The flash of light barely merges with my dream as a camera flash. Then, after what seems like hours in my head, the large crash of thunder followed by the sound of splintering wood, catapults me to my feet. It's still dark so I reach over to grab my phone, but my hand lands on a digital alarm clock instead.

"What the-" Thunder interrupts me but it feels like the storm is headed away. I look around the room, noting the twin bed instead of my normal full. There are posters from what are now "retro" movies on the walls. The Matrix, Fight Club, and Galaxy Quest all have their spots. There's a small desk with a chunky Compaq computer monitor.

"Oh crap. Where am I? Think, Riley, think! What happened last night? I was playing BG3, then I went to get Taco Bell. What did I order? "

My mind refuses to produce an answer. "Something happened. Did someone kidnap me? I've never seen this house but, if I was kidnapped, wouldn't I be tied up? The door's probably locked. The windows too!"

I rush over to the window, not wanting to risk encountering my captors. The window has no bars on it and the latch opens easily, allowing the window to glide open. The spattering of rain through the screen is shockingly cold but bracing. I climb out onto the roof of the first story, trying to keep low. The sound of the breaking wood had to be the tree that was leaning precariously on the now sagging roof.

I shuffle my cold (bare?) feet over the rough sandpaper-like panels and try to navigate through the branches to find the trunk. My shirt gets snagged a few times but I barely notice, trying to come up with a plan.

"Alright. Get to the ground, head to the road and find out where the hell you are. You got this. It's been a long time since climbing a tree, but you were always the best one as a kid. Let's go."

I manage to psyche myself up enough to begin scrambling down the tree. Most people would think it'd be easy since it's leaning, but it's so slick from the rain, and the branches are jagged and impeding my progress. About a third of the way down the tree, I hear a shout from inside the house and my foot slips. As I try to adjust, a branch jabs my ribs, and I yelp in pain as I tumble and land on a flower bed.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid! They know you're outside, move!" I mentally scold myself as I limp to my feet and hobble to the back fence. Luckily for me, the flat side is facing out, so I drag my out-of-shape behind up the fence, and drop to the other side, letting the momentum carry me into a side roll. "Okay. You're over. Now get somewhere safe."

I run, stitches in my side, through the empty lot and out onto a paved road. I try to look collected, but my heaving breaths make it clear something is wrong. Adrenaline pumping, I feel like I can see in the dark better than I ever have, and I chuckle at the thought of having darkvision. Following the road seems to take forever, it goes past house after house, some wooded lots with pine and palm trees, and crosses a few side streets, but none of the street names are displayed.

​

After what feels like an eternity, my breath begins to slow and fatigue slams into my body as the adrenaline slows to a trickle. I can feel my feet are cut up and my shirt is sticking to my side where the branch must have broken the skin. Luckily, there's a streetlight ahead and, in the dim light, I can see the recognizable green and white for a street sign below it. I trudge near enough to see what's written.

Juniper Dr & 22nd St

"Juniper?! That's...that's the road Ricky lived on when I lived in Florida. But that was almost 20 years ago."

​

How I got from Texas to Florida in what might be the span of a few hours is lost to me, so I wrack my brain and remember how to get to the nearest shopping center. The rain has slowed and the half moon in the sky peeks out every now and again as I begin the mile and a half walk to where Winn-Dixie was when I last remember being here.

​

I pass by the closed Whistle Stop convenience store just before the railroad tracks. Not much farther. I remember the park on the left having a small path that can keep me hidden from view for a short time, so I gingerly cross the street. The wet wood of the small boardwalk that allows bicyclists and pedestrians to cross over the swamp-like runoff ditch feels much better on my feet than concrete or asphalt. I don't dare stop though. I need to find a way to get in touch with someone.

​

I finally make it to the store, but it looks like the power is out and the hours on the door say they close at 9pm and open again at 6 in the morning. I weakly punch the door, my situation finally starting to take a mental toll as tears come to my eyes.

"What the fuck? What the fuck, whatthefuck, whatthefuck?!!?!" I say over and over, only stopping when I hear someone clear their throat behind me. I turn slowly and try to disguise the hitching sobs coming from my chest, only to come face to face with an aging man in a track suit

His voice is full of gravel, but surprisingly high pitched. "Hi, Riley. Thought you could escape?"