Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Don’t stop.
Branches and bushes struck my face, whipping my skin.
My throat felt like it was coated in lava and my feet hit the ground flatly.
Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Don’t stop.
It was dark. I didn’t know where I was or where I was going.
I was scared, but I didn’t know why. I felt that blankly in the middle of my heart.
Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Don’t stop.
The ground was unlevel, uneven.
I stumbled over my own feet and fell.
I was falling, tumbling down a steep hill. My body banged into obstacles, scraping and crunching.
My side burst as I crashed. I let out a scream.
I was still rolling.
My head bashed into something hard and immovable.
I tried to stop. I tried to catch something. My hands slipped, failing to grab hold again and again.
I tried to right myself, but I kept falling. Spinning and somersaulting.
And then I was flat. I stopped. I was still.
My face was down. I could feel dirt in my nostrils and teeth.
How long did I fall? When did I land?
Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Don’t stop.
I tried to move. Couldn’t.
Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Don’t stop.
My body ached. Everything hurt. So much pain. Just pain everywhere.
Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Don’t stop.
I had to get to my feet. I needed to move. I had to keep going.
But I was down and unmoving.
Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Don’t stop.
I felt dizzy and dark. My eyes lulled in their sockets.
Things were blurry now. Flashes.
I felt myself being rolled over. Hands pushing me until my face was pointed toward the sky.
My eyes flickered. I saw two shadows hovering.
Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Don’t stop.
I tried to speak, tried to resist. Couldn’t.
I was being lifted. Carried.
Screams erupted from my throat. The pain spiderwebbed through my whole body as I was moved.
There was a blanket over me. It smelled of campfire and mildew.
Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Don’t stop.
I was in a room. A strange room.
There was a man. He was close. He leaned over me.
He had a beard, dark and full. I screamed when he touched me.
I tried to get up.
Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Don’t stop.
“Be still.”
His voice was quiet, deep, direct.
Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Don’t stop.
Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Don’t stop.
With a gasp, my eyes opened wide. The deep breath sent dull pains through my torso. My hands groped my body, feeling for the source of the ache. My fingers edged over gauze taped to my stomach. I lifted my hands to my line of sight, noting the cuts and scrapes cross-hatching my forearms. Purplish bruises blotched and stained my skin.
I tried to sit up. Big mistake. More pain shot through my body, both up my chest and down my hips, stemming from the wound on my stomach.
“Go slow,” a voice said. I looked to my left. He was standing at a table. Bloodied gauze and medical tools cluttered the surface. It was the same man I saw in my memories. The beard was the giveaway. “You’ll pop your stitches."
“Who are you?” I whispered. My throat was dry. My words felt like dust coming out of my mouth. I coughed as the man moved toward me. He twisted the cap off a bottle of water. He tried to hand it to me, but I stared up at him. “Who are you?” I asked again. “Where am I? How long have I been here?”
“Drink,” the man said, nudging the bottle closer to me.
My mind was aflutter with the last few memories I had. The running and fear. I had run away from something. Something that was dangerous, I think. My mind was a haze, a thick cloud of fog that I tried to shake. I rattled my head from side to side, but the stubborn fog hung tight in the vacancy of my memory.
I combed the man’s face with my eyes, hoping for familiarity. There was none to be found.
The one vaporous memory I had was fueled by fear and desperation. Looking at this man, I didn’t feel any of that from him.
My hand was shaking slightly as I reached for the bottle. I lifted my head just enough and sipped. The water hit my tongue and travelled down my throat. I couldn’t stop. It was so good. Refreshing and fulfilling.
“Whoa, take it easy,” the man said, reaching for the bottle. “Go slow.”
“Why aren’t you answering my questions?”
The man twisted the cap back on the bottle and turned, setting the bottle on the table behind him. He reached to pull back the blanket covering me. I stopped him. I grabbed the blanket and pulled it up higher cautiously.
“It’s okay,” he said. He lifted his hands up in a gesture of goodwill. “I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to check.”
“Answer my questions,” I demanded.
With a sigh, the man put his hands down. “I’m East. I found you two days ago. You’re in my home. You’re safe.”
Satisfied, I slowly relinquished my hold on the blanket. East pulled the blanket back revealing my torso. I was in a camo-green oversized t-shirt. East’s hands moved to the hem of the shirt, which was laying delicately just above my knees.
In a panic, I grabbed East’s wrist, stopping him again. “Wait,” I mumbled. “I don’t, uh, am I, I can’t remember. I don’t know if I’m,” I stammered.
“It’s okay. You’re clothed,” East said, finishing my thought for me. I could feel the pulse in his wrist hammering against my fingertip steadily.
When I dropped my hold, he pulled up the shirt. I was wearing a pair of loose, baggy shorts. My stomach was discolored with a grotesque bruise that covered nearly all of my abdomen, aside from a white pad of gauze. The gauze had a stain of bright red blood in the exact center.
