Chapter 1: Saved

Juliet's eyes gleam in the moonlight as they dart about. Snapping to the road, I sense what she is about to do mere seconds before she does it. But I am ready, my muscles are primed. Even if I am terrified. There is the whining roar of a truck on final approach, its headlights coming more into focus with each passing moment, and Juliet darts towards it, seizing her chance. I leap after her.

"Juliet, STOP!"

"SAM!" A call of