*Rylyn*

I'm alive and confused.

Standing, I try to look at my surroundings but it's pitch black. The air is cold. Nervousness creeps up my back and down my arms, I don't know why, but my heart does. It tells me something is coming and keeps me on edge. I can feel every cell in my body come to attention like little soldiers ready to fight. I look around again, as if I could see something, anything, that would give me comfort in this house of black. Still nothing appears. Anticipation keeps me anxious. I don't dare move from my spot. I start to count the seconds.

"Hello?" I call out.

Something screeches through the darkness. A familiar kind of terror rises in me. I can't think of anything else but the fear I'm feeling and start to panic. Something hits me, stinging my cheek. I reach up to touch it and luckily it isn't bleeding.

My arm, my ankles, my back in pain. I scream, but not loud enough to stop the continuous screeching surrounding me. Whatever is hitting me keeps coming and doesn't stop. It's like rain that's heavy and constant. I crumple down to my knees and cover my face with my hands to find myself crying. Where am I anyway? It's all fear, all pain, all black: seems, once again, familiar but I can't think of where. Nothing is light. I hear a scream for help again and again before I realize it's coming from me.

It stops. All of a sudden, not gradually. I feel someone take my hand and lead me out. I don't know why, but I trust whoever is leading me, a calmness washes over me when the person touched my hand. Pain drains out of my body along with the fear. My eyes are closed but I can see light shining through my eyelids. I feel warmth on my face, arms, and legs which are surrounded by the soft skirt of the dress I wear. I didn't notice it until now and I know why: fear is all I was thinking of. It seemed to blind me so I couldn't think or look past it. I was petrified by it. The thought still scares me and I never want to go back.

"Open your eyes, child," a man says in a kind voice, and I do.

Like the fear blinded me in the dark, the sunlit blinds me here. The dress I wear is white, no part of me appears to be injured. I'm standing in the greenest grass I've ever seen. The sky is as blue as I've ever seen it. On this hill, I can look out and see mountains; the whole sene is magnificent.

Then I turn to look at the man who brought me out. He's smiling at me, wearing a white robe with beautiful eyes. One glance at his hands and I know exactly who he is.

I fall on my knees, overwhelmed at who is before me and joyful that he is here with me and brought me out of the fear I was drowning in. I feel like crying and rejoicing at the same time. Dancing, even if there's no music, or painting something big and beautiful, even if there's nothing to paint with.

"Thank you," I whisper, smiling. I didn't think that he heard me but he did.

"Anytime," he says as he crouches down before me. I look up slowly, still embracing that this is Jesus, the Son of God, here with me. He came as a man to save us and put up with our sickness and hate because he loved us. That's a whole lotta love. And now he's here and saved me from whatever was hurting me. I can't stop smiling. Both of us stand.

Despite all of the relief I'm feeling, I can't help but ask, "What were those things?"

"Something nobody should ever have to experience," he says, his expression now saddened. I nod, trying to understand.

"Difficult times are coming, but don't lose hope, I'm always here. Don't forget that." he says, laying a hand on my shoulder and looking directly into my eyes.

"I won't," I say.

He embraces me and I feel rested and more safe than ever. I know I won't forget this.

*David*

After we got home from the hospital, we went straight to bed without saying a word. But I keep waking up from nightmares that I still, unfortunately, remember. In most of them, Rylyn didn't make it. And in the ones where she did, someone else that her and I care about would be gone as in Mirissa or her dad or someone up at church, such as Tyler or Megan. Eventually, I just got up and ate breakfast because I knew if I went back to sleep that I would wake up ten minutes later.

I called and informed the elders and secretary from church to ask for prayers and that, so far, we were playing the "waiting game" to see where she who she would live with and where. I found myself divided when I thought about this as I ate my cereal. One part if me wanted her to have some relatives left to comfort her because they know a lot more about her dad than I do. Maybe she could find out a little bit more about him even after he's gone. Plus it could be a chance to start over for her, if they lived far from here. New people, new sights, new way of life.

