Monomaniac

Chapter 15

Dante

MY OPHELIA IS A HUNTRESS OF THE SHADOWS, the notion alone triggering both my protective instincts and feral tendencies when it comes to her.

Unfortunately, this time around, the grounds she wanders in her pursuit is home to a venomous snake that kills for sport. Naturally, I can't help but fear that she has stepped blindly and empty-handed against it, that her feet are now in murkier waters than she had predicted.

In another life, our days are filled with warm domesticity, the kind where we are doing taxes together. In this scenario, I might let her risk her delicate fingers with a carving knife while filleting a fish for an early dinner on a perfectly ordinary Thursday.

But in this one, she’s after a serial killer, who’s nothing and in some ways everything like the man she’s slowly and surely falling in love with. And I’ll be damned if she ends up with her fingers tightly gripping that very same knife, just because she had to protect herself against him.

Above all else, Ophelia’s safety is my primordial priority so I have to take matters into my own hands, before she gets too close for comfort to that barbaric specimen who parades as a human being amongst the lambs.

Vitriol boils in me at the memory of how he watched her at the burial of his last victim. I can remember the sight vividly since I spotted him, lingering like a malign disease among the trees while he looked with sick fascination at the ceremony.

I didn't have to be in his proximity to recognize his kind. It made me physically sick to know that my woman was tracking him down, unaware that she was leaving behind a trail of blood in the snow for him to follow.

He started to get a taste of her scent that day and it had killed me to witness them make eye contact. Watching him switch his attention to a new possible prey, and how it only took him a few short seconds to make up his mind, was gut-wrenching.

I don't know to what extent he has delved into the police files, whether he is aware of the degree of Ophelia's involvement or anything about her reputation that precedes her in the supernatural field. Nonetheless, his sudden interest with her has eaten at my nights since that day.

Tommy looked into him and his patterns, revealing that he is the paradigm of a psychopath who hunts his preferred prey with the intent to torture them in order to fulfill his sick fantasies.

He is probably getting off on desperation, as his victims gradually lose their sanity as a result of continuous exposure to sheer terror before killing them; in the end burying only the shell of their former selves.

The police have yet to identify him but fortunately we did, tracking him closely ever since that second where he lingered instead of leaving.

And now the fucker is just a few cars down in front of me, going about his day as if he doesn’t hold a powerless girl’s life in his parasitic hands.

I was informed just a few minutes ago of his whereabouts, his routine being as predictable as one might think given his rigorous profession.

Even though I’d like to water board him for weeks on end, I have to stump that urge for the moment. Currently, we are betting on him to lead us to the location where he’s holding his latest victim and presumably where he had buried many more. At least, that’s the suspicion of the investigators yet to be exposed to the public at large.

Once we identified him and found the clinic where he works, following him was a piece of cake, which is kind of ironic considering the psychopath shopped for glazed donuts for no less than half an hour after finishing his shift. He has yet to buy one.

"The loon is so…strait-laced," Tommy says from besides me in one of our nondescript cars and I couldn’t agree more.

"In desperate need of a straightjacket, indeed."

The man is of average height, has bad posture and a stocky build that makes him appear slow and non-threatening while dressed in well-worn scrubs and pristine white sneakers.

His shifty eyes, framed by large square glasses and staggered walk, create the illusion of someone with a mild temper and tired to the bone from working in the service of others. But, behind the fa?ade, the opposite flashes for those able to see beyond his well-crafted act.

I greet my teeth when I see his gaze travel over the expanse of the parking lot, his freshly shaved bald head cocking to the side when he spots a woman in his vicinity. Paying him no attention, she pushes a faded pink stroller, his sinister gaze following her closely.

At the sight, disgust and the need to end him for good scream in my ears to act now before he gets bolder.

"I wish we could do this more often. Help, you know?" Tommy says quietly, sounding like he's genuinely enjoying himself. Him and crime thrillers – the pairing will never get old.

"Trust me, I’m planning on it," I say, while rapping my fingers on the door and waiting for him to start his car. Hopefully this is the day when he’ll finally lead us to the location where he’s been hiding his victims.

Tommy placed a tracker on his car a week ago, but nothing of substance came out of it. That could only mean two things: he is either capable of unimaginable inhumanity, abandoning and condemning his torture subjects to death by starvation or he has a partner we know nothing of. Regardless, it’s about time he should visit her or whatever the hell he plans on doing.

