Prologue

The Attack

For Acelynn Faust, the day had just seemed to endlessly drag on. She was new to Los Angeles, and, after a year of living in the heart of the city, she still had no idea which way was up. After being lost for forty five minutes, all she wanted was to go back to her one bedroom, one bath apartment, fall on her bed, and fall asleep.

Finally in her building, though, there were several things that she neglected to notice. For one, the door to the building was wide open. She didn't have to fish around in her purse to find the keys her building supervisor had given to her. It was odd, because the super had made it clear that leaving the ground floor door open was a proverbial "no no". Second, Acelynn was so tired that she completely ignored the fact that her own door was also wide open to anyone who passed by.

It wasn't until she was in her apartment, finally forced to focus all her attention on the random chaos littering the once polished wooden floor and all surrounding surfaces, until she realized that something was desperately wrong. Piles upon piles of books, clothing, magazines, photos, wrappers, and other obscure garbage lay askew at her feet.

She tried to take the whole picture in, although there was just too much for her to concentrate on at the same time. Acelynn bent down, trying to sort out the small details. Directly in front of her was a picture from her childhood, herself as a young girl.

Her eyes traveled north, following a trail of other photos from her childhood. Photos that had been stashed away in the back of her closet, in an old shoe box. She picked up the next one, and the next one, and the next one, each one framing a detailed event in her life. One where she was smiling from ear to ear, and ice cream cone firmly clutched in her hand. One where she was screaming, a little boy throwing a water balloon. Several of her and two other children, the water flinging boy and another girl. Then it got into the later years. Junior high, senior high. One right after another.

She stopped and rose to her feet. It was odd. Everything around her seemed to be just carelessly thrown from its organized place, but the pictures were in a line. It was almost as if whoever robbed her had taken the time to look through the pictures, then toss them to the floor as he traveled.

Her gaze left the floor, seeing a shadow cast across the mess. A gangly figure in overly baggy clothes was still inside her apartment, staring at her. Leaning in the doorway to her bathroom, hugging the frame in a desperate attempt to keep upright. Uncertain eyes darting to the open door, then to Acelynn and back, gaping for a way out.

Another more burly, muscular figure appeared behind the first, photo in hand. "Who's the guy?" a deep voice asked, flashing the picture before her eyes. She recognized the captured memory instantly. She was fifteen, in her high school parking lot with her best friend.

"What?" Acelynn managed to vocalized, finding herself unable to move. Other sounds made their way from her vocal cords, through her throat, and passed her barely pursed lips in the form of gasps and squeaks. "What do you want?" she asked, although she was really wondering why her security alarm wasn't screaming for help in its shrill, mechanical wail.

A smirk danced across his face, his mask hiding the corners of his mouth. He lunged at her, his grubby hands dropping the picture and grasping the air before her. She struggled against him as he overpowered her, pushing her to the floor with all his strength. The accomplice stood dormant in the doorway.

He managed to manipulate her so that he was sitting on her torso, his sheer size pinning her no matter how hard she fought. He reached into the back of his jeans, his hand placed delicately on the handle of a .45 ACP. His fingers passed over the trigger several times, then he pulled out the gun. His smile crooked and deepened on his mask. "Now you're going to be a good girl, right?"

He pointed the weapon towards her, letting a high-pitched giggle emanate, then die, in his throat. He motioned to his accomplice, handed over the gun, and held a finger to his smile to instruct her to be quiet. The accomplice crumpled to the floor, legs folded and hands shaking. The gun was pointed at Acelynn's head.

Her heart started racing faster than she would have thought possible. In her panic, her senses started failing. All but her sight. All sounds went away, except for the beating of her own heart - and, of course, the internal praying she was doing.

Her attacker continued his advance, pushing her harder into the floor. He dared to get in her face, press his forehead against hers. She tried to scream, but he once again signaled for her to remain silent by pointing to the gun and his seemingly useless cohort. Then, he reached behind his back and pulled out a pair of handcuffs.