At the same time, I don't want her to leave here and I don't want her to have anyone that knows more than she does. If she stays settle with what she knows, then there wouldn't be any blurred lines with what she thinks now and what she might know later. I know it's a selfish discussion for me to have with myself, but it's hard not to think of this possibility because I found myself caring about her before all of this, during it, and after. She could also start over here, just with a few people and places she knows, which could also help her.

What's going to happen if she doesn't have any family left? It slipped my mind to ask the officer earlier this morning. So maybe it doesn't even matter whether she has family or not because she could be gone either way.

The more that I think about it, it doesn't matter where you start over it's how.

Either you're forced to or you choose to. If something happens, like Rylyn's dad passing away, then God is probably trying to push you out of your comfort zone to get you to understand something you didn't, unless you're unwilling to move. Eventually, I would say that when you're forced to move you would choose to go with it. We don't have a choice when we're pushed but we do have a choice on how to handle it. Choosing to start over is a totally different topic. In reality, God's always the one who chooses. He might place something in your hands that makes you want to move.

Now, I'm sitting here back in the hospital at her side. I remember how cold she felt and wonder if she still is. I reach out to touch her hand: it still feels the same way, only now I know that she'll live. But it's so lifeless, despite the blood running through her veins and the air in her lungs. I'm too used to watching them move that it's hard for me to imagine them not thinking of what to create next. She's lucky that the cast on her left arm doesn't wrap around her hand so she can still draw, though I think she's right handed.

We spoke with the doctor again when we got here and he said that either late tonight or early tomorrow morning the oxygen would be removed since she's doing so well. Her arm is going to take about six to eight weeks to heal and her ribs about four or five. The bandage on her forehead can be removed or replaced whenever it feels necessary.

I hear Mirissa grumble something from across the room. I look up to see her staring at her phone, completely engrossed by something.

"What in the world are you doing?" I ask.

"Playing this game where you have to try to bury some worms to save their community so the birds won't eat them," she says matter-of-factly. "Seriously? They had to come out! I just buried them." I tried not to laugh but didn't do a good job at it.

"Here, you try." she tosses me the phone.

At first the game seemed completely pointless. But that was at level one when the worms actually wanted to live. This is at level thirty-four. Now they've lost their minds (do they have minds?) and are just acting stupid. Sure it's dark under the dirt bit that doesn't mean that they have to come out to see what's going on with the birds.

"Here," I say, handing it back to her, frustrated. "they've lost their minds."

"Are you sure you don't want to try and beat one more level?" she asks.

I wait a moment before saying, "Just one more." She laughs and passes it back to me. "Oh, I'm gonna regret this..." I say under my breath. And I do. Finally, after trying so many times, I give up.

Then my own phone rings.

"Hello?" I answer.

"David? This is Officer Connor from last night," the officer's voice says.

"Hi, how are you?" I ask trying to sound normal in the remembrance of the events that take to much energy to think about all together. I think of them in pieces. Like a puzzle: when you put them all together there's a picture.

"I'm doing well, thanks. I was calling to inform you that you could come pick up Rylyn's things from her house later today. Some of our officers will be there investigating."

"Okay," I say, "what time?"

"Around one," he says.

"I'll be there," I say, trying to sound casual. But right now "casual" isn't an easy option: I'm going back to the house where her story started and almost ended.

* * * * *

I convinced Mirissa to stay at the hospital though I wanted her to come with me. She could tell, but still let me talk her into staying. I don't think either of us were looking forward to this trip, but I had to make it even if I go alone. I know she could handle going out there, but, naturally, I wanted to protect her from seeing something she shouldn't have to that could cause us both some kind of pain.

"Don't," I tell myself as I'm driving there, "think about where you are. Just think about what you're doing." Those go hand-in-hand but the thought still helps me. At the same time, I'm praying all the way there. It's strange going knowing that neither of the people who live there are not calling it home anymore. Will Rylyn still call this place home? I'm sure she still will, but her dad is no longer calling this world home.

What is she going to think of this? I don't know for sure where she is really is or if she can hear us. The uncertainty is building as the minutes go by without her "coming back". How am I going to tell her? Should I come right out and say it or give her some time? I've never done this before and neither has Mirissa. Maybe she already knows.