"His back light is broken," I observe, squinting my eyes and seeing a small trail of beige paint still coating what remained of the glass, as we follow him a few cars behind. From the looks of it, someone had been stuck in the trunk and tried to attract the attention of the car behind, most likely failing considering he is not currently serving at least a life sentence.

"Turns your stomach, I know. It’s been left like that since I started following him," he says distractedly, typing away on his laptop. "He has never taken this route. I think this might be it."

A tense silence settles between us as we follow him at a steady speed, reaching the city limits and hitting the highway in less than twenty minutes. We succeed in staying hidden in plain sight thanks to the trucks and much larger cars surrounding us from all sides on the four lanes.

As the greenery thickens and the road narrows once we enter a wooded area, I give Tommy a look, both of us thinking the same thing.

"If we stop now and wait it out, it might be too late for the girl," he states, taking his gun out and searching in my glove box for spare bullets.

"It’s decided then. Let’s do it," I say resolutely, keeping a considerable distance between us and his car before slowing down around a bend, when the tracking device shows he has stopped up ahead.

"Do you think he's got any accomplices scattered on the property?" Tommy asks, wiping his favorite gun clean – a ritual of his for as long as I can remember, before making friends and enemies.

"There’s no way for us to know, but something tells me he's not the kind to take pride in his work. He seems private and self-centered. Either way, we’ll handle it quietly whatever happens," I say, sticking my knife in my calf sheath and throwing stars in the outer pocket of my bulletproof jacket. One can never be too prepared; I learned it the hard way.

"And remember, we keep his lungs intact until he tells us if there are any other victims. After that we can get creative," I say, checking for bullets.

"Can’t wait. I made a new playlist," he says, smirking at what must probably be a thought involving sights very few could stomach.

"One can only hope it's better than the last, 'cause it stuck in my head like a plague for two weeks straight," I say as we enter the dense shadows fully.

"Frà, it’s not my fault you like your peace and quiet while dismembering. Some of us want to make the best of the worst things in life," he says casually as he dodges the cobwebs that shiver with the biting chill, their maker, as though waiting for us to take a wrong step.

The forest becomes eerily quiet, as if all life has vanished from it, the moonlight emerging through the tall branches of the barren trees casting shadows that seem to dart around us; while the mist rolling at our feet feels like a warning of what or rather who might be lurking not far away.

"That study of telltale signs in childhood drawings couldn't be truer," I say quietly, referring to the disturbing sketches he used to draw on any bare surface as a kid.

Just as he starts to protest, I stop in my tracks at what might be the first sign of human life in the vastly dark wilderness surrounding us.

"What can I say, I’ve always been a misunderstood prodigy –" I signal him to keep quiet, pointing in the direction of the looming cabin in the distance when I move aside the overhanging limb of a tree.

We burrow through some fallen logs, both of us focusing on the sole dim light that has just lit up in one of the rooms facing our way.

The blood in my veins runs cold as the front door opens and a man, who physically looks exactly like the fucker in the parking lot, stands dead still in the threshold. What I find disturbing is that he is in fact the very same one, only now I can clearly see, even from afar, his inhumanity and unburied monstrosity. All because he is currently in his sick element.

Without so much as a sound, he stealthily takes a shovel propped against the west wall and makes his way toward the deserted land behind the house. He walks with his head hung low and without a light, as if searching for a particular spot, stopping every once in a while and inspecting the depressing scenery as if mapping it.

A matter of minutes pass before he finds the patch of ground he has been actively searching for, plucking up a few dry blades of grass and filling his mouth with them. He chews methodically before nodding his head to himself as if agreeing to something before starting to dig. And then…he smiles.

"Man, the creep is too deranged for words," Tommy grimaces, most likely at the repulsive meaning behind the display. "Do you think he–?"

"He's either exhuming someone or digging a new grave. We have to go inside. Now," I run a hand over my mouth, seething at the thought of my Ombra ever finding herself near him.

Careful to evade his line of sight, we find a sleeve of land concealed by pines, the dense obscurity helping us stay undetected.

Once we reach the vicinity of the house I point two fingers ahead, the front door appearing to be the only point of entrance in the cabin from what we’ve seen so far. I draw my gun to my chest and so does Tommy as we make a silent run for it once we are completely out of his line of view.

The stairs seem well-maintained as I try the first one, only the sounds of the faint November wind whistling through the skeletal branches and that of his damn digging, fusing through the night like oil through water.

