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deep breath. It’s dark and cold. She’s seen too many movies. And she’s just gotten past her parents’ accident anniversary and a health scare, for Christ’s sake. Just...calm down and keep moving .
    A few steps later, she pauses again. She glances around: nothing, her heavy breath is the only sound. Thank goodness .
    But as she continues, she can’t stop the notion of a looming presence, as though every step draws her closer to danger. She quickens her step, yearning to scrutinize the area and snap her eyes shut at once. The urge to observe and not to battle it out as she prods on, moving faster and faster. Her breath grows so loud, it might drown out more of the earlier echo.
    Come on ... Her warm car. Locked doors. Safe and sound. Almost there .
    She arrives at her car, reaching for the door handle like a first-time race walker approaching a finish line. Can we say drama queen? she thinks, attempting to ease her jitters with humor. Certain patients of hers would delight in her paranoia.
    Then again, she encourages them to trust their intuition, hone in on that inner voice. Sorting out gut feelings and irrational fear is the challenging part. Present case included.
    She settles into the driver’s seat; the familiar smell and feel bring comfort. She starts the engine, double-checks the door locks, and heads toward the exit.
    Waiting in the right turn lane to exit the lot, she spots headlights in her rearview mirror.
    Her heartbeat quickens. It’s just another car , she thinks. Parking lots do have those.
    She stares at the mirror, tapping her finger nervously on the steering wheel. The car is a distance away, but drawing closer. Come on, light. Turn green . Cars continue to whiz past on the busy street before her. She should have taken the back exit.
    As she adjusts the mirror for a better look, the headlights on the car trailing her switch off. The vehicle stops. The driver’s door opens. Shit! A tall figure emerges. He walks toward her, raises something in the air. She sees a flash. A camera?
    He waves slowly, as though ridiculing or taunting her, then moves slowly back into his car.
    “That’s it, asshole.” No more paranoid politeness. She shifts into reverse, prepared to face her follower. Who does this prankster think he is?
    The loud screech of tires causes her to jump. A horn blares as the car speeds past her and out the exit. She tries to read the license plate before the car careens into traffic, but makes out only the deer design on the chrome holder. A hunter.
    She sits stunned, clutching the wheel as though her life depends on it.
     

Chapter Twelve
     
    She lies awake, grateful that though she remains in the basement, she’s not strapped down. Her veins are free of needles, though the bruises they left remain. The bruises will fade, her memories of the basement, never.
    Ten years have passed since he first locked her down here. Perhaps she deserved it then; she had tried to run away after all. But he had broken a promise and, as a result, her heart.
    For years before then, he’d spoken of the woman he would bring home one day—someone to love her, care for her, teach her “womanly things.” But the very day she anticipated its fulfillment, his plan seemed to vanish.
    She’d greeted him at the door filled up with giddiness, wearing her best dress, expecting not just him, but a mother. Instead he stomped through the door alone and into the kitchen. He threw her birthday cake on the floor, sending glass shards flying. It was then that she noticed the blood spatters on his sleeves. They matched his bloodshot eyes.
    “Where is she?” she’d asked, terrified, but still hoping.
    His face snapped toward her. “NEVER speak of her again. Never!”
    He had never used that tone with her, never quite so loud or angry.
    And so...she’d run.
    By the time he brought Uncle Bob and his hounds to the woods to find her, she’d already decided to turn around and go back. What life did she know, after all,