Chapter 2

Death is all around. Smell it, the coppery bite of blood. The sickly-sweet fear. The putrid decay of death.

It's come for me. I can see it reaching.

Its fingers strong.

Its grip unyielding.

When it grabs me, I'll die.

You are dead.

No. I can't be. I was saved.

You were forsaken.

I want another chance.

To die?

The hands grabbed her. Squeezed. Stole the very life -

"Nooooo." The scream burst out of Adara and woke her. Her eyes shot open. Her hands scrabbled at the hard floor, scooching her back before she raised them to shield her face.

Don't let it touch me. Even with her eyes shut, she still saw the slack-jawed, gray-skinned face, the thick makeup on it cracked, some of it streaked by fluid. But it was the eyes that scared her most of all.

Dead eyes. Milky and yet lit from within. Staring at her.

Reaching for her.

Blink.

The dead thing was gone.

Did I imagine it?

Sitting up, Adara looked around and found herself behind the store counter. How did I get here? The last thing I remember is being in the back room with that thing about to touch me. And then, nothing.

Another blackout. Had she made it through unscathed?

Jumping to her feet first, Adara frantically patted herself down, wondering if she'd find an injury or signs of an altercation.

Nothing appeared out of place. Not this time. But she wasn't always so lucky.

For a moment, she saw something else, another place, another time, where she wore torn, stained clothing. Stained with my blood.

The fragmented memory disappeared so quickly, she couldn't examine it. Did that truly happen? Sometimes, the line between reality and her nightmares blurred.

Had that happened tonight?

Looking around the store, the racks lined up like sentinels in the gloom, she wondered at her sanity.

A zombie? Really? Wouldn't it have made a mess? It wasn't as if she'd have stood still while it tried to crack open her head and siphon her brains.

What brains? Would a smart girl be working in this part of town after dark?

It was probably the fact that she was nervous about her first night alone at work - and the reality she'd have to deal with nightfall on her own - that had her imagining a zombie.

Maybe I didn't have a delusional moment. I could have fallen asleep on the job and dreamed it.

Which wasn't much better. She glanced at the cameras in the corner of the ceiling. No red light, but that didn't mean they weren't recording.

I hope nobody caught me napping. She needed this job. People with a past, or a lack of identity, couldn't be picky when it came to employment. Dr. Forrester had gone out of his way to help set Adara up with a job at the comic book store. She couldn't screw this up. He might send her back to the sanatorium otherwise.

I won't go back. Let someone else wear the jumpers and sleep in a room with bars on the windows and locked doors.

A glance at her watch resulted in shock as she saw how late it actually was, lending credence to her sleep theory.

Perhaps if the nightmares didn't come every night I'd feel more rested.

Not that she remembered them when she woke. However, not remembering didn't mean she could ignore the signs. Fatigue, aching muscles, her jaw throbbing as if her teeth had clenched for too long. Sometimes, she would waken damp with sweat, her sheets twisted all around. She wondered what exactly she dreamed that left her face wet with tears and her palms bloody from digging her fingernails too deep.

It's late. Stop mooning about and get your butt home. Step one, close the store for business.

Peering over at the door, she noted the flipped sign. When had she flipped it?

I didn't. That thing did when it came in and -

ForgetÉ

A heaving, shuddering breath in, and the tension in her eased.

The sign was flipped. She didn't remember it, which was nothing new. Dr. Forrester had said she might have forgetful moments given her previous head injury.

What about remembering things that just couldn't have happened?

"Hey, Dr. Forrester, I saw a zombie." Clang. That was the sound of the door locking shut because Dr. Forrester would send the men in the white coats for her.

He'd said to call him if weird stuff started happening. In other words, if she began to lose her mind. Why else but to put her back where she belonged?

Because you're crazy. Not crazy.

Just imagining things, things that didn't exist. Red eyesÉthe pupils a dark burgundy. The iris, a bright, glowing flame.

Panic clawed at her, and her breathing hitched in fear. All because she remembered impossible eyes.

So crazy, but she wasn't about to call anyone and admit it.

Freedom felt too good to give up.

So long as I don't do anything stupid during my blackouts, it's all good.

As for the hallucinations? Didn't some ancient tribes swear by them as symbolism for the days to come?

What does imagining a zombie mean for my future?

That she should probably tackle the vegetable drawer in her fridge. Something had died in there, and the landlord hadn't removed it before she took up residence.

Home. Time to leave work. She emptied the till, not much to remove, not when most people now used plastic or even the tap of their phone to pay. She peeled off her work smock, the big button that screamed, Ask me about the hero of the month, catching on her hair. She folded the garment over her arm as she headed to the back room - the closet-sized cubicle laughingly called the employees' lounge - to grab her coat. Her steps faltered on the threshold as she noticed the slight splintering of the doorjamb.