We make short work of the few steps, planting my back on the wooden wall, next to a deer’s skull stuck on a plaque; the sight of it making me wish I could replace it with his before sunrise.

"Let’s keep it down. If the girl is still alive, she'll react badly to us or most likely think we're on his side," I whisper, trying to detect any sign of life through the dusty window. The place seems cadaverous even without him occupying it.

"Take the west towards the light, I’ll check the rest," he says and I nod, before twisting the knob slowly. I cringe at the low screeching sound of the unoiled hinges as I take guarded steps, eventually finding myself in a living room. I pause at the bizarre sight of countless lamps with no bulbs, the once white sheets covering the furniture smelling of rot and urine.

I may not be well versed in reading auras like my shadow, but this house feels unbearable in its bloodcurdling air. I have no doubt that these peeling walls and decaying floors have witnessed the terrible fates of those poor girls at the hands of the monster outside. One can sense it simply by standing still with his eyes closed.

I don’t waste any time, making my way towards the narrow hallway to my left and coming face to face with a closed door, a sliver of light seeping from underneath.

Not a muffled cry or sign of movement can be detected in the utter stillness, my spirit plummeting at the fact that it might be already too late. The thought that I failed the girl tastes like acid and repeated history. But this isn't about me.

I twist the knob, letting out a relieved breath seeing that it is not locked. Pained memories cascade over me as I am met by the sight of a small figure with all of her limbs bound individually to a chair that has been nailed to the floor. Her blonde hair is matted, yet her clothes are thankfully intact, although she’s full of bruises and untreated cuts.

With her bowed head, frail frame and tied limbs she reminds me so much of Arya. At the sight, I promise myself that I will stop at nothing to save her, almost as if her presence here is my second chance at salvaging my sister.

At the sound of the door opening, she raises her head slowly, pale eyes with so much loathing and fire in them making me stop in my tracks. She may not think that now, but she'll be alright.

"Go to hell and take the other freak with you," she says in a drowsy voice that clashes with the fighting spirit in her eyes.

"I am here to save you; we don’t have any time to lose. If you want to live, you have to trust me," I say calmly as I approach her, raising my hands in a sign of benevolence, as if she were a wounded animal.

"Prove it," she says softly, struggling to keep her head upright.

"I hate to say it, but the man who kidnapped you is planning to kill and bury you as we speak. I'm trying to gain your trust only because I want to keep us undetected. You’ll be home by morning either way, but I’d rather save you from the gore."

"Motherfucker," she says with a sigh, barely meeting my eyes while looking at the floor as if she smelled something rancid. One thing's for sure – he didn't kill her spirit.

"Welcome to the club. Now, try to stay awake," I whisper, trying to keep her responsive as I cut the tight rope around her legs.

"Easy for you to say," she says weakly.

"What’s your name?" I ask, gritting my teeth at the realization that she has probably not eaten since being here, considering her malnourished state.

"Riley…w-what kind of rescuer doesn’t even know that?" she asks, her head falling on my shoulder the instant I remove the rope around her middle.

"The kind that knows your last name is Foster but tries to keep you awake with small talk," I say before lifting her to my chest and swearing under my breath at her barely conscious state.

"It does the opposite."

"Maybe, but you’re still talking," I say as I turn around and come face to face with Tommy, who signals me that we're in the clear for long enough to get out of this rotten place.

"Anyone else?" I ask as we make our way towards the living room.

"This house might as well be a dead man's graveyard," he says tensely as he draws out his gun and walks a few steps ahead of us.

Once we cross the threshold, the silence seems to weigh ten times heavier and, to my concern, I can no longer hear the sound of the earth being disturbed; which means he's either taken a break or –

I stop in my tracks, hearing the whisper of footsteps to my left. In a split second, Riley is lying on the grass and I turn around, facing an empty eyed devil. I can see it in his pupils – he is blood thirsty, holding with a surprisingly steady hand a butcher’s knife pointed at my chest.

I don’t give him the window to stab me as I palm the blade in a tight fist, not making a sound despite the searing pain of my flesh being sliced open through the leather of my gloves.

In one swift move I twist my wrist, taking advantage of his momentary disbelief as the scent of panic mixed with adrenaline fills the forested night air.

