Category: Fiction

There I am again—in the old greenhouse, where the smell of rose and lavender used to overwhelm me, calm me, make me sane. It’s the smell of my grandmother—the place we used to spend our time. She would teach me how to water the flowers—“Not too much or you’ll drown them.” She would cut the stems and pile them up on the white table that matched the white paneling of the greenhouse walls. The humid air created the perfect atmosphere for my flower arranging lessons. 

I would pick up a rose, perfectly pink with a bright green stem, its thorns evenly spaced and far apart, inviting me to hold it and contemplate my next move. Then I would grab a lavender flower, putting the blossoms together in my hand first. I would add some greenery and keep building. Finally when my hands were full and the flowers reflected the way I was feeling that day—as my grandma always said bouquets should do—I would fit them to a vase, one of the many lined up high on the shelf in the back corner of the greenhouse next to the big, industrial sink.

Once my flowers were on display, I would call my grandma over from her position watering or weeding or planting new bulbs. Then she would come over, keeping her eyes on the ground, using her hand to shield them from seeing the arrangement prematurely. When her feet were nearly to the white table, she would lift her head, taking the flowers in all at once. 

“I think you’re feeling love and excitement,” she said one day. I shook my head no. 

“Elation and affection?” she tried again.

“Those are just synonyms,” I laughed. 

We would continue the trend until she finally landed on the correct answer. That day’s blend was contentment and joy, which was exactly how I felt any time I got to spend time with her. 

Other days we would sit with a cup of tea, looking out the many windows of the greenhouse as the rain poured outside. She would tell me jokes that would have me laughing until my cheeks hurt and my throat ached. Sometimes her jokes were a bit raunchy, and she would look at me sheepishly and tell me not to repeat them. I wouldn’t attempt it anyway—I couldn’t tell them like she could. 

Now as I sit at that white table, I picture what my bouquet would express today—sadness and pain. I don’t even think that type of arrangement deserves flowers, maybe just the stems full of thorns peeking out of the vase as if to say, “Fuck off.” 

Tears fall and a deep ache opens up inside me. I look around the empty greenhouse, the flowers wilted and dying. It’s like they know she’s gone, too. I allow my petals to fall off in the old greenhouse like the roses and lavender blooms before me. Inside the greenhouse walls, I no longer need to feign the ability to continue living, to keep going, because “that’s what she would have wanted.” Instead, I tell the critics in my head that I am fucking sad, and I allow myself to cry. I allow myself to dwell on the pain. I allow my chest to heave, my nose to run, my eyes to overflow with salty tears. I allow my legs to give way beneath me, and I lay in a ball on the dirt floor of the greenhouse. 

I close my eyes and remember the days in there with her. I remember her sweatshirts embroidered with different flowers. I bring my chin to my chest and smell her smell on the purple sweatshirt I grabbed from her closet as we went through her things. Roses, lavender, lilies, peonies—they all have a place on the worn fabric. It was her favorite one to wear, and now it is mine—I am an extension of her. 

I hear the door to the greenhouse open behind me, but I do not look up. I feel my mother’s arms pull me close and pet my hair. I feel her tears fall on the top of my head. We stay like this as the soil dries up around us and the flowers droop. 

Looking through the crack between the two large boxes, Jac saw only the glow of the red exit signs. She felt her heart rate slow with every second of silence. She felt like she had done it; she had securely hidden herself from the man. With no heel click of his black boots against the gray cement floor and no smell of his musky cologne, she felt her shoulders relax. Now she could fully appreciate her surroundings. 

The expansive warehouse was her happy place. Jac knew every crack and crevice. She knew where to find the best views—it was the darkest corner, the one that looked out into the whole space. You could see the entire labyrinth from up there. With each climb, her arms gained definition. To reach the top row of pallets on the large shelving units or racks, she had to climb for a good five minutes. Every trek to the top allowed her to clear her mind and focus on the feel of her muscles contracting and releasing. Even when she was running for her life, this simple pleasure of movement grounded her. It brought her peace. 

