You had heard a psychologist talk about it on TV once. It was one of those crime documentaries, one of those interesting, amazing survival stories. Girls kidnapped for months suddenly escape. Attempted murder victim survives horrors. Human trafficked teenager fights back. Those type of stories, the type that made the audience shiver in a strange mixture of shock and intrigue. It was called dissociation, or something like that, you couldn't quite remember the exact term.
Basically, it was a coping mechanism people in extreme stress would use. Often used by torture and rape victims. It's pretty straight-forward, the victim would pretend they were a spectator watching all the horrors happen to them. They would disassociate themselves from the actual events. Kind of like those third-person dreams where you're watching everything happen, but aren't actually present.
You understood it a bit better now, considering the past half hour was spent with you consciously on the sidelines, watching as a terrible man did terrible things. Jeff had cut the poor girl open, had taunted her, broken bones, laughed the entire time, took photos and videos he promised to send her loved ones, hell, he promised to make similar videos of said loved ones. There were other things too, worst things that your brain was simply tuned out, as if it was trying to forget, as if forgetting would make all the trauma disappear.
You would probably need intensive therapy for the rest of your life.
Good thing your life was about to end any second now.
The moment the terrible man got up, admired his handywork, and began to leave, was the moment the disassociation stopped and you realized you were the girl. That moment you felt it all, only for a brief second, before you felt nothing.
It was hot in the hallway, hard to breathe too, smoke flowed about the corridors, thickening the atmosphere. What exactly would kill you? What would the autopsy rule as cause of death? There was so much to choose from. Internal bleeding, external bleeding, asphyxiation, blunt force trauma, burning. You hoped it wasn't burning. You didn't want to lay there, half conscious, and have to feel your skin, flesh, and bitter soul burn away.
If there was a God, which you were beginning to doubt at this point, hopefully he would be merciful enough to just choke you out with the smoke and end it all.
Unfortunately God wasn't that kind.
The fire, which was melting away most of the building, began to lick at your feet. The heat that was bothersome was now unbearable. You were going to burn. Some sliver of self-preservation made you reach out and dig your fingernails into the wooden floors, dragging your broken, battered body further from the flame.
It was slightly more bearable, but then the flames caught up again.
Kicking off your shoe, which had quickly caught on fire, your reached out with both hands and dragged yourself further away. It hurt, not terribly so, most of it was all a distant aching at this point. But the floors were hot, everything was hot, and your shattered, sensitive hands felt as if they were clawing at hot glass.
Still, the fire was worse, so you decided it was worth it and dragged yourself further again.
Why wouldn't you just die already? It hurt to wait for it. Can't it all be over already? Can't you just bleed out already? Desperately, you craned your aching neck up towards the ceiling, taking in deep breaths of smoke. Your throat sizzled, the smoke travelling straight into your lungs. After three, violent, bloody coughs, you couldn't find the strength to do it again.
Giving up, you decided to let the fire consume you. It would be agony, sure, but hey, hopefully you'd be dead quickly. Thirty seconds at most, it couldn't possibly take longer than that to burn to death right?
Your head slumped forward, eyes closed for a brief second.
What happened to Toby? Was he still knocked out in there? Was he going to burn away as well? Maybe he'd suddenly wake up, rush in, save you. You didn't want him too though. You were tired. This was enough. You didn't want any more of that life. A nice peaceful, eternal rest would be pretty great right about now. The hard bit was just getting there.
You bit down on your outstretched arm, something you had done more than you cared to admit tonight, and tried to tolerate the burning sensation. It was almost tolerable at first, but then the fire burned through the remains of your pants. It was too much then, and you found yourself squirming and rolling to try and put it out.
You dragged yourself further away from the flame.
Dying was going to take forever.
Just then, the wooden floor underneath you cracked, craned and snapped. The flooring gave way, the pillars that were holding it up had all but burned away. You braced yourself for impact, but hey, maybe this would finally kill you. The building practically did a mini landslide, walls bursting open and crashing, spilling into the parking lot.
Your body, still hot and steaming, landed abruptly on the concrete. You'd have cried out if your lungs worked, but they didn't, and so you rolled about pitifully on the cement. The cement suddenly softened, slightly prickly but a different texture altogether. Grass. Cool grass that sizzled quietly from the embers on your body.