A strangled sound shakes his whole body as he squirms like a rodent in a trap, choking under the force of the blow I just delivered to the center of his trachea. Blood sprays into the air as I jab the bridge of his nose, feeling the bone shatter under my knuckles.

"Take the girl to the car!" I shout in Tommy’s direction.

"Be right back," I hear him, already halfway across the field.

"You sick fuck!" I growl, boiling with rage and void of any physical senses at this point. I hoist him by the back of the neck and slam his face against the railing, kicking him repeatedly in the ribs until I hear them crack before he crashes to the floor.

Like a roach from hell, he continues to spasm at my feet before I grab him by the jacket and slam him against the cabin wall, knocking out what little breath was left in him.

With a wrecked face, he stares at me defiantly, but with a hint of apprehension, as I take a star out of my vest pocket and place one of the sharp points under his lower eyelid. As I drag it against the skin, a thin trail of blood falls down his cheek, finally eliciting a reaction from him.

"I will give you the dignity of dying with both eyes, if you’ll spit out the exact location of where you buried the others," I seethe, positioning the blade over his cornea.

"Others?" he asks with a glint of sadistic humor all over his features, showing me his true colors.

It would be so effortless to sink the pointed tip under his eye socket and reach the hallow cavity behind it. But that would mean he’ll scream and thrash for three minutes, give or take and I don’t have the time nor the energy to waste on him.

Instead, I drive it deep in the muscle above his collarbone and hastily remove it. Once, twice, quietly observing how the amusement drains from his crazed eyes by the time of the fifth incision; his howls echoing in the night while his blood flows in streams through his shirt.

"Talk or your liver will be food for the coyotes," I press while turning the blade into the fresh wound, further deepening it.

Amidst his screams, I can barely hear movement from my periphery, not having the time to turn around and confront the bastard behind me.

Before I realize what is happening, a scorching pain spreads like wildfire throughout my system. I lower my eyes, seeing a long needle piercing the side of my thigh.

Already slightly lightheaded, I raise my gaze, meeting the pathetically frightened one of a man, probably in his late thirties. He looks between me and the fucker whose jacket I can barely grip anymore.

Time is of the essence, and I'm running out of it if the substance I was injected with is what was used on Riley.

Ensuring he’ll stay put, I strike him sharply with my elbow in the solar plexus, hoping that the blow was powerful enough to cause temporary paralysis. I watch him hit the ground before I turn around and find the man who just gave me the shot holding the same knife from earlier.

Everything becomes a blur of shadow and movement along with an acute sense of dehydration as the sounds of the woods morph into static noise. A thin film of sweat covers my forehead and the back of my neck as I go in for the kill. The few moments I have of awareness slip away as I feel weaker with each passing second, while my heart struggles to pump against the ebbing adrenaline.

I take advantage of the fact that he doesn't expect me to attack him so openly, tackling and punching him sharply in the temple – the shock of the blow causing his hand to loosen around the knife.

Shaking with every fiber of his being, he groans in pain as I kneel down and rest the sole of my boot on his Adam’s apple. With unfocused eyes, I palm the earth until I find the knife and place it tip first against his chest.

"Talk or die," I heave as I push harder on his neck, not wanting him to sense how close I really am to collapsing.

"I’ll tell you...anything, just please, don’t – " he chokes out, barely able to form the words.

"Have there been others? Where are they buried?" I ask, trying to ignore the nausea while fighting to keep a firm hold on the knife.

"I…ah, you see –" he swallows, looking behind me. From the look on his face alone, I know that I've just lost the damned Grave Digger in the chaos. Fuck.

I look past my shoulder and sure enough, he is struggling to climb the stairs. His hand barely clings to his side as the other one holds the railing smeared from top to bottom in crimson. In his case, death from blood loss is still a possibility, albeit a weak one and far too merciful.

I breathe a sigh of relief when I spot Tommy running towards the cabin, knowing for a fact that in my current state I would have lost them both if I tried to stop him on my own.

"I said talk!" I push down his neck with the last of my strength as I hear the door close behind me. Does the sicko really think some rotting walls are going to be his saving grace?

"Do you need help?" Tommy asks, finally reaching me.

"He’s inside," I say, having the inclination that the little birdie here will sing his whole life story if threaten with a spoon.

"T-two more that I know of. One is next to a dead hedge at the eastern edge of the trees surrounding the property and the-the other is down the road, in the valley leading to the cabin," he stutters, fear gripping his eyes like a noose.

