has just shut down, clouding me in nothing but silence.

I don’t even fully register the sound of my door opening or the dip of my bed. I’m just… numb.

“Sweetheart, we need to talk.” Drifter’s calming voice sounds distant, but I know he’s right next to me.

Not taking my eyes off the spot on my wall, I ask, “About what?” My voice comes out dry and emotionless.

“Don’t play that shit, Emmalyn,” Buck orders, more direct.

Rolling onto my back I push myself up against the headboard, the action a lot harder than it should be, the aftereffects of my panic attack making me sluggish and sore.

Looking between them both, an unwanted tear trails down my cheek. “He was my dad?” I whisper.

Both men’s eyes widen as they hesitate, obviously not sure what to say and how far to go.

“What do you remember?”

“Only bits and pieces.” Rubbing my temples, I try not to think too hard about the memories that assaulted me. Everything is so obscured, one memory overlapping the other, I don’t know what happened first or if it’s all even real. It’s all just one big mess.

“Marx Nixon wasn’t your father, Emmalyn,” Buck cuts in. The name has my attention whipping to him, the movement giving me a head rush.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” Drifter growls.

Pushing off the wall, Buck stands next to Drifter but keeps his eyes trained on me.

“That man was not your father. He made people believe that you were his daughter for power and for money. It made him look invincible and it made you desirable. But in no fucking way was he related to you.”

His words flow alongside my flashbacks but everything is still so fuzzy I can’t comprehend it. I just absorb it like it’s a story I’m hearing for the first time, like it’s someone else’s nightmare.

“How did I get there?”

Without hesitating Buck continues, “Your mom brought you there when you were almost 10.”

“Buck!” Drifter shouts, standing abruptly from my bed as my hands shoot to my mouth. “You say one more fucking word I’m going to lay you out.”

Buck doesn’t budge, if anything he grows taller, his gaze not leaving mine for a second.

My mom?

Pieces of memories filter through, showing a woman leaving me to the wolves.

“If you want to know, Emmy, you deserve to fucking know.” Dropping the volume of his voice but not the strength of it, he continues, “You are strong enough to handle it. What happened to you at that place doesn’t define you anymore. No one has control over you but you, Emmalyn. Those pictures are of a girl who had been taken advantage of by a fucking coward. You are not that girl anymore. You can remember and you can fucking heal. It’s going to be okay.”

Looking to Drifter I watch the muscle on his jaw tick as he glares past Buck.

Placing my hand over my heart, I do everything to keep it from beating out of my chest.

“Why would someone send those to me?”

Now it’s Buck who briefly looks away, as if gathering what to say. “We think someone is fucking with you.”

I just stare, the reality of his words not yet hitting me.

“Who?”

“Marx,” Drifter answers, giving into the conversation. His answer sends chills down my spine.

“We don’t know for sure if it’s him,” Buck counters, narrowing his eyes at Drifter. “Whoever it is is good. He keeps getting past our best efforts.” Looking to me his face grows very serious. “The fact that he has followed us to this town lets us know he’s for real, he isn’t fucking around. Now that you know, we need you to listen to us, Emmalyn. Now that you know, we need you to understand the severity of this situation. Until this gets taken care of – and it will – you need to always have protection.”

Again I just nod, nothing truly breaking through to me. I understand the severity of the situation and probably by morning I will be rocking in a corner, but right now at this very moment, I am so mentally exhausted I just can’t comprehend anything.

But one thing does nag at me. “How long has this been going on?”

“For a while.”

“What’s a while?”

Letting out a breath almost in shame, Drifter answers, “Since you first left the hospital.”

Out of everything that has happened, of all that has been remembered and said… this is what gets through to me. The fact that this has been going on for that long is what has emotions cascading through me.

I have never truly been free. This entire time there have been more than my memories chasing me. It’s also been all the secret phone calls and hushed conversations. It’s been everything that I had refused to acknowledge, that I had just ignored. It has all had a hold on me… it has all kept me a prisoner.