The door was kicked open, bouncing off the wall. It didn't distract the foul one reaching to touch me. A dark warrior with blazing eyes appeared and - Adara shook her head. It never happened.

Never. Happened.

She kept repeating that even as she averted her gaze from the crumbles of dirt on the floor. She grabbed her coat and fled the storage room.

Hurrying back to the front, she couldn't help but see in reverse how the thing had entered the shop. Headed straight for her, its mouth opening. A word floating free, croaked and frightening.

Didn't happen.

There was no zombie, and yet she flew out the door, almost sobbing when she tried to lock it unsuccessfully with trembling hands. Calm down.

She stopped moving and ducked her head. She breathed, just like Dr. Forrester taught her.

Breath.

In.

Out.

Slowly, the anxiety in her eased. Her shoulders dropped, her breathing stopped rushing in and out in hot puffs.

With a calmer demeanor, she brought the key to the lock again. The tumbler clicked into place, and Adara turned around to face the dark street. She slipped the keys into her purse, leaving her hands free. As her eyes darted left to right, she couldn't help but note that the dim pools of light cast by the street lamps were too few and far between to really distinguish any threats in the murk. Her fingers laced.

Unlaced.

She wrung them as she tried to keep the fear of shadows from rendering her immobile.

I didn't have this problem yesterday.

Yesterday, she'd finished work at twilight and hurried home, still in the presence of other pedestrians.

Tonight, the sidewalks loomed, big and empty.

All the better to chase you on, my dear.

She almost heard the voice out loud. Its sibilant hiss made her skin prickle.

There was no one here.

She took a step.

Chuckle.

Her head whipped to peek over her shoulder.

Is someone watching me?

Such paranoia. Why would anyone spy on Adara? If someone did, then it wouldn't bode well for her.

Stop standing around. Move.

Taking a steadying breath, Adara hunched her shoulders and took off at a brisk pace, the only way to outrun the ghosts of fear. The spot between her shoulder blades danced with awareness as she walked, urging her to look behind.

Someone is following me. She hastened her pace and kept her eyes forward. There's nothing there. There's nothing there. Remember what the doctor said, it's all in my mind.

The sense of someone - or something - watching refused to leave, and warning bells rang in her head. What if it's not my imagination? This isn't exactly a nice part of town.

Adara quickened her pace, vowing to get a can of mace before her next shift. Or perhaps she could ask for a day shift, one where she went home before dark like everyone else on the street.

No one else seemed to work that late. At least not people who liked to wear neck-to-toe clothing.

Be happy you have a job. This employment, along with her government assistance, meant she had a place to call home. And it wasn't the asylum.

All things to be grateful forÉexcept for one. A teensy rebellious part of her wondered how Dr. Forrester thought placing her at a nighttime job in such a rough part of town would aid in her recovery, given her history with violence. Did it make sense for a victim to work in a location that just screamed accident waiting to happen? He knew Adara feared the dark. Was scared of so many things.

Fear is normal. The important thing is to not let it control you.

She could almost hear Dr. Forrester's voice. She should try and trust him. He just wanted her to be normal again.

Or he wants to get me killed. She couldn't help the stray paranoid thought. As if her mind conjured it, danger answered.

Two hulking figures stepped out from the shadows in front of her, and Adara halted.

"Well, look what we have here, Tom. I think we've found ourselves a date," said an ugly fellow who stank of alcohol and sweat.

"I just want to go home." Her statement trembled.

"Why, that sounds like a mighty fine plan. Why don't you lead the way?" Tom, who looked just as disreputable with an unshaven countenance and greasy, stringy hair, showed teeth stained yellow and brown.

No. She wanted to say it, yet the word was stuck as Adara's mouth went dry. She knew she should run, say something, but she froze like a deer in headlights, mesmerized by the disaster she saw coming.

The fellow called Tom leered at her with blackened teeth. His fetid breath made her stomach roil as he leaned down to peer at her face. "I betcha you're real happy you found us, aren't you, darling?"

Adara found the strength to shake her head and take a step back, then another. And that was as far as she went. Tom's friend had circled behind her, and his arms wrapped around her, python-like bands that held her immobile. Adara wanted to scream with the unfairness of it all. Not again. Where that thought floated from, she didn't know because it departed as quickly as it had come.

Tom shook his head. "Where do you think you're going, pretty girl? We aren't done with you yet."

Silent tears wetted Adara's cheeks, the only outward sign of her terror. The scream she longed to let loose caught somewhere in her throat, although it echoed loudly inside her head. Help me! Please, someone help me!

And then, unlike last time, someone - make that something - did.