"Where you involved?" I ask, barely having the strength to stand as my knees protest against the effort to remain firm.

"I-I regret it now, at the time I trusted his vision–" I sink the knife handle deep into the side of his neck, blood spraying down my hand as it pools behind his head; despising the thought that it's probably not the first time it's happened in these forsaken grounds.

At this point I don’t even have the strength to take it out of his neck as I collapse next to him, everything becoming distant apart from Tommy’s unmistakable heavy steps approaching me.

"C’mon big boy, let’s get you out of here," he sighs, slinging my arm around his shoulder and pulling me to my feet.

I feel a burning sensation spreading like a current throughout my extremities, while my ice-cold limbs seem to be gradually getting heavier, to the point where they are so numb I can barely stand. God, how I hate being sedated.

My surroundings become solid fog, interrupted every now and then by the vague activity of nature's night life, until I am suddenly thrown onto a rigid surface. Before long, I'm finding it increasingly difficult to breathe in the confining space, now that I distinctly sense we're no longer out in the open.

"Sorry, this is gonna hurt," Tommy warns in a voice that seems miles away, before a sharp sting pierces through my thigh once again.

In seconds, I find myself under an overwhelming cocktail of sensations, experiencing a monsoon of life rushing through me.

I feel my heart rate triple in intensity as my vision becomes clearer, along with the rest of my senses. The awareness of pain diminishes as I feel my strength gain momentum once again, my muscles growing restless. I can now feel my tongue run across the roof of my mouth and smell the crisp, frigid air.

Who would’ve thought the sight of the weathered steering wheel and the feel of the threadbare texture of the car seat would be such a relief? But here I am.

"Welcome back, fra’," Tommy says with his usual smirk, looking down at me as he smokes with his forearm resting on the roof of the car.

"Are they getting better lately or am I losing grip?" I groan, running a hand through my hair and trying to understand what is the matter with me lately.

"Isn’t it obvious? You’re in love," he states simply.

He makes a fair point, and if that's the price I have to pay, let them sharpen their blades and gather their stones. I'll crawl back to her, no matter the outcome.

"Riley here, has been injected with the same tranquilizer," he clears his throat. "She told me about some adrenaline shots hidden under the floorboards and I gave each of you one," he says before blowing smoke skyward.

"Grazie," I thank him while meeting Riley's curious and calculating eyes watching me from the front seat.

"Feeling better?" I wince as I take out my bloodied gloves and throw them on the car’s floor.

"I will be," she says, what unfolded in that cabin making her appear at least ten years older than her tender fifteen.

It goes without saying that I feel sympathy for everything she has been through, but at the same time I respect her strength despite the circumstances. She’s a survivor – it’s written in the way she carries herself, broken as she may be in this moment.

"I know," I nod reassuringly. "There’s a bag of muffins in the glove box if you’re hungry. You’ll have a decent meal at home soon enough," I say, trying to make her feel safe enough to let her guard down even if I’m aware that’s an impossibility considering the lengths of such a traumatic ordeal.

"The digger escaped through the basement’s crawl space. By the time I got there, he already locked it from the inside and was long gone. He's probably hiding deep in the woods as we speak," Tommy says in Italian, most likely trying to protect the girl from realizing that the danger has not yet passed.

"I was so close, if it wasn't for that parasite injecting me. He'll be ten times more cautious from now on, since he knows we're on his trail," I sigh in frustration.

"What’s the plan?" Tommy asks, stumping his cigarette.

I lie down on the gravel floor and light one of my own, fighting the urge to climb the nearest tree with all my new-found, raving energy.

"For starters, let’s make sure no traces of us or our DNA are left on the property. Second, my blood is on that knife, stuck in the throat of his partner. We have to burn the corpse and get rid of it before the cops catch a whiff of what happened tonight."

"What’s the story?" he asks, stealing a muffin from the bag Riley just opened.

Out of respect, I avert my eyes slightly, not wanting to make her feel self-conscious. With trembling fingers, she breaks the sponge in small pieces, struggling to take a bite, after what must have been days of being starved to death.

We have to find that sick bastard. He must be stopped and put down before he sets his sights on another girl.

"The tale goes like this – his accomplice was just a random man who happened to stumble across the property. He tried to save the girl and got killed in the process. Riley got away while they were fighting and looked for helped in the first house she found," I say, rolling the cigarette between my fingers. "I'll talk to her and make sure she's got our back."