East peeled back a corner of the gauze and peeked underneath. Stoically pleased, he gently pressed the tape back down in place, re-covered my body with the shirt, and then pulled the blanket back up to my chest.
“Do we know each other?” I asked as East turned back to the table.
With those words, East shot a look at me. “You don’t know?”
My head pounded in that moment. I grumbled under my breath, squeezing my eyes shut. I tried to think back. I tried to remember. All I could see was the running, the dark.
“I don’t,” I whispered. A cold panic prickled across my skin.
East sighed again. “You should rest.”
Without another word, he moved to the door and walked out of the room. In the hush of the room around me, I heard a lock click from the other side of the door.
I started to cry. With each sob, my stomach exploded in pain. I cried harder until the pain overcame me until I fell asleep.
In my dream, I was running again. I was full of fear again. I was running and falling all over again.
When I awoke, the door to the room was open and East was walking in with a small bowl. Its contents were unknown from my perspective, but steam billowed over the top. I looked beyond East and into the hallway. I could see nothing more than the wall right across from the threshold.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“Did you lock me in?” I mumbled groggily.
East set the bowl down on the table, which was now decluttered. From this angle, I could see it was a light soup, maybe even just a broth. At this distance, I could smell it was chicken flavored. East took one step toward me and put his hand on my forehead.
“Are you feeling okay?” His hand was warm.
“Did you hear me? I asked if you locked me in this room.”
East grimaced. “You don’t need to worry about that.”
“Why not? Am I a prisoner? Are you keeping me here?”
East shushed me as he slid the table to the bedside. “Try this. Maybe it will help.”
“Please, stop ignoring me.” My voice was shrill.
“Go slow,” he said. “One thing at a time. Right now, you eat.”
My fists clenched in frustration. My head pounded even more. “No, I want to know what’s going on. I want to know why you locked the door.”
East looked at me blankly. “Things will come to you over time.” He set a plastic spoon down on the table next to the bowl.
I opened my mouth to say something, but nothing came out. There were dozens of unanswered questions rattling around in my forethoughts that I couldn’t make any sense of. I couldn’t discern which one was most important, which one should be asked first.
“Go slow,” East said again. “Everything is going to be okay.”
And for the first time since I woke up here, I was afraid of East. He wasn’t threatening. He wasn’t intimidating. He was, however, cryptic and calculating. His vague and deceptive answers chilled me.
East moved to the other side of the room and fetched a wooden chair from the corner, walking it around and setting it next to the table. He picked up the bowl again and cupped it in his large hand.
“It’s just broth,” he advised before dunking the spoon in. With a steady hand, East aimed the full spoon at my mouth.
The broth wasn’t nearly as flavorful as the aroma had made it out to be. Watered down and a tad bitter at the end. But it warmed me all the way down. The first gulp hit my stomach with a great thud. I was suddenly very aware of my hunger. It was loud and yearning.
East helped me with a few more spoonsful of broth before setting the bowl down on the table. “Going down okay?”
I nodded.
East nodded in return. He went on feeding me. We didn’t speak, but I was so fixated on the broth that I didn’t mind.
When the spoon scraped the bottom of the bowl, I thanked East.
“We’ll try something more substantial in awhile.” He stood and turned to the door, bowl and spoon in hand.
“Can you at least answer one question for me?” I asked while his hand was on the knob. East stopped and turned. There was no impatience, no expectancy. He was blank. “What’s my name.”
He looked at me for a long moment before saying, “I wish I knew.” His expression became apologetic before turning and stepping out the door. The lock rang dully from the other side and echoed in my ears.
I didn’t understand the purpose of the lock. Why would he need to lock me in when I couldn’t even sit up?
Was he what I was running from in the first place?
My head, my whole head throbbed in one forceful lurch, blinding me for a second. I winced and grimaced, clutching my forehead with the heels of my hands.
Take a deep breath. One step at a time. Everything is going to be okay.
I inhaled as deeply as my injuries would allow, holding it at the top, and pushing it through my parted lips. A therapeutic calm washed over me.
The pain in my head subsided slowly.
While I knew little about my situation or myself, I assessed what I did know.
The amount of information I didn’t know was paralyzing. But from what I did know, I was satisfied that I wasn’t in any immediate danger, but certainly needed to keep my wits about me and do as much intel as I possibly could.
From my angle, I could see the trunk of a tree and low hanging branches adorned with large green leaves. That told me it was spring, possibly summer.
That was it. No personal affects, no indication of where I was or when it was.
Closing my eyes, I let my body sink into the stiff and cumbersome cot. I racked my brain, digging as deeply as I could, searching for any glimpses I could muster. But all I kept seeing was the darkened woods veiled in that persistent haze that seemed to be taking up residence in the vacancy of my memory. There wasn’t anything else.