I'm hugging my knees on the floor of Grady's closet. I can't stop crying or shaking. I should probably get dressed in anything I can get my hands on, but I can't make myself do that, either.

I don't hear any gunshots, and I suppose that's a good sign. Male voices are going on and on about something, though. It started out heated, but it has dropped a few notches. I could probably get the gist of what they were talking about if I cared to. If I could actually hear around my own heaving chest. I try tuning it out entirely and that just makes things worse. . .

I have a good feeling about you, Taryn. You will give Camp Merit an honest try. It'll make your mother very happy. It'll make me very happy. It'll be an adjustment at first, but, in a few months' time, I promise you, if I'm happy, you'll be happy. It doesn't take much. I'm a simple man. If you show respect, and a little faith and gratitude . . . if you give me that wide-open mind of yours . . . then, one day, you will wholeheartedly welcome everything life has to offer. And I can't wait to be a part of it. . .

With his hand low on my hip, he pressed his hot stinking mouth to my cheekbone, and it hung there long enough to bring everything he'd just said into the gutter.

Simple man . . . gratitude . . . wide open . . . everything life has to offer. . .

Oh, my God. My surroundings are swirling. My fingers freeze up and think I might vomit. And, of course, at the very worst of it, the closet door slides open. My wrist is to my mouth, and there's static chewing through my vision. I didn't even hear Grady coming.

When he sees me there, naked, shaking like a leaf, and dismally unwell in every sense of the word, I assume he'll be amused, disappointed, or disgusted. Something I feel like I deserve . . . for leaving Keith with the hope that I might come around. . .

Grady doesn't seem to agree that I brought this on myself. What I get instead is so much better . . . and so much worse than that. He squats down next to me, concerned. More than that, really. He's outright worried, and I'd never want that for him. It makes me wish he never found me here. I should have pulled myself together already. What the fuck is wrong with me?

I don't know why, but I resist his tug. He'd have every right to be annoyed or frustrated, but he only gets more firm with me. Amid another surge of sobbing and shaking, he scoops me into his arms, and goes from a squat to standing without any sign of strain.

I've done everything in my power to avoid the damsel in distress thing, with him and in general, and I've had some success with it. If that's what he truly wanted, he would have picked someone else by now. I suppose it's a good thing he's flexible and open-minded.

This is likely as helpless as I'll ever be. I suppose every man likes being needed every once in a while, and this is his moment. It'll be something he always remembers, but he won't ever gloat.

And so, I let him indulge. I let myself do the same. My body goes limp, and I cling to his neck. I fall apart because I have to, and because I want to. I can't hold it all in anymore, and I'm soooo tired of trying.

"It's all right." He kisses my hairline and sets me in bed. "It was just Mr. Dillard, the downstairs neighbor. He's old and paranoid, and when he heard the toaster fall, he thought we were under attack. He can be a pain in the ass, but he's harmless, mostly."

I nod and pull up the covers, tucking them beneath my arms. "I'm sorry. I—"

"Stop. . ." Kneeling beside me, he wipes away the hair that is sticking to my cheek and drapes it behind my ear. "I had my meltdown. You're allowed to have yours."

That's not what I'm sorry about, or at least not all I'm sorry about. Every time I'm with him, I feel like we're being punished for it, and that's no way to live. I'm not gonna give him up, so I guess I'll just have to figure out how to deal with it. Some of it is just bad luck and maybe that'll pass soon, and the rest, like the guilt, will be bearable.

I'm not ready to explain anything, but I am ready to calm down. In his presence, I can already feel the difference. My lungs and hands are working normally again, and the tears are drying up.

"I think I know how to fix this." He rises to his feet all of a sudden. 

I scoff, not sure that's possible, as he crosses by the foot of the bed. He goes into the bathroom, and retrieves a roll of toilet paper, which he sets on my bedside table. Then he goes into the kitchen and returns with a crock of chili and a slice of warm cornbread. Ducking out once again, he returns with a laptop. He sets it on the bed beside me.

"We're going to break that place up and arrest everyone," he tells me while he's loading up the laundry bag. "And here's what I need you to do. Write everything down, step by step. Every name you know. Every sordid detail that you've been keeping from me."

After wiping my face dry, I grab the crock of chili. "Don't you have your own report to finish by tomorrow?" I force myself to take a bite, even though I've lost my appetite.

"I got most of it done at work today." With the bag almost full, he shrugs one shoulder, like it's no big deal, but he can't quite mask the pride. In the past, he may have struggled with something like this. From what I can recall, he had to work twice as hard to keep up with smart-but-lazy Quinn. All she wanted to do was sing, and the rest was just a chore, and chores were not her thing. They helped each other out, dishonestly in many cases, I'm sure, but the skills were developed, the knowledge was acquired, and the laziness didn't rub off on him. 