She had been going to the warehouse most nights for as long as she could remember. The fear she felt during her first visit was so real. The man had almost gotten her that night. She cried and cried, terrified. Now, she was much better at hiding. Jac knew where he wouldn’t think to look. She even thought to tie back her light brown hair in a low bun. She couldn’t risk him seeing a wave of hair in the red glow, and she had to be ready for action at any minute. She didn’t want her hair falling in her face, blocking her sight. Jac’s size helped her too. She was lucky that she was only 5’4” and 115 pounds. She thanked God every day that she could hide in between the pallets and shimmy under the shelves. She knew this had saved her more than once. 

Each close call brought her heart to life. Usually, she could sit in peace, enjoying the quiet stillness of the warehouse. Something about the massive space made her feel at home. But when he came near, she could no longer bask in the tranquility. She could no longer listen to the silence—her own heart betrayed her with its chaotic, aggressive pounding. She would find the closest hiding place, usually higher up on the shelves if she had time to climb. Then she would have to wait. She would wait for his footsteps to become distant echoes and disappear altogether. She would try to silence her breathing and silence her heart. In the early days, this was enough to completely wear her out. Once he was gone, she could no longer return to her feeling of ecstasy being alone in the large warehouse. Instead, she would sit, curled up, with her head in her hands, trying to keep the panic at bay. She didn’t even know what he wanted with her. Perhaps that was the scariest part of it all. 

She never saw anyone new in the warehouse. It was just the man in his dark attire and threatening demeanor. One time she brought her brother—that was a bad idea. Standing at 6’2” and pale as can be, Nathan drew a lot of attention in the dark of the space. Dressed in bright red, his favorite color, his shirt soaked up the red glow of the exit signs. The light of the warehouse lit up his ghostly skin for all to see when he wasn’t careful to stay in the shadows. Nathan was skinny and clumsy. One wrong move, and you could send echoes everywhere, alerting anyone within a hundred yards of your exact whereabouts. That was one of the problems they had that night. He was also chatty and distracted. Jac knew there was danger. Nathan didn’t. Jac didn’t want to scare him; she just wanted to share her happy place with him. But each clang against the metal shelving and loud whisper sent chills down Jac’s spine. She was just waiting for the man to come and get them both. If that had happened, she would have never forgiven herself. Instead, the man never came that night. Maybe it was too easy with all of the sound Nathan was making. Maybe he just wanted to make Jac squirm. She still didn’t understand why they survived that night, but she was grateful. Nathan had been her support, her rock, in the struggles she had during the day, away from the warehouse. She was happy to have given him some peace in return by letting him into her world. 

Her mind wandered to Nathan and how great of a companion he always was. In this quiet moment in the warehouse, it was almost as if the accident never happened. She wished she could stay here forever, her brother only a thought away. She wished she could hug him and tell him she loved him. She wished she could tell him she was sorry. As she wiped a glistening tear from her cheek, her mind returned to the warehouse. 

Tonight had been a somewhat close call. She heard the man, still a ways away, and had time to hide in one of her most trustworthy spots. It was near the middle of the warehouse, safe from the edge walls, which were littered with doors that never opened for her, but she had seen the man come in using them. She didn’t like to be close to them for that reason. This spot was also on the third row of the five rows of shelving. She liked to be higher off of the ground, felt that it gave her more of a warning if the man found her hiding spot. He rarely did, but she liked to think ahead. This spot was truly great because it was between two large boxes, offering a great shadow from the red light that filtered throughout the space. She could barely see from the spot. She always felt more comfortable when she was squeezed in tight to a spot and couldn’t look out into the aisles between the shelving. 

This comfort brought her mind back to when she was a kid playing hide and seek with her friends. One day her friend Toby told her, “If you can’t see them, they can’t see you.” He wholeheartedly believed it too. She learned the truth when she hid behind a curtain and closed her eyes. 

Josie, the “seeker” and Jac’s best childhood friend, pulled the curtain back and yelled, “Found you!” Jac kept her eyes shut, still believing Toby’s poor advice. This prompted Josie to grab her arms and shake her. “I FOUND YOU! Now help me find the others.”

After that experience, she remembered telling Nathan, like the good older sister she was, “Just because your eyes are closed doesn’t mean you’re safe. It doesn’t mean other people can’t see you.” 