The roads are clear, normal for mid-November. Still, it's colder than usual. It's no longer windy like last night. I keep coming back to the question of how she ran this far. It had to be at least two or three miles. I know the answer to the question every single time: God kept her alive. For reasons that I don't know of yet but I am thankful anyway.

I pull into the paved driveway, fighting the urge to turn around. A few police cars are sitting at the top with some of the people who brought them here standing around and drinking coffee. Office Connor isn't here. I grab boxes from the backseat and step out.

"Morning," I greet them, "I'm David Ark." Yes, they didn't have to assume I'm that guy. My name has been spreading around fast lately. I should probably start carrying business cards.

"Good to see ya," the first man says, and shakes my hand. He doesn't take any time with further conversation as gestures for me to follow him inside. "Be careful," he pauses before opening the door, "there's some broken glass on the floor."

We step inside and the air has a sudden heaviness to it. The room we are in, the kitchen, is a complete mess. It's hardly recognizable to what we saw last week. The chairs from the table and counter are tipped over, broken. Glass is sprayed across the floor from a broken window. Cabinets and drawers are open with food spilling out. How much time did they have before they were caught?

In the heap of the rumble on the ground, I catch sight of a picture frame reflecting the sun's rays at my feet. I pick it up and take a moment to study it, careful not to cut myself on the crushed glass. The picture inside shows a family, smiling happily and proud. The photo was taken outside and they look strong beneath the broken glass. They held together when the world around them shattered. I recognize a younger version of Rylyn with her father and her mother. She looks a lot like her. I place the picture gently into one of the boxes I carry.

As we walk to the staircase, I try not to look around at the damage in the living room. I know he died here in this room but I don't what to see any of it. In Rylyn's room, the officer stays and observes me like he doesn't trust me. He doesn't help me or put me down, he just watches. And I let him, neither of us saying a word.

Her room is hardly touched compared to the kitchen. Yes, some things are strung out in the floor and covered in fingerprints that shouldn't have been there. She is safe now, though. That's what matters. I'd rather her be alive than she have no belongings left at all.

Something that is hard to decide is whether or not to take the pictures she hung on the walls. There's so many and there's no folders or anything to put them in to keep them preserved neatly. So I chose. The first one I see when I walk in is one of her dad: everything is right down to the detail of his freckles. Automatically, I take it. The others I take are the ones that I think she would want to keep: the others of her dad, her friends, some memories. The sketch books were easy. They fit perfectly. I resisted the temptation to look into them, because that would take too much time. Plus, I don't want to be accused for snooping in her stuff, even though I kind of have to do it anyway.

I'm allowed to take some of her dad's things, too. I even find some traces of her mother left behind. I take his Bible. It's worn in some places, torn, but it's valuable to him. Of her's I find a locket which was hidden in the bottom of the drawer on his nightstand. There's two pictures inside: one is the family and the other is a hand drawn cross by a young child. It's brown, like we picture it, but there's a childlike attempt to draw a heart in the middle. Rylyn will want this.

It's all very quiet and cold. There isn't any heat running through the house. It probably hasn't been on for a while. Everything is so still, nothing daring to move. I don't know how I keep picking and choosing with the feeling of the officer's eyes watching my every move, making me nervous. I don't feel like it's right for me to be here. I feel like I'm stealing: this isn't my house, she isn't my daughter, he isn't my dad. I really have no right to be here, even though the law lets me.

In the middle of all of the packing and sorting, I come to the sketch book that she is currently using. I allow myself to flip to the page where I heard her talk to Mirissa about leaving. Right then, I wanted to leave. I wanted to get up and run and leave this mess of life behind me. I'm not home yet though.

He's in control, He's here, He's alive. I repeat this to myself instead of the question why. I don't ask myself "why" because if God has a reason for this to happen, I shouldn't question it. Questioning the answers is like pacing back and forth in front of a door that you know is there. Especially God's answers.

He's in control.

