For six months, I ran as hard, as fast, and as far as I could, but in a matter of
minutes I was right back where I started, trapped in a never-ending nightmare. It
was enough to make me wonder which fickle fate decided to dump everything on me at once. If I ever got my hands on her, I’d happily beat her to a pulp.
Damn, damn, and triple damn!
The past surged and broke through my flimsy barriers. Ghostly screams and
the stench of burned flesh rose on a choking wave of horror. I dug my fingers deep into my thigh muscles in a desperate attempt to stave it off. It didn’t work.
Greedy memories sucked me under.
My kitchen disappeared, replaced by a fetid alley behind a dive in Wherethe-fuckistan. Sprawled on the ground, my head spun with dizzying sickness and
my leg screamed with agony, yet all I could do was watch and listen. Watch the
spreading pool of blood and brains seep from Ortega, his sightless eyes staring
past me. Listen to the snap and crackle of a raging fire hissing through the night,
while the foul smell of burnt flesh wrapped around me. Behind me, someone screamed, his wail high-pitched and full of hopeless agony.
I knew that broken voice.
Even as excruciating pain beat inside my skull, I turned my head. A figure took shape in the midst of the hellish scene and recognition hit. Searing loss, rage, and fear clawed for a way out. My mouth opened and the stench coiled down my throat, blocking the air in my chest. No, no, no!
Hands cradled my face, the touch shocking enough to snap through my
paralysis, and bring the present into the past. Desperate to escape, I struck out,
my hand connecting with flesh. “Don’t touch me!”
Pain radiated down my leg and in my head. Harsh breathing filled the air. It
took a few seconds to realize the sound was coming from me, and even a few more before the low soothing voice penetrated the layers of the past.
“Come on back, Cyn. You’re safe.”
I concentrated on the voice, drawing in sharp drafts of air until I relearned to
breathe. The strangely hypnotic voice thinned the nightmare, allowing the
present seep in. My kitchen re-formed. The press of wooden cabinets against my
spine, the cool tile under my ass, the sound of Kayden’s soft reassurances that I
was safe. I wanted to laugh. I hadn’t been safe in a very long time.
Feeling shaky and aching in unseen parts, I drew my knees up and wrapped
my arms around them. I dropped my forehead to my knees, holding tight to the comfort of Kayden’s voice, but refusing the shelter of his touch. When I could stop imitating a fish on land, I managed one word. “Sorry.”
Kayden was silent for a moment, then, “No apology needed.”
I wish I felt the same. I kept my eyes closed and my head down as shame and
humiliation flooded me. Logically, I knew there was no reason for it, but logic
didn’t exist in my nightmares. Tag’s comment about Flash had flipped a trigger I
thought was disabled.
Apparently not.
The air next to me shifted as Kayden settled at my side. “We need to talk about it.”
His statement earned a bitter, choked laugh from me. “No, we really don’t.”
“Time to come back in, Cyn.” His voice was unusually gentle. “You can’t
hide anymore.”
Opening my eyes, I turned my head, and kept my cheek on my knees.
“Why?” Bitterness left a sour taste behind, but it didn’t stop my sarcastic, “Do
you need another sacrificial goat?”