Nathan, always naive, said, “Yes it does! I know that I am always safe when I close my eyes. Mom even told me.”

Jac dropped it. She didn’t want to ruin his false sense of security. Looking back, she knew that her mother only told him that to keep him from seeing her strung out. With all of her flaws, their mother wanted to protect them from her bad habits. In that way, she was a good mother. But she wasn’t good enough to keep them from following her bad example. Maybe if she had been, Nathan would still be with them. His blind, childhood trust seemed like all she had left of him. It was as if this small act of closing her eyes was keeping her close to him. It didn’t matter that Jac knew the truth; closing her eyes was a comfort, a way to escape her sad reality and exist in a better place—a place with Nathan.

Back in the warehouse, she thought about this memory and how dumb it was that she would always feel safer with her eyes closed. That’s exactly what she had done when she had heard the man’s familiar boots walking in her vicinity. She squeezed in tight between the boxes and pinched her eyes shut. His footsteps came and went, but her eyes remained closed. Her eyelids were like a blanket, wrapping her up and making her feel warm. She had exchanged her childhood blankie for this sweet escape of darkness. When she was wrapped up, she could imagine that the warehouse was all hers. She could see it in all of its beauty: dark, still, and expansive. Usually danger lurked around every corner, but when her eyes were closed, she was safe and calm. 

After about an hour since the man’s footfalls stopped echoing in the space, Jac felt like it was safe to come out from hiding. It took her a minute to wake up her legs and feet. The fuzzy feeling made her walk funny for a minute, but soon her limbs were as awake as her mind. Now that he was gone, she should have the rest of the night to explore. He rarely ever came back twice in one night. Even though she already knew every part of the warehouse, she liked to walk the aisles and climb the shelves. She liked to just be there, to exist in the silence, listening to the sound of each inhale and exhale, watching the red light dance across the shelves and reflect onto the shiny floor. With all of the free time she has had in the warehouse, she has counted the 96 racks, the 48 pallets per row on each rack, and the 4 to 10 boxes, depending on their size, on each pallet. Knowing all of these details made her feel like she owned the place. It seemed like she did with all the time she spent there night after night. 

When she had the place all to herself, she liked to take advantage of it by running through the rows, exploring every crevice. She looked for any opportunity to pass the time in a way that could prepare her in case she was caught in a chase with the man. Tonight, she wanted to work on her jumping skills. She climbed the remaining two rows of the rack to reach the top. From here she could look in front of her and see the rows and rows of pallets extending as far as the eye could see. Behind her, she saw the same. 

The exit signs littered about gave off their red glows, which should have been eerie. Instead, Jac felt comforted by the warm rays. She hated the intensity of white LED lights and hated when she had to return to reality’s harsh lighting. Inside the warehouse, red was her favorite color. Sometimes when a door was opened along the edges of the warehouse, she saw the bright stream of white artificial light pouring into the dark space. This always upset her, not just because she knew the man would be coming to threaten her peace, but she also hated the way the brightness toyed with her perception of the space. She preferred to see it in the darkness, without great detail. This allowed her to keep her dark hiding spaces. And what was too hard to make out in the darkness could be filled in by her imagination. She loved having this freedom. 

Jac took a few steps back, her heels almost hanging off of the edge of the pallet she stood on. She had about eight feet in front of her to make the ten-foot jump across the aisle and to the safety of the next rack of pallets in front of her. She had made this jump hundreds of times, and each time, she felt a jolt of adrenaline egging her on. She took six large running steps and felt the bend of her knees drive her feet off of the pallet. She only was airborne for a second, but it felt like flying. Her feet made it securely to the other pallet. She landed with a soft thud, having practiced being as noiseless as possible. It was still perceptible, but not alarming. With her feet securely on the platform, she geared up for another jump. Sometimes she would do this for hours, never feeling the tired burn in her legs. Instead, she felt alive and free, as if no rules applied to her. When she was about to jump off the second pallet, a noise to her right caught her off guard, threatening to make her fall the five rows to the hard ground below. She steadied herself at the edge, straining her eyes to see in the darkness. A dark figure was down below her about 30 yards away. She knew it was the man, and she was so angry at herself for not waiting long enough before he was gone to come out of hiding. 