* * * * *

Mirissa sits by her side. The only thing she moves is her eyes and her lips as she sings in a hushed voice songs that we sometimes sing in church. Her eyes study Rylyn's face, looking for some sign of her surfacing. A quick movement of a finger or even a sigh that was meant to be there breathed. Anything. I felt the same way for the first few minutes when we arrived this morning.

"How is she doing?" I ask. She turns around, startled, then smiles when she realizes it's me.

"Fine," she says, turning back to her, "fine. Just... Quiet."

I pull a chair around from the window, balancing the smaller box I brought with me carefully. I took the others back to our house. Settling in the chair, I place it beside her on the bed.

"What did you bring?" she asks me, peering into the box curiously.

"Only a few things I thought she might want," I say, "like her sketch book and pencils and stuffed animals and photographs."

After a few moments of silence, she then asks, "What did her mom look like?"

I pick up the shattered picture frame from the top of the box. I don't know why I kept this one specifically, there were others that weren't broken. It felt too important just to leave.

"Oh," she says, studying it carefully. She runs her fingers over the surface lightly, admiring the photographer's work. "So this is how it should be?" she says, half question half statement.

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"Well, should it be like this," she says, gesturing to the picture, "or like this?" She nods towards Rylyn's motionless body, that's, besides us, alone. No family. She's never really alone and does have a family- I think we all know how this goes.

"I think it was intended eventually to be like this, right now," I respond.

"I guess now is eventually, then," she says, taking in a deep breath. "You know, it's hard. Just doing this: sitting without knowing any answers. She doesn't know and we don't know and I want to be there for but how can I-"

"Do it without knowing?" I finish for her. She breathes in shakily, tucking her hair behind her ears, and nods, not meeting my eyes. I grasp her hand, but she still won't look at me.

"Look up," I tell her, "see, she's still alive. We can tell her that much. We know her dad's in a different, a better place, and that she'll be staying with us until her family comes around. We know, we just can't figure out how to explain it."

"Maybe like that," she says, "like it's nearly all that simple."

Both of us know it isn't. Life isn't that way. Sometimes it feels so simple and complicated at the same time that we forget that we have to choose how to see it. The reason we see it as complicated is because we wonder. If this happens, what will it effect? How will it change the way we say and do things? Questions we try to answer without even noticing that the real answer is being revealed right in front of our faces.

Either way, God's going to take care of it. But the thing is, we have to be willing to move, not just to stand and watch. Nothing is going anywhere then.

"But how?" I ask her, looking directly into her eyes, strong and fearful and ready. "How can we keep her from wondering and doubting and running? We can't hold her back... Can we?" She searches my face for an answer, though I'm the one asking her.

"I don't think so. Maybe we could try to keep her from being less tired. Explain things maybe before they happen. Why are we worrying though? We don't even know where she's going," She looks away from me, letting go from my hand in distress. "She could be gone by the time we figure it out."

Silence passes between us, I let it until I break it after a moment.

"Did the doctor say anything while I was gone?" I ask.

"Well, a nurse came in and changed her bandage on her head. She told me that she would be off oxygen tonight," she explains.

"Sounds good, maybe she'll come back then."

"I hope so," she replies.

We leave around dinner later that evening. I make sure to leave the box with her. Nobody knows exactly when she'll snap out of it, not even the doctors. I look back at her pale, unchanging expression one more time before slipping out the door.

* * * * *

We go to church the next morning without stopping by the hospital first, even though both of us wanted to check that she was doing alright without the extra medicine helping her. I'm sure she is or else they would let us know.

I felt a little hesitant leaving the house this morning. Now that I'm currently responsible for one human life, I know how worrisome it makes me and Mirissa. There's still two on the way. Three all at once? Rylyn might not count because technically she's not my child and I'm not her parent. Plus the twins haven't been born yet, still about nine more months, thankfully. I'm going to get used to one kid then move up to two more. This will work, His timing is perfect.

We get there early so I can speak with the elders. Mirissa gives me a smile and goes to talk with some of the ladies gathered around the welcoming desk. I go up stairs to the conference room. It's right before the small hallway to the teen classroom. All of them are there when I walk in.