He grabbed her wrist, squeezing as hard as he could, to fasten one end of the handcuffs. He forced her into the bedroom, her wrist snapping and her shoulder dislocating as she tried to pull herself away.

Angered by her refusal to cooperate, he reached out and grabbed her face, throwing her onto the bed where he fastened her other hand.

Tears were staining her high, powdered cheekbones. Her mascara began to bleed from the flow, but her captor seemed to just find it amusing. He brushed his fingers though Acelynn's hair, wiping tears away from grey, fearful eyes. The smirk appeared again as he unzipped his jeans and allowed them to drop around his ankles. As she watched him position himself on top of her, pinning her legs down so she could no longer kick, her old instincts kicked into overdrive.

He kissed her cheek, then made his way down her neckline. Acelynn writhed in disdain and disgust underneath him, which only seemed to give him more pleasure. He hugged her close to him. So hard, he seemed to be cutting off her lungs from the life-giving oxygen that she had started choking on.

Trying to get past it, trying to save herself, Acelynn began pulling at her bonds as hard as her dislocated and cracked wrist would allow. All the while, she was trying her best to scream. She thought that if she was loud enough, one of her neighbors might come asking questions. Or better yet, someone might call the cops. It was a long shot, at best. Most of her neighbors were elderly and hard of hearing. It was a hopeless effort, but an effort nonetheless.

Yanking and jerking her arms in awkward positions, Acelynn finally began to believe that she might be giving herself a chance when she finally heard - and felt - the delicate crunch of her thumb knuckle sliding up into her hand. She was able to slide her hand out of the cuff with minimal effort now, although it cause her more pain than she would have thought. The sheer agony running up and down her entire arm didn't - couldn't - phase her in this place and time. She still had work to do. After all, there were still two unwelcome people in her apartment.

Trying to reach over and unhook her other cuff was another matter, though. Trying to move her wrist and thumb sent excruciating pain shooting up to her shoulder, which responded with its own blinding pain. She screamed as loud as she could, unintentionally.

"I TOLD YOU TO SHUT UP!" her attacker yelled in a blind rage, hitting her across the face. He moved on to continue his business with a rough, more threatened tone and vigor. She squeeze her tiny body as close to the side of the bed as possible, while her assailant continued his speedy advance.

With one hand free, Acelynn reached for the gun.

The cowardice of the dormant assistant had shown through, struggling with he handle of the gun in a nervous rage. The gun discharged, hitting her attacker in the leg. Her attacker buckled at the knee, falling off the bed and rolling in his own, liquid crimson anguish that was not sprayed on the garbage laden floor.

Acelynn took hold of her pure instinct and grabbed the fizzling gun, taking advantage of the obscenity stuffed distraction. Gripping the wooden handle between her teeth, she labored to have her shattered hand hold it. She managed, convincing herself to ignore the immense throbbing running through the left portion of her body. She squeezed the trigger and watched as the bullet traveled in slow motion. It ripped through the material of his mask, impacting with his skull between his nose and right eye.

She dropped the gun to the floor and turned over, letting out a savage grunt into her pillow. Acelynn peeked over the edge of the bed, seeing more of his life force bled onto the wooden floor. Time was standing still.

She fell back on her bed - ironically, the way she wanted to before she noticed something was wrong. Her eyes glazed over, the harsh grey swirling back into a warm blue. She tried her best not to focus on the dead person lying on her floor. Closing her eyes as tightly as she could manage, she stretched her broken arm as far as it would go. She still had one more mission. Her other hand was still handcuffed to the bed, and she had no intention of breaking any more bones today. She reached into his front pocket, rummaging around with only her pinky and ring finger. She found nothing. No key to her lock.

With the ringleader no longer belonging to the land of the living, the associate fled. She hadn't even remembered the other one was there. Paradoxically, if it wasn't for the faint-heartedness of the other one, Acelynn might have ended up with more than a broken wrist and thumb, and a dislocated shoulder.

On the bright side, someone had to hear those gunshots.