Without time to scold herself, she jumped to the next row and the next. She could hear the man’s boots echoing loudly now. He was pursuing the chase. So that’s how you want to play tonight, huh? Jac knew she could outrun him. She had done it before. 

After five jumps and five rows, Jac felt that it was safe enough to start running on top of the same row to get to the edge of the warehouse. When he was this close to her, she couldn’t hide again right away. She had to be sure that he wouldn’t find her. She ran to the edge of the row and began descending the rack. She could hear his footsteps and knew he was still far behind her. She hated giving up her height and joining him on the ground, but she knew that he could easily see her up on the top. She also wanted to be close to the exits. While they had never worked for her before, she needed to have a fallback plan in case he caught up to her. Her feet dangled before she let go and hit the floor. Hard. She didn’t care about the noise it made; he already knew where she was. She saw him speeding up the aisle he was in, still four rows behind her. She took off in the opposite direction. 

After five minutes of this chase, she yelled, “You tired yet!? I can do this all night!” He never responded when she yelled like this, but it made her feel more powerful when she taunted him. It was like she knew something he didn’t. When she looked behind her, her breath caught in her throat. He was gaining on her. She didn’t know how that was possible; she trained for this almost every night. Her cockiness started to upset her rhythm. Her muscles tightened, and her breath quickened as the fear began to rise within her. Her heart thumped louder and louder until she could be sure that he could hear it over the thundering of both of their footsteps. She was still a good distance in front of him, but his speed worried her tonight. She was nearing a corner, one with exit signs galore. 

The red lights beckoned her, pleading to be utilized during this chase. She knew it was a risk, but she wanted to see if she could get out. She wanted to see what was outside the warehouse walls. She trained her eyes on one door about 20 paces in front of her. The man was about 40 paces behind her, but he was gaining every second. She closed her eyes and kept her feet flying forward, toward the chosen door. The comfort of the darkness washed over her, and she felt refueled. She felt capable of taking this big risk. She still didn’t know what would happen if he caught up to her. She told herself that she wouldn’t find out tonight, but she wasn’t sure she believed herself. Tonight was different somehow, different enough that she was planning to leave her sanctuary and venture into the unknown. 

She opened her eyes with just enough time to push on the door’s exit bar. She crashed into it—it didn’t budge at all. She lost valuable time with this effort, but she turned and ran to the next door. This one had a push bar too, and it didn’t open. She heard the man getting closer and closer. Her fear threatened to pull her into a ball on the floor, but her adrenaline was stronger, pushing her towards the next door and the next. When she felt him only 10 paces behind her, she said a silent prayer that the next door, which was complete with a handle, would open. At the door, she turned the handle and pushed. Suddenly, she was outside. 

It was night, but the outdoor lamps were almost blinding compared to the dark red glow inside the warehouse. She feared that she would hear the man break through to the outside shortly after her, but all she heard was the bustling street in front of her. About 50 yards ahead, a restaurant with a red sign was lit up by ten lampposts and interior lights. It was situated on a slight hill and surrounded by grass on all sides, with four perpendicular sidewalks leading to four different entrances. She had never been here before. She knew she needed to keep moving, to find help, but she also wanted to commit this scene to memory. It was dark and bright at the same time, with the night sky lit by the artificial light. This light didn’t bother her though. It was yellow and warm, like the red glows of her haven. She closed her eyes, letting peace wash over her. She would be okay. After all, there were many people around her. Surely someone would be able to help her. 

She made it to one of the sidewalks leading to the restaurant. She smelled the sweet stench of overpriced Italian and saw the sign “Maso’s Ristorante” hanging along the front of the red building. A woman was standing with a stroller about five yards in front of her. She looked like someone with a heart, someone willing to help a young woman in need. Jac reached her and sputtered out, “There is a man chasing me, and I need help. Can you please help me?” She hadn’t realized how scared she was until she heard the way her voice was wavering. Tears threatened to fall down her face. This woman had the same effect that Jac’s mother had on her. When she was even slightly upset, just seeing her mom brought the emotion out of her, brought it pouring down her cheeks. When this happened, her mom extended her arms and embraced Jac warmly, even after all of the hell Jac had put her through. The same could be said of her mother’s destructive choices. Childhood could be dark and lonely sometimes, with her mother disappearing into the feeling she had with a drink in her hand and many more in her system. But her mom had found help, and Jac was forgiving, even though she had felt responsible for Nathan ever since she was a kid. Knowing that she had basically raised Nathan made her guilt surrounding the accident that much greater. Why did she let him drive? 