After a few bites, I set the mug aside and reach for the laptop. "Look at you, all teacher's pet."

"Slow day, and I had a lot on my mind." He bobs his eyebrows up to humbly accept the compliment, and then he slings the laundry bag over his shoulder.

"It won't be pretty," I feel the need to mention. "I really don't think you should read it." Just when I thought I had the tears under control, they start to flow again. "It's too personal. Not just for me, but for you, too."

"I understand. I will read it. . ." His expression softens when my weepy eyes roll and flutter. "But, how about this? I'll wait until tomorrow, when I'm at the station. I'll have a whole shift of bullshit to come to terms with it, and anything I do about it will be legal."

I wipe my eyes again and then offer up a slight smirk. "I would not want to get arrested by you tomorrow."

"That's right." He walks to my side of the bed and gives me a goodbye peck on the lips. "So, behave."

I pull him back down for a better kiss, one that lets him know I owe you one and plan to pay up when you get back. "Do I have to?" I ask, releasing him but only slightly.

The covers slip off my chest and his eyes dart downward. "Unless I benefit from it directly, then yes, you have to." With a sigh, he peels himself away from me.

In the doorway, he turns back and watches me get situated, laptop in my lap, and another bite of food in my mouth. His expression shifts from satisfied, to resolute, to concerned again. I don't think he's comfortable leaving me alone right now, but there isn't much of a choice. As nice as it would be for a few days, we can't just hunker down and pretend the outside world doesn't exist. We don't have the resources, and Grady doesn't have the time.

"I won't be far," he informs me. "If there's anything . . . and I mean that, anything out of the ordinary, you call me immediately."

"I will." I smile to let him know I'm okay. I can handle this. He doesn't need to babysit me. 

He pats the doorframe over his head and leaves me to it . . . the whole truth and nothing but the truth, the way I see it . . . so help me God.

<<<>>>

After a chilly exchange between Keith and Quinn, he left the infirmary and she stood there, awkwardly in the middle of the room, waiting for his voice to fade. But it never really did.

He was dallying in the hallway, greeting those who were passing through. Everyone had something to say to him, and many of them seemed to cherish any attention they received—the handshakes, back pats, shoulder holding, baby kissing, and so forth. It was all so unnervingly happy.

Tired of waiting, Quinn hobbled closer. Under her breath, she thanked me for putting him in a good mood and told me to "enjoy it while it lasts."

Maybe Keith could hear us. Maybe he couldn't. Maybe it didn't matter. He would undoubtedly assume that thirteen weeks of "lessons learned" would keep Quinn in check.

He did eventually wander off. We didn't know how far or for how long, though.

"Get in bed. Pretend you're asleep," I hissed at the first opportunity.

After throwing one last wary glance over her shoulder, she hopped a couple times on her good foot to get into position, and while I was squirming toward the wall to make room, she curled up behind me. "It'll never work. I've tried everything."

"Do not open your eyes," I kept at it anyway. It was the only plan I had. "The only way you're moving is if they drag you. Got it?"

She put her arm around me and tugged me close, a little harder than necessary. "Any direction you intend to go, it's too far. There are day guards, night guards, and camaras, and beyond that, there's just nothing."

"We won't have that far to go. Grady will be waiting for us with the truck."

"Are you sure about that?"

I wasn't sure and didn't answer. It was blind faith that he loved at least one of us enough to stick it out, despite the danger, despite all the horrible things that had been said and done to him.

"If you really want Keith to hate you as much as me then fine, I'll play along. But, I'm going to have to blame you if anything goes wrong." It sounded bitchy, but I gave her the benefit of the doubt. She was just on a short leash. If it was any shorter, she'd choke. To get back some slack, she'd have to take some from me.

I said, "fine," to accept the terms, and we both tried to relax after that, to make it look real to anyone who might look in on us. For a while, it was a steady stream. We were a novelty. A curiosity. Like animals at the zoo.

It felt like forever, but it was probably only about ten minutes later that Keith came back in. "Quinn, it's time to go. Quinn..." he called again when she didn't move.

He must have thought it was sweet. Perhaps his "good mood" was lingering, and he didn't want the dark side of himself to come out in my presence. Maybe we were his young, helpless, sister fantasy come true, and he wasn't ready to disturb it just yet. Whatever the reason, he walked away and let us "sleep." But, unsurprisingly, he didn't trust us to stay there. It led to a heated conversation in loud whispers just outside the door.