"David," Solomon greets me, "how are you doing?" I take a seat near Jacob, a man with white hair and a thin body.

"Honestly, a little stressed." I say taking in a deep breath.

"Is she doing okay?" Jacob asks, concerned.

"Yes, but we didn't go see her this morning. The doctor took the oxygen off last night and she should be waking up by tomorrow afternoon. They don't know exactly when. I just can't bring myself to decide how to tell her." I say.

"Maybe just give her a few minutes to get used to being awake and if she asks, you could tell her. These things are hard, but they'll get easier. Feel free to come to us if you need anything at all. The best thing to do is pray,"Solomon says encouragingly. "Now about the reading of Scripture today..."

After a few more minutes of meeting, we dismiss and go greet the Church that has started to come in. Jacob is doing the announcements, so he will inform them about the recent events. I told them that I'd rather tell the teens myself. I don't teach the Sunday morning classes, but I can stop by. These people have no idea what's been going on. So, I smile and try to act like I'm fine. It's hard, because I'm certainly not.

The walk up the stairs to the teens' room is much to short. I've been worrying about how I'm going to tell Rylyn, but how do I tell them? They're all a family that care about each other and they don't even know that one of their sisters is suffering. I fall guilty.

"Hi," I say as I walk into the classroom, "mind if I say a few words?"

"No, no, be my guest," the teacher says, who I haven't had a chance it personally meet yet.

"Thanks," I say, trying to smile. "You're all doing good?" I ask. A chorus of nods and yes' answer me. My eyes travel to each one of them, most curious and eager. Some look tired and nearly out of focus.

"Well, um, something happened early Saturday morning that you should know about." I take a deep breath and continue, "Rylyn is hurt, badly, her father is dead." The weight on my chest grows heavier with their shocked faces. Lakin looks down into her lap, Megan puts an arm around her, Kayla leans on her twin. Colin and John exchange glances and Landon avoids my gaze while Tyler has pure shock on his face. Michael seems to be the only one who can speak.

"Is she going to be okay?" he asks, something different about his normal cool collected self. His tone is sympathetic maybe fearful.

"Yes she'll be fine. Her arm and a few ribs are broken plus her lung crashed. They fixed it, though."

"That means she could've died," Kelsey sputters. We look at her in surprise. Maybe she didn't mean those things she said. Holding my gaze she says, quietly, "I still care about her. Tell her that, okay?" I nod. She'll feel relieved to hear it.

"What happened?" Megan asks, her voice soft, eyes glassy.

"Someone broke in and killed her dad, trashed the house. They tried to find her, but she escaped. We don't know how she got hurt yet, we're planning on asking her when she wakes up."

"Is she knocked out or something?" Tyler asks.

"Yeah but she should wake up by tomorrow. For now, she'll be staying with us until they find out if she has any family left." I pause before adding, "We'll still have small group tonight, though."

"Can we visit her?" John asks, completely unconcerned about what I just said.

"Sure, I think she'd like that," I smile. That lifts a little sorrow from their slumping shoulders. I open my mouth- about to tell them that she will be okay and everything happens for a reason- when my phone rings in my pocket. I sigh and look a the screen. It's the hospital. My heart speeds up. "Excuse me," I mutter and go to the hallway.

The secretary asks if it's me and I tell her it is. I nod, feeling panic, relief, and shock rise in me all at once. I can barely answer her with an "okay", managing somehow. She's woken up, alive, probably confused or afraid or both. What did they say to her? What did she do? Did they tell her anything?

I turn around and walk back into the classroom.

"She's up," I say. I realize how uneasy I sound. Why am I so afraid? "I'll let you know how she is but I probably need to go."

"Tell her we said hi," Megan says, smiling.

"Okay," I promise, "see you guys later."

I look at them as a group for a brief few seconds. Lakin catches my eye, looking determined to do something but unsure of how to. Hands playing with a strand of her hair, she turns her face away. Landon opens his mouth to say something but then almost immediately closes it. I smile before leaving them, hoping they'll accept my quick apology for not being able to stay.