This warmth was not apparent in the woman, however. It was as if she was oblivious to Jac’s pleas. Instead, she turned toward her stroller and grabbed her crying baby. She held her tightly, shushing her softly, rocking her slowly. Jac was incredulous. Had she not heard her? Was she deaf? If she was deaf, she had to be blind too because Jac was standing right in front of her. She felt helpless, the tears falling freely now. She wanted to scream at the woman, to berate her for her lack of compassion. Instead, she felt the hairs on her neck stand up. She felt like the man was nearby. She needed to get out of the open. All of the comfort she felt being surrounded by people was gone with that frustrating interaction. 

When she turned around, she realized that no one seemed to be looking at her. She knew that she had spoken loudly enough for others to hear. Yet, no one offered to help. Her cheeks burned with the anger she felt. She noticed a dark figure in the distance. It was blurry through her tears, but it was there, nonetheless. Without another look at the woman, she turned and sprinted across the grass for a residential street. The excitement of the new area had worn off, and she was comforted by the lack of streetlights on this road. She felt rejuvenated in the darkness and closed her eyes for a second to reset. She decided that it was best to just keep running for now. Her feet thudded against the cement; she no longer felt the need to be quiet. It seemed like the world couldn’t hear her anyway. In a way, that comforted her. Maybe the man couldn’t hear her either. That seemed too easy, but it was a nice thought. 

When the street ended, she turned onto another. Then another. She wasn’t following a pattern; she felt lost outside her warehouse. The world outside offered no shelter, no safety. She didn’t feel anyone following her, but she kept her pace steady, always moving forward. She tried counting to ten over and over again to pass the time and to help her endure the monotony of running. Each thud of her feet against the pavement served as a backdrop for her wandering mind. The adrenaline she felt matched that of the calamitous day in the car. Jac remembered the stench of alcohol, the thought burning her nose. She remembered laughing with Nathan, their speech slurring, their eyes blurring. 

Her mind stopped just before the collision, and she was back in the moment, running for her life. Her lungs were tired, but her legs were not. When she started wheezing, she felt like it was okay to slow down. Up ahead, she saw light. She didn’t like the idea of leaving the darkness, but she thought it would be good to try again. Maybe someone would help her here, wherever she was. 

As she neared the lights, she realized she recognized the area. She saw the familiar red building, patch of grass, and smelled the scent of garlic and tomatoes. She was back at the restaurant. This didn’t make any sense. How could she have been running that long to end up right back to where she had come out of the warehouse? The proximity to her happy place soothed her mind and body, giving her shoulders a reprieve from their tight position by her ears. She at least had a destination now. Even if the man was still there, she would feel at home inside those gray walls. She followed the edge of the circle of grass surrounding Maso’s Ristorante, looking to see if the woman who had been so rude earlier was still there. It didn’t take long to spot her, but now she had company. A man shrouded in darkness stood next to her, leaning over her stroller. Jac’s breath caught. She wanted to scream and tell her to get her baby as far away from the man as she could. The words in her mouth, wanting to be sent out into the night air, retreated back into her throat when she saw the woman pick up her baby. Yes, now run and get help! Go! Instead of taking Jac’s silent advice, the woman turned and offered her child to the man. He cradled the baby against his chest and looked in Jac’s direction. 

This sent her into motion. She looked beyond the mysterious woman and the poor child in the arms of her worst nightmare and saw the edge of the giant warehouse down the hill. Her feet launched into action, pounding the asphalt to reach the door. She prayed that it would open and let her inside. And she hoped the man wouldn’t follow. But that was wishful thinking.

