"Maybe." The rage was starting to fade from Dallas's ears. He recognized Liam's voice, and realized his friend used the override code to enter. "But do you think she'll forgive you if you kill him, especially if you kill him without letting her talk to him first?"
Liam's strong hands still held him firm, but Dallas whipped sideways, freeing himself, his fear that Jane was already dead driving him.
"The bastard deserves every ounce of pain I can give him. He deserves to starve. To rot. For what he did? He deserves to endure the worst we can give him." He met Liam's eyes. "How can you not understand that?"
He saw the pain and regret flash across his friend's face before he steeled himself again, then slowly shook his head. "I do," he said flatly. "Dammit, Dallas, you know what I lost. But you haven't lost Jane--not yet. She's alive," he continued, before Dallas could interrupt. "Did you hear me? Jane's alive."
The words sliced his legs out from under him, and Dallas crumpled, his knees no longer able to hold him up. "What?" he asked stupidly. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying we've found her. Dallas, we've found Jane."
There is light, then pain. I'm confused--uncertain of where I am. Of who I am.
But then the world comes into focus, and I realize that this place feels safe. Good. I'd been fighting this awakening, this consciousness, because I feared what I would find when I opened my eyes. Dark, damp walls. A moldy mattress. A plastic bucket to use as a toilet. Stale crusts of bread to wash down with warm, brown water.
Instead, this room is welcoming. Simple, but filled with light. I am warm, not cold. And the woman beside me with tears in her eyes smiles at me with such love and tenderness that my fear and confusion fade; I have no room inside me for any emotion but joy.
This, I think. This is what it feels like to be born.
Dread replaced by wonder. Darkness swept away by light. And someone who loves you waiting at the end.
"Mommy?" The word feels like heaven against my dry, cracked lips.
"Jane! Oh, my sweet baby girl!" She clasps my hand and holds it tight. "Thank goodness you're awake!"
"What happened?" Only now do I look around, searching the rest of the room, panic rising once again as I glance toward the windows to my left, then back to my mother who stands on the other side of my bed, the closed door behind her. "Where's Dallas?"
It's hard to speak past the hard knot of fear that clogs my throat, but I have to hear that he is safe. Intellectually, I know that it's been seventeen years since we were locked in that filthy room. Seventeen years since we were cold and hungry, our passion our only reprieve from the horror. I know that--and at the same time,
our kidnapping still feels fresh. Hard and cold and terrifying.
"He's right outside with Daddy." My mother's voice is calm. As soothing as her warm hands folded over mine. "They're talking to the doctors. They didn't expect you to wake up so soon. You have quite a few sedatives swimming in your blood."
That explains the muddle in my head, and I smile wryly at my mother. "It's like iocane powder," I say, referencing The Princess Bride, one of my favorite movies. "I've built up an immunity to every sedative imaginable."
I'm being flip, but maybe it's true. Over the years, I've taken a rainbow of pills to help me deal with the aftermath of the kidnapping. I haven't relied on them lately, though. I have Dallas now, the man who fills my heart and makes me whole. Who is so vital it seems at times as if we are two halves of the same person.
I look at the door with longing; I want to see him so badly it's like a physical ache. And yet at the same time I feel tense. Uncertain. And I don't understand why.
Frowning, I adjust the bed so that I'm sitting upright, hoping that will clear my fuzzy head. I try to think back. I remember waiting for him in the apartment, feeling safe even though I knew that feeling wouldn't last. And I remember that we'd argued. But about what, I don't know.
I frown, looking up at my mother as I try to pull it all back.
"Jane? Sweetheart."
"I can't remember. I know something happened--when? yesterday?--but I can't remember."
"You were attacked. Oh, baby, you were left unconscious on the street."
Her voice cracks, and her eyes leave my face, and I know my mother well enough to realize that if she continues to look at me, she's going to cry. I gently pull my hand free and hug myself. Because what she says feels true. I close my eyes, trying to remember.
I was outside, walking fast. I was upset, I'm sure of that, but I don't remember why.
I felt alone--so alone.
And then, suddenly, I wasn't alone anymore.
Someone was following me.