With little strength, you craned your neck up one last time, dull eyes making out the fiery, explosive scene before you. Half the hotel had come apart, the still standing bit burned furiously. A firetruck was just pulling up, blaring loudly. Crowds of people could be seen at the front of the building, on the other side of the road, far enough from the wreckage to be safe.
You didn't dare get their attention, no, instead you laid your head down on the grass, thanked the powers at work for sparing you from a fiery death, and closed your eyes, taking comfort in the drowsiness that came from the blood loss.
Dead, at last.
"Alright, spill!"
You glanced at the newspaper Darren was holding, giving him a thoughtful hum before leaning over, and dipping the coffee mug over his cup. Hot, steamy expresso reached the brim, freshly brewed, and pleasantly strong.
"C'mon, don't tell me this isn't you," he was adamant as he placed the newspaper down on the table, and grinded his finger into the headline.
"What do you want Darren?" you grumbled, hand on your hip, disapproving glare set over your face.
"An explanation," he declared. "Why's a girl that died four months ago serving me coffee?"
You shrugged, turning around, straightening out your skirt before eyeing the next customer at Berlin's Diner.
"Look..." Darren put an imposing, but not aggressive hand gently on your arm. "I won't tell anyone, I just really wanna know, please... this is like, the coolest thing that's ever happened to me."
You looked at him, clearly unamused.
"I won't ever bother you for anything again," he vowed.
"You better tip generously," you sighed before taking off your apron, folding it neatly over the table, and sliding into the seat opposite of him. Luckily the diner wasn't too busy on Tuesday afternoons, the boss wouldn't mind a short break.
"Yes, you caught me, I was that girl," you admitted. "The one in the famous Woods case." For some reason the whole event was named after and credited to Jefferey Woods. Other figures like Toby, Jack, Tim, were all mentioned, but for some reason the press had decided it was Jeff pulling all the strings. Probably because Jeff was the most famous name among the public, it would catch more eyes, sell more papers.
"Everyone knows about that case," Darren looked starstruck, as if he was meeting a famous celebrity, not a horror survivor. "Uni chick disappears, later rescued by police, famous killers murdered her roommate and kidnapped her. She was caught again and murdered by Woods. Hell, they found her body."
"They found a body."
"No, no," Darren assured you. "They found her body. I was following that story when it came out a few months ago. It definitely was her body. Police confirmed it and everything."
"It wasn't my body," you explained. "Many people died in the fire. They found a woman's body that was close to my height and build, she was so badly damaged, there wasn't much left of her. The police stamped my name on the body just to close the case." Only useful thing the police ever did for you.
"How'd you survive...?" Darren seemed to buy it, after all you were identical to the newspaper photos.
"Miracle," you murmured. It was true, it was just dumb luck, it was honestly a miracle. It made sense though. You fought so long, and so hard, just to survive. And at the very end, it seemed you were rewarded for all your efforts. That for once something else saved you, as if you had finally passed the test. "I was found by some oblivious couple that didn't know a thing about the murderers or kidnappings. They were tourists. I told them I was in an accident, that's what they told the hospital. Just a lot of lucky, convenient events, as if God was on my side for once."
He looked down at the newspaper again, scrutinizing the photo to make sure it truly was you in there. "Do your parents know?"
"My loved ones know," you nodded. "They also know to keep it a secret. The first few nights, I thought they would come after me again. I was scared to sleep, because he would see me in my dreams, he would find me through them. But nothing happened, no one came. They don't know, and as long as that's the case, I'm safe."
"So you're hiding now? Fake name and everything?"
"It's not that bad," you managed a small smile. "Moved here for a fresh start, family sending a little funding, the jobs nice, and I'm taking online courses."
"So it's all behind you, you're just... a normal girl? How does that even happen? How do you recover from something like that?"
"Darren... I really have to get back to work."
He tapped his fingers along the newspaper, but out of some strange sympathetic respect only nodded.
"I won't tell anyone, I promise." He assured you, reaching into his pocket and dropping a hefty tip by his unfinished coffee. "See you tomorrow."
You locked the door behind yourself as you entered your small little apartment, a bag of scones under your arm. They were a little stale, but the boss let you take them home for free, and who could argue with that. You bit into one as you tossed your keys onto the drawer, walking over into the small living room and dropping on the couch.