As she ran, she listened for footsteps following her. Instead, she heard silence; it was her favorite sound. She longed to be back in the peaceful quiet of the warehouse, retreating to her favorite hiding place, closing her eyes, and feeling like a little kid again. With the thought of her youth came welcomed thoughts of Nathan, young and caring. Jac knew what she had lost, and she knew she was the reason Nathan was gone. It was her idea to go to the bar. She had handed him the keys. Did she need to escape so badly that she was willing to jeopardize her brother’s sobriety, too?

Soon, she was back at the door. She turned the handle and pulled. It opened. She pushed the thought that it should not have been this easy from her mind. She was about to be home. About to feel like herself again. She hoped so at least. 

Inside, the warm exit-sign brilliance shone throughout the space. The high ceilings and the industrial feel of the place relaxed her shoulders and slowed her breathing. She resumed a quiet scurry deeper into the labyrinth, the pallets offering shadows to keep her hidden. She immediately felt the familiar serenity of the warehouse. Still making sure to stay quiet, Jac reached a row far enough into the space that she felt safe from the door to the outside. She began to climb, a smile beginning at the edges of her lips. In that moment, she felt like everything would be okay. She was almost to safety. When she was a couple feet off of the ground, she felt a tug on her right leg, bringing her crashing to the ground. The scream escaped her lips before she could stop herself. It echoed throughout the entire warehouse. In that moment, she was back in the car—glass shattered, blood running. Jac looked over to see her brother slumped over the wheel, smoke billowing from all around the car. She saw the artificial light of the hospital ceiling blinding her as she was wheeled to surgery. She remembered looking all around for her brother, but he wasn’t there. She closed her eyes to dissolve the memory. 

When Jac’s eyes opened again, the man was there, standing over her, cloaked in blackness. She couldn’t see his face in the darkness, but she knew he must be smiling, having finally caught up to his prey. Her heart beat so loudly, but she was no longer afraid that it would give her away—she had already been found. 

She tried to kick at the man and fight for her freedom, but her legs wouldn’t move. She decided to try her voice next. Nothing. She tried to scream, like the one that had escaped moments earlier, but no sound came out. The usual comfort the silence gave her was gone in this instance. She tried her arms next, but it was as if they were strapped to her sides. Her fear had paralyzed her. The worst part was that this was happening in her favorite place on earth. With nothing else to try, her body having betrayed her, she surrendered to her fate. The man leaned closer and closer until he was right above her. His eyes gleamed red in the faint glow of the exit sign to their left, and his mouth opened in a wide and sinister smile. She smelled the liquor on his breath. She closed her eyes. 

She woke up screaming. The alarm clock next to her bed glowed red. It was 3:34 a.m. She laid there, afraid to close her eyes, staring up at the ceiling, waiting for her heart to slow. She twisted the scratchy, plastic bracelet around her wrist, wishing she could call Nathan, wishing she could find peace, wishing she could escape into the darkness.

I learned to S.I.N.G. from Miss Congeniality. It escaped my mind, though, when I needed it most. Why couldn’t I have just remembered Solar plexus, In step, Nose and Groin? Where would I be now if I had followed Gracie Lou Freebush’s self-defense advice? Instead, I am balled up on the crusty, blood-stained carpet, thinking about my favorite movie and everything I should have done. Regret. Fear. Shame. With no concept of time, it feels like I have been gone for years. Maybe it has been. How would I know? 

My run that night was brisk and enjoyable. I thought I had started with plenty of time before sundown. Rookie mistake. Instead, as I was nearing the halfway point, about 1.5 miles from my house, dusk was coming on the horizon. This realization hit me as I saw the red van come around the bend… again. Unease creeped into my stomach. My empty hand longed for the comfort of the pepper spray I decided to leave behind that day. Mistake number two. As a young woman, I knew that I should have brought some protection. I thought I was close enough to home. That the light would stay longer. When the van disappeared behind a house a street over, I took a sharp left, a shortcut, and ran like hell. Sprinting as fast as I could, my breath quickened but I didn’t dare slow down. 