“Emmy-”

“I need to be alone,” I grind out. I can feel the prickles of reality forcing their way through the numbness. If I’m going to break, I want to do it alone. The hurt on their faces has me explaining to both of them and myself, “I know you want to help me but right now I just need time to take this all in. I need time to remember and grieve. All these memories are laying around waiting to be pieced together and with each one I put in place, another one goes missing. I don’t know what’s real and what’s not. I don’t know if I’m ready or if it will even matter.” My voice cracks at the end and three more tears fall. A rumble comes from one of their chests but I keep my eyes trained on my lap. “But I do know I’ll be ok. I just need some time,” I assure them hoping I’m right.

Sniffling, I feel my armor begin to crack. I need them to get out.

They must recognize the urgency coming off of me because the sound of their footsteps retreating brings me relief, but it also brings me sadness.

Hearing the door quietly shut, I scoot down and fall to my side curling into a ball. One after another the tears begin to flow freely, sobs wracking my body. Gripping the pillow underneath me, I turn my head into it and scream… I just fucking scream.

For the first time since I was set free, I grieve.

Letting my tears wash it all away, I cry for the little girl in the picture and the older one on her knees. I cry for all the kids that didn’t make it out and all the ones who suffer because of it. I cry because of what I can’t remember and because of what I can. But most of all, I cry for the complete emptiness I felt when I woke up and I was no longer in my stranger’s arms. I cry because I know he is important, yet I don’t remember how. I cry because the man who held me tight in the alleyway is not the boy who watches over me in my dreams. That boy has grown and time has passed. That is why I cry … because even though I can’t fully remember, I know the time lost between us and the truth of what he means to me will be harder to handle than anything that my past has to offer.

What Buck said was true. What happened at that place doesn’t define me. I am not the same girl in those pictures. No matter what, I won’t fall backwards. I will take things in stride, I will take it slow… but one thing is for sure, I won’t stay still.

* * *

I don’t know if I ever actually fell asleep or if I just dozed off, but I wake with a start. The sound of shouting and footsteps pounding up the steps has me frozen as the yelling grows louder with every stair they take.

“I told you to fucking wait,” I hear Drifter threaten. “Take one more fucking step and I’m going to put a bullet through you, boy.”

“Do it. That’s the only thing that will stop me. I’m done fucking waiting.”

It’s him.

Shaking with fear and anticipation, I sit there still unable to move.

Hearing them approach my door, it opens slowly.

My eyes widen as the light from the hall follows him in. Gone is the worn-out hoodie, in its place is a cut just like Drifter’s … no, just like the man at the bar, the same one who carried me out of the coffee shop. Rage.

He’s one of them… a Sinner.

Drifter walks up behind him and I meet his stare. “You want him out, Emmy?”

Unable to speak, I just shake my head. The thought of him leaving causes me to ache.

Giving a final look to my stranger, Drifter turns to leave, shutting the door behind him.

With the light from the hall gone, darkness surrounds us like a protective bubble. With my eyes still adjusting, I watch his form draw closer to me. Each step shoots contentment to my body. Stopping at the side of my bed, I watch as the blue of his eyes practically glowing, anxiously search me.

As if he can’t stand any longer he falls to his knees, his eyes now level with mine.

“You were there,” I whisper, knowing he is the same person who I dream about.

Recognition crosses his face and he nods.

“Did you save me?” I ask, my throat heavy with unshed tears.

“We saved each other,” he chokes out.

Gritting my teeth, I do everything to fight the sobs from coming back. “I don’t remember,” I whisper. “I am so sorry.” Falling like rain, the tears come anyway.

Pain flashes in his eyes and he leans forward. Gripping my hands from my lap he holds them tight. “Don’t be sorry, Emmy.”

“Why do you follow me?” I ask, repeating the same question I asked the last time I saw him in Texas.

Feeling him tremble, he answers, “Because I promised you I’d never let you go.”

On a hiccup, I keep going. “Why is it always on the 26^th?”

Fire and sadness dance in his eyes as he answers, “Because that’s the day you gave me everything.”

Oh God.

“Why do I feel like I can breathe when you’re around and I can’t when you’re gone?”

Leaning further over the bed, his eyes gloss with tears and my heart shatters. “Because from the moment I met you, you belonged to me. Together we are whole.”

Crying, I lean the rest of the way and press my forehead against his as I ask the last question. “Who are you to me?”

“Everything.”