Four months, it hadn't been long, but you were finally beginning to function like a normal human being. The nights were still the hardest part, and sometimes you would stay awake out of fear. That was until you bought the cat last week. It had warmed up to you only recently, but it's presence seemed to make sleeping all the much easier.
"Here, girl," you made a rubbing hand gesture, which for some bizarre reason always attracted it. She didn't have a name yet, but for now 'girl' seemed to suffice. In a few quick scampers it was at your feet, and you lifted it into your lap. White fur speckled with orange and brown patches, short and soft under your hands. Hands that had healed, an entire body that had healed. You didn't even notice the missing finger anymore.
It was all beginning to fade, kind of like a bad dream. On the rare occasions you thought about those events, you would be happy to realize you simply couldn't remember. As if your mind had succeeded in forgetting it all, or at the very least, blocking it all. Another coping mechanism you supposed.
You lifted the cat to your face, breathing it in and just appreciating the all-around softness. You felt safe. Lifting the little thing up, you headed off into the bedroom, shedding your work clothes for a rather modest nightie.
Waking up in the middle of the night was a rather common occurrence. You glanced at the clock, 4a.m., then you glanced at the cat, she was still awake. It seemed she would always be awake before you, as if some instinct told here you were about to wake up. Sliding out of the bed, you left her there, wrapping your arms around yourself and heading off towards the kitchen. You kept sleeping pills there, it was common for you to wake up several times in a night, but it had gotten better since the cat.
Still, no harm in a little knock-out-drug.
It was cold, then again it was always cold this time of night. You rubbed furiously at your bare arms, trying to work up some body heat. You walked into the small, isolated kitchen, flicking the lights on.
"Trouble sleeping?"
You stood there for a long while, simply staring, trying to understand how you felt. Were you afraid? Panicked? Relieved? Nervous? Anxious? Happy?
When you couldn't put your finger on it a minute later, you decided to give up.
"How did you find me?" you asked quietly, barely a whisper.
"Hu-hunting people is what I do for a li-li-liv-living," he mused thoughtfully, his eyes trained on a pill bottle between his hands. He looked good, better than you did at the very least. You were still recovering from severe weight loss and injuries. And here he was, a perfect picture of health. He wore a camo jacket, it was slightly dirty and worn, but there were no bloodstains to say the least. He wore the same hiking boots as before, but his belt was nowhere to be found. To your amusement, his hair was styled a little differently, slicked up in a more modern fashion. As if he put some effort to this visit.
This unwanted visit.
"You were hunting a dead girl?" you asked, not buying his reasoning as you continued to stand in your kitchen doorway, suddenly forgetting the cold.
"Well..." he toyed with the pill bottle some more, you recognized them as your sleeping pills. "I w-wa-was hu-hunting someone else," he admitted. "Was staking out his r-rou-routine when I s-saw you."
"That's really convenient," you muttered, clearly unhappy. Hadn't you suffered enough already? And you were getting so close too, so close to starting your life again, so close to being normal.
"It was a m-mo-month ago," he placed the bottle on the counter now, content with it at last. "I th-tho-thought about this day a lot. Wh-what I would say, what you would say. Then, at some point, I decided it was better not to s-sa-say a-an-anything."
"What changed?"
"I got impatient."
"Really?" you cracked a smile. "You? Impatient? That's news to me," Toby was probably the most calculating, most clever, most patient man you had ever met.
"Well here we are," he stopped leaning against the counter, taking his time as he walked over to you. For some reason, you didn't run, your body didn't even flinch when he came to a pause a few inches away. "Jeff told me he left you to burn, p-po-police r-re-reports confirmed it, and..." he trailed off for a second, his voice wasn't necessarily sad or emotional. Cold as ever actually. "I tore him in half... literally," he looked away for a second, as if remembering a fond memory. "It was v-v-ver-very chaotic at the e-est-estate for a few weeks."
"And I just became the dead girl," you concluded. "And everyone moved on, you included because that's just how immortality works."
"I wasn't happy about it," he emphasized. "I just had to live with it, that's the thing about living forever, you have to live with these things."
"No way," you replied sarcastically, and he smiled faintly.