Thinking I had outsmarted the van, I continued my fast pace, but I relaxed a little. It’s not like I was in the middle of nowhere; I was in the thick of a suburban neighborhood, usually full of middle-aged men mowing their lawns, children playing hopscotch, grannies sitting out on their front porches. That night, however, it was quieter. I don’t know if it was just the impending darkness, but I didn’t feel like I had people on my side, people who would see if I disappeared–

The creak of the door pulls me from my memory. I don’t look up, though. I know who it is. Footsteps come closer, the cold metal of the gun grazes my neck. Just pull the trigger, coward. My mind is fiercer than my body, and I allow the nudge to put me in an upright position. When I look up, however, it isn’t a gun at all. It is a cup. Of water. I don’t think of potential poisoning when I take a sip. I just need hydration. My captor smiles his grimy, cavity-ridden smile. With the refreshment, my brain starts to register my surroundings. He left the door open. Rookie mistake. While he is most likely armed, I can see no visible signs of a weapon. Mistake number two. I compose myself, trying to keep my hope from alerting my keeper. 

One gulp of water. Two. Three. I have just enough to spit on him. The DNA-infested water spills over his face and shirt. Before he has time to register, I am on my feet. I sprint for the open door. 

I sprinted for the refuge of home, not looking back. Feeling the car coming to me, slowing, I got away from the road and started towards a house. The lights were off, but I still hoped someone was home. Mistake number three.

I slam the door in his face and look at my next obstacle. It is a cluttered, dark house. No, not a house. A trailer. I quickly assess my escape: a door to my right. The door opens with ease–no lock. Mistake number three. Once outside, I don’t have many options. No neighbors. Not much light; the moon only slightly offering a path. Without much time, I pick a direction and go with it. North. Toward the star. 

The car stopped as I banged on the door. I didn’t want to look behind me, to accept my fate. With no one coming to my rescue, I tried running again, but I felt the sting of something hit me in the back. I stumbled, fell, and woke up alone in a puddle of my own blood. 

I hear the door open behind me. I have covered some ground, but he is fast. I don’t dare slow down, mentally preparing myself for a fight. As I hear his breathing coming closer, I abruptly stop, upsetting his momentum. I elbow him in the solar plexus. Wasting no time, I take a step in on his foot, getting him off balance. I shove all of the strength I can muster up his nose with my bony elbow. Blood gushes as I redirect my arm to hit him in his groin. Covered in blood and writhing in pain, he crumples to the ground. Not wasting a second, I sprint, my breath quickening considerably. 

I run like hell and say a silent thank you to Gracie Lou Freebush.

“Mama, I’m scared,” the child whispered, tears glistening in his eyes.

“I know honey, but it is okay. Everything is going to be okay,” his mother softly spoke in his ear. She didn’t know how this had happened and couldn’t fully process the danger they were in. All she knew was that she had to remain calm and strong for her son. She prayed silently for that strength and remained focused on staying hidden. Her heart beat on.

In the darkness, the mother could only slightly make out the man pacing in the front of the lobby of the building. She and her son were crouched underneath a desk towards the back of the lobby and in a small cubicle. Today was the day that her son needed to be picked up early from preschool because he was having a hard time; he was not playing nicely with the other kids. He had told her he didn’t want to go to preschool every morning, that the other kids were mean, but she had no choice because of work. She had to bring him with her to work today because she didn’t get off until 4:00 pm. It was 3:38 pm.

Before this moment, the man walking around the building had ultimately been a quiet and seemingly nice individual. He always turned his work in by the deadline and minded his own business. His behavior today came as a complete shock to the mother. She tried to identify any warning signs in her mind, but she came up empty. She thought to herself, How could he be capable of such a horrible thing? What has compelled him to do this? She couldn’t dwell on why this was happening. All she could focus on was how to make it out still breathing. She always thought her work would be the death of her but not in such a literal sense.

As her mind was running in circles, trying to come up with a viable plan to save her son, most importantly, and if possible, herself, she was struck with the intense sound of a gunshot. Immediately she covered her son’s ears. He was shaking. She put her arms around his tiny body and held tight, not allowing anything to take her focus from him. She buried her head in his neck, unable to look up to see where the man was now. In her mental count, that was the fifth shot fired. Another victim. She hadn’t heard a scream this time, though. Maybe that was a good sign. Ever so slightly quicker, her heart beat on.