A few minutes later, something large was being dragged toward us. I didn't look, but from the sound of it, I could tell it was probably a mattress.

Within a couple of hours, there was a third person in or near the room, snoring up a storm.

Later, when I was on my feet, I confirmed what I'd already suspected. Iris's massive form was blocking the only door. Only with a running leap would I be able to span her and the mattress, and that wasn't an option for Quinn. The window was our only hope, and it wasn't even a solid hope. Windows are rarely cooperative, especially if someone is within hearing range.

Around what I estimated to be eleven o'clock, Quinn had one last thing to say: "I'm not sure I can stay awake."

"Then don't," I whispered back. "I'll get you up when it's time."

It wasn't easy, but I had adrenaline to keep me conscious. Whenever it started to wane, I just thought of Keith's hand on my leg, and my heartrate would spike right back up.

The loop I kept myself in was pure poison, and I went through it probably more than a dozen times. I wanted to scoot to the window as soon as I heard snoring, but it wasn't that late at the time it started. I had to be patient.

I let the hours slip by. Not too many. Not too few. I wanted as many people sleeping as possible, and daylight still a few hours off. Time was near impossible to keep track of, but I did the best I could. I even resorted to counting seconds for a while. It was literally driving me insane, and maybe I jumped the gun a little. We did get to Grady's truck earlier than I'd predicted. It was really Iris who decided, though. When her snoring took on a particularly raucous pattern, I nudged Quinn awake.

The window was stiff and a little squeaky, but it did open about a foot-and-a-half wide. In the moonlight, I could just make out a box of scalpel blades sitting on the desk. With just a tiny tearing sound, I had a big flap of screen cut out in less than a minute.

It was about a five-foot drop to the ground. I climbed out first and with hand signals, I instructed Quinn to go out headfirst. Underneath her arms, I dragged her out and eased her fall as best I could. It wasn't graceful, but she didn't bash her bad foot on the ground. Iris's ugly head didn't rear itself, either.

We were far from home free at this point, but it was an inspiring victory, enough to spur us onward at an impressive pace, one we would be unable to maintain. It got us to the shelter of the forest, though. We were farther away from the road, but according to Quinn, it put some space between us and the worst of the lights, camaras, and guns. Though we set off one spotlight in the back of the building, another one turned on ahead of us, at about the same time. It stayed on for a while and gave us the outline of what to avoid. And then we were clear of the building.

We never came across whatever it was that set it off. It could have been another person, but more than likely, it was an animal. I don't want to know what kind of animal it may have been, but it was likely what saved us. I could be wrong, but no one was ever pursuing us to any noticeable degree.

To circumvent some of the cabins, we had to go downhill for a while, and it sapped us of time and energy, because the road was way above us. The temperature was near freezing as well, and I was in just shorts and a hoodie. Quinn had on a t-shirt and ill-fitting sweatpants. Her shoe situation was worse. I had sneakers, but she was wearing only cheap flip-flops and could barely walk regardless. I was essentially walking for the both of us. I'm athletic and all, but I was pushing it too hard for too long without any food or water. I couldn't stop, though. I couldn't risk losing my bearings. Hypothermia was already too much of a threat.

One time, while I was counting to ten, hoping to bounce back from a bout of vomiting, Quinn hit me with this question: "So, you and Grady, huh?"

Leaning forward, drool still dripping from my mouth, and a tree trunk keeping me upright, I cast a hard look at her while wiping my mouth with my sleeve. There was a slight note of despondency in her tone, but it was only about a three-out-of-ten, and it could have had more than just Grady at its source. She may have been well and truly over him, but I was in no mood to ask or validate my own feelings. I didn't deny anything, though, and I suppose that was a big step for me.

In hindsight, we should have talked about it. If it had gone well, or even gone poorly, giving me the opportunity to speak my mind, then it may have eased some of the anxiety. We should have discussed everything else she'd been through as well.

Taking into account my brief experience with Keith, he's creepy and manipulative, but how creepy and manipulative? He hated defiant women, but how much? Quinn would certainly have the details that I lacked.

For the sake of my sleep at night, and in case I ever re-encounter him, the truth would set me free, or at least that's what I tell myself. But, I wasn't strong enough or brave enough to discuss it. I was too fixated on Grady and survival. Then Quinn left before I was ready to face something like this. Now, I have no way of contacting her unless she contacts me first. If she truly disappears, which would be wise for her, I may never know the truth, and that is more haunting than anything else. And unless I know, I can't technically use the sexual-predator item against Keith, and without it, how can we ever hope to bring him down?

Carly Pearce - Cowboy Take Me Away

https://youtu.be/sdBc8sfqt3Y