You slowly leaned forward, resting your head against his chest. He was warm, and soon your arms curled around his shirt, holding him close. You had struggled around men for a while since the incident, by now you were able to be around and befriend some of them, but intimacy was way beyond you. Hell, you suspected you would never be intimate with a man ever again. Yet here you were, somehow so comfortable with your situation.
You breathed in the scent of him, sandalwood and smoke. Perfect.
"Let me know," he whispered, firm arms wrapping around your back. "If you want me to leave."
"Oh I should, I really should tell you to get the Hell out," you pulled away yet remained in his grip. "Damn murderer," your fingers eased through his hair, tangling along the strands and pulling him down towards your lips. "You're a real monster," you brushed your lips against his, remembering the taste. It seemed as if your brain allowed you this one memory. "Good thing I'm already scarred for life."
"You're making me feel like a bad person," he grinned against your lips.
"The worst," you assured him before taking his hand, and leading him through the living room, all the way back to the bedroom. The cat still sat there, lazily peering up at the two of you. It hissed at Toby instantaneously, before standing up, and looking rather irritated as it walked out of the room.
"D-d-di-did I ever tell you how bad I am with an-animals?" he mused before turning all his attention to you. The jacket came off quickly, a tight orange V-neck underneath. He didn't bother taking it off though, grabbing you by the waist and holding you against the bed as he just kissed you. Your mind graced you with another memory, and you remembered how familiar the feeling was.
It was actually pleasantly surprising how 'not-scared' you were. It was comfortable, familiar, and oh-so natural.
Maybe you had gone crazy?
Who could blame you though?
So you kissed the man of your nightmares, the monster of your dreams, and for once, the morality of it all didn't bother you. He was warm, and safe, and that was all that mattered. You curled up under him immediately, hands slipping under his shirt, and pressed softly against his chest. He kissed at your neck, softly and sweetly, working his way down your collar bone. You fell asleep sooner than you had planned, and woke up much later than usual.
Your first observation was the warm, heavenly coziness of waking up in someone's arms. Secondly, you noted the soft rays of sunlight that slipped past your blinds, and could never imagine leaving the bed. Then it occurred to you that it was 11a.m. and you were two hours late for work. Surprisingly you couldn't care less.
There was a ringing at the doorbell.
"Expecting someone?" he whispered, half drowsy, but clearly awake.
"The neighbor pops in now and then," you said over a muffled yawn. "Just ignore it, she'll think I'm at work and leave."
"You make friends fast," he noted, suddenly tightening his grip and nuzzling into your shoulder. It was more sweetness than you could handle, and you squirmed a little, smiling as you turned to face him.
"She figured I was some abuse victim or something, been overtly sweet since I moved in."
He hummed at that, then began to stand up. He pulled his pants off the floor before waddling, rather adorably into the living room. You followed after quickly, grabbing your nightie off the nightstand. He answered the door just as you were putting it on.
"Oh Hey..." Nancy seemed beyond confused as she eyed the half-naked man in front of her, Her expression relaxed slightly when she noticed you in the background. "I made breakfast muffins and was wondering if you wanted some? Uh, your friend can have some too of course."
You couldn't keep the quirky smile off your face as you just nodded a bunch of times. Nancy seemed eager to leave and quickly headed back to her own apartment.
"She does that a lot," you explained. "Banana pecan is her specialty or something."
"S-sa-sa-save me some then," he closed the door, walking back towards the bedroom.
"You're not staying?" you asked after him. He lifted the rest of his clothes off the floor, straightening them out. Bit by bit his toned body disappeared beneath the clothes. You missed it already.
"Work," he tapped at his wrist, as if pointing to a make-belief watch. "Gotta ke-keep up ap-app-appearances."
"Oh..." was all you could say.
"I'm not very good at the whole human-with-emotions thing," he said suddenly, coming to a pause in front of you. "But... I think I sh-sh-should t-take you out tonight. There's this great sl-sla-slasher flick and-
"Trying to trigger my PTSD?" you murmured, half joking. "How about a sappy rom-com?"
"I regret this already," he leaned in, pressing his lips to your forehead in one final, endearing kiss. "I think I'm going to enjoy being human."
"Hey Toby?"
"Hmm?"
"I think I love you too."