Still not able to look up, the mother heard footsteps approaching. Her fear threatened to overwork her heart and make her breathing shallow. She suppressed it to stay as calm as she could for her son. She could still feel his body trembling beneath her. She wished there was something she could do, but she was at a loss. She couldn’t let anything happen to her son. Her mind couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if she didn’t make it. Her husband had left a few years earlier, and her parents were living in a different state. The only “family” they had in town were the kind neighbors in their apartment building. Where would he go? she thought. How would he live? The mother hadn’t drafted a will yet. She was still in her late twenties. She didn’t think that would be something she would have to worry about at this age. She silently prayed that he would be okay.

The footsteps were getting louder and louder until they stopped, seemingly close to her and her son, but she could not check. She couldn’t dare risk it. Then she heard it. The man called her name. Please, God. This cannot be happening. Please. She didn’t dare move a muscle. Her heartbeat sped up to a continual, loud thumping, and she was afraid it would jeopardize her cover. It seemed like several minutes went by, but it was probably only seconds, when she felt the cold metal of the gun’s barrel touch the exposed skin on her arm. Her breath caught in her throat and her entire body tensed. Please, God, no. I can’t die today. Please. Her heart, now palpitating uncontrollably fast, beat on.

The man got close to her ear and snarled, “Get up. Now!” With her mind still trying to comprehend his motive, she shakily unwrapped her arms from her child.

She whispered to him, “Stay where you are. I love you so much.” Fearing those were her last words, she slowly faced her perpetrator.

His face had a menacing glow in the dark cubicle. The mother did not know what to say, so she remained silent. The man looked her up and down. His eyes were glowing intensely. He seemed to be enjoying what he was doing. It was like he had no concern for human life. That realization did nothing to appease the mother’s fear. Still, her heart beat on.

Finally the man spoke, “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

“I don’t know why you are doing this.” It was a simple statement and the utter truth. The mother still did not understand why the man was being so cruel. What had possessed him to act in such a horrible way?

“Are you seriously telling me you don’t know?” The man paused, waiting for a response, but all he received was a blank stare from the mother. “This company has been out to get me from the moment I started. It is like I never existed. No one speaks to me, and I have not gotten a raise in the fifteen years I have been here. You are the only one who has ever even smiled at me. This,” he said, gesturing to the darkened office littered with fearful employees and the ones that had already lost their lives, “is the only way for them to notice me.”

In the distance, the sound of sirens echoed across the quiet building. When the man heard it, he lifted the gun to the mother. Her eyes flashed with the understanding of what was about to happen. Her mouth opened with the intention to speak her apology. She wanted to tell the man that he was valued on this earth, that he was not invisible. She wanted to say she understood his feeling of not being appreciated and that she could help him get back on his feet if he would just put the gun down. She really wanted to say she was sorry. No sound was able to escape her lips as the man sent a straight shot right to her chest. The mother fell back to the ground. Her heart stopped.

The child, rocking softly, heard the shot ring out. He was too scared to move. He was too scared to see if his mother was okay. He was too scared to be there for her. That was his biggest regret. The child began crying softly. The man walked towards him, knowing that he was upset. I don’t want this child to feel the pain I have felt. I need to put him out of his misery, the man thought. It was with this logic that the man aimed the gun at the child and pulled the trigger. Another heart stopped beating.

The headlines flashed across TV screens and computer screens and phone screens. Eight are dead, including a young mother and her child. A man has opened fire in his workplace. More facts will be offered as soon as they become available.

The man has been found. He was taken into custody. A name is not known at this time. The victims’ families are grieving. The country offers its support.

Michael David Lutton has been identified as the shooter. He was using a gun that was licensed to him. He is mentally ill. There is talk of new regulations on guns. Controversy over gun control has consumed the country. The families of the victims are grieving. The community has created shrines with flowers and stuffed animals to those who were murdered.

Michael David Lutton has been found guilty. He is facing the death penalty. Controversy over the death penalty has consumed the country. Does Lutton deserve it? The families of the victims are just now starting to move on.

Lutton has just lost his life.

Another heart stopped beating.

The case is closed. The country has moved on.

The man received the attention he wanted. His name was plastered on media all over the country. His actions garnered him notoriety.

Flowers at the shrines wilted. Life went on.