PROLOGUE
PROLOGUE
Erin’s eyes fluttered, and she wondered where she was. Flickers of sunlight jabbed like needles while dark spots faded from her gaze. Her eyelids moved slow, heavy.
She tried to sit up, but realize she couldn’t move her arms.
A slow, cold panic set in. She tried to shift, tried to kick, but her legs didn’t work either.
The panic blossomed into outright terror.
Where was she? Why could she barely open her eyes?
And that’s when she heard the faint whir of wheels. She couldn’t move, but she could feel. And now, she felt her body jouncing and swaying with the sound of wheels.
At last, her eyes opened.
She found her head downturned, staring at her legs. And past her shifting feet, she spotted a neatly arranged cobblestone pathway—red and blue and gray bricks patterned in symmetrical displays.
She watched her legs shift and sway, directed by the motion of the…
Wheelchair? She was in a wheelchair.
The terror trembled down her spine, now. The fear threatened to constrict her throat. She tried to speak, to protest, but her lips barely moved. She could feel the way her lips touched against each other, feeling as if someone had swabbed cotton through her dry mouth. She swallowed, but even this with great difficulty. And then she realized someone was behind her. She could hear him whistling, a merry tune. He continued to push her, guiding the wheelchair up the cobblestone path.
Off to the right, she heard someone say, “Good morning!”
The faint whistling sound continued, suggesting that whoever was wheeling her forward didn’t return the greeting.
She detected the faint scent of coffee. The odor of freshly baked dough. The sunlight and random greeting suggested it was daytime. So why couldn’t she remember last night?
She tried to move again. But it was as if her muscles had all disconnected from her brain.
Had she been injured? Was she at a hospital?
The voice behind her was whistling still. Every now and then, out of the corner of her eye, she spotted figures moving past. Then she recognized the location: an open air shopping center she had often frequented herself.
Why was she here? Why couldn’t she move?
She tried to scream, but again her lips didn’t so much as flinch.
She realized now that she was being pushed up an incline.
The cobblestone turned to gray asphalt. She was now in a multilevel parking lot. How many times had she come through the same spot herself? She would often visit, during the summers, to grab an orange mango smoothie from the small coffee shop on the corner.
As they entered the parking structure, she felt more chills down her spine. But there was absolutely nothing she could do. The scent of coffee and baked goods was replaced by fuel and rubber.
The man behind her continued to wheel her forward. They turned once, twice, heading towards the top of the structure.
Why wasn’t he talking? Why wasn’t he saying anything?
She needed help. She needed to scream. Something was wrong. She wasn’t at a hospital. She could barely remember the previous night, but it was starting to come back. She had been in her bed; everything had been fine.
And then the sound of shattered glass.
Someone had broken into her home. And now, here she was.
The panic flared.
The whistling behind her stopped. The wheels continued to whir. Her hair shifted in front of her face as the jostling motion sent her leaning forward.
Gray hair. Silver bangs.
Stunned, she stared. She didn’t have silver hair—her hair was blonde.
Were her eyes playing tricks?
Suddenly, she felt two clicking sensations. The man behind her was adjusting something on the wheelchair. She found the seat slowly shifting up, and she nearly slid off.
She could feel the wind, could feel the breeze and the sunlight against her skin. Could feel the sweat prickling her forehead. The odor of the parking lot, and of the open air mall all faded. And now, she stared in horror, as her wheelchair was slowly pushed towards the edge of the parking lot. They were three stories up. There was an opening, for construction—an intended expansion. The caution tape was brushed aside. A small, orange traffic cone toppled. The man behind her was wheeling her towards the edge of the roof. Faster, faster. They picked up speed. The wheels spun.
She wanted to scream, but there was absolutely nothing she could do.