"Sounds good, I’ll take care of it. Be back in fifteen," he taps my shoulder and heads back to the cabin.

"Look, I am going to treat you like an adult. This way, we keep it simple and honest, so we can all move on with our lives and leave this shit behind us," I say, resting my elbows on my bent knees.

"I’m listening," she responds calmly, dusting the crumbs off her knees and surprising me once more as she holds my gaze with a nerve few can afford to face me with.

"I had a little sister and in a way you remind me of her. She is gone now, because of people like the one who did this to you," I swallow, playing with the flame of the lighter.

"Did you try to save her?"

Going straight for the throat.

"I was in the same position as her. I just happened to get lucky, if you can even call it that," I clear my throat, running my fingers over the scar out of sheer habit.

"That’s how you got that criminally badass voice?" she asks with a small smile, most likely trying to ease the depressing state we are in.

"Riley, I need you to be mature and understand that what happened tonight was solely to save you and catch your abductor. The rest of what follows would affect us in a bad way since we aren’t clean ourselves; not in the way where the police could waltz at my door and start asking questions," I say gravely, shifting my jaw.

"Are you some sort of vigilante or part of an underground special force?" she asks, starting to finally eat normal portions.

"We aren’t anything special, Riley. Just people who want to wipe away the kind that do nothing but destroy lives among other miserable things," I say getting up and feeling the aftermath of this night deep in my bones.

"Okay, I will keep my mouth shut about you two. But what will happen when the police come? What will I tell them?" she asks, tugging the sleeve of her thin blouse over her knuckles.

"Get in the back, I won’t let you catch pneumonia," I say, waiting for her to climb in the backseat before I get into the driver's one and turn on the heater.

"We'll drop you off at the first house we come across. You’ll tell them that you had escaped after being held captive for days. When the police come, you’ll recount that someone had helped you get out of the house and your kidnapper tried to kill him. While they were fighting you made a run for it into the woods. Other than that, feel free to say the truth," I say, wiping clean the blood off the star I had used on his eye.

"Sounds good enough," she sighs, closing her eyes.

"Also, keep the details hazy. Tell them you don’t recall much since you were scared and malnourished. It was dark and you were disorientated. Remember, we were never there."

"I've never seen another man in the same room as me, but I think I've heard him a few times talking to that freak," she says in a laid back voice but her frightened eyes tell a different story.

I could ask her what she has been through, but it wouldn’t do us any favors at this point in time. She is his first survivor and the whole story may or may not ever be shared publicly. Either way, I will find out and frankly I’m not counting the days. One thing is for certain though; she has come out from the whole ordeal visibly stronger and wiser.

"Are we on the same page?" I ask instead.

"Deal, no one will ever know about you two. I awe you that," she promises, trying to fight back the tears. Poor kid, who knows how the night might have ended if we hadn't made it in time.

"You’ll be alright, give yourself time to heal. It won’t get easier but the weight will get more bearable with every passing day," I say, watching her nod quickly before curling in a fetal position and hiding herself from view.

I know…and how I wish no one else was burdened with this feeling.

"And if you have the kind of parents you can trust, don't turn your back on them when they'll try to help. Water what waters you, kid."

Minutes pass in silence, with closed eyes and mute cries, because there is nothing left to do but accept the reality, the pain, the tears for what they are – a hill that must be climbed.

Just when I finish removing my gear, I spot Tommy’s large form appearing between the trees. I involuntarily let out a relieved breath, knowing that we can finally get out of here.

In no more than fifteen minutes we reach a quaint house shrouded in darkness, except for the light left on the porch. We wait nearby for a short while before Riley gets out of the car and fist bumps us both with newfound hope and determination in her eyes.

"Take care kiddo and keep out of trouble," Tommy says, giving her a brotherly smile.

"Thanks…for everything. I won’t forget," she says, looking at me.

I nod and point my chin towards the house behind us, feeling an alien sense of peace as she runs barefoot into the night on the country road.

For a fraction of a second I imagine her as Arya's ghost while her fists pound desperately on the door. In another life, perhaps my sister is doing just that, seconds before I unlock it.

A woman opens it reluctantly, needing only a second to assess the situation before rushing her into the house. We wait for about five minutes, the light in what I assume is the bathroom switching on and off twice, Riley signaling that she's safe and we can go.

"Take me home," my soul and body desperately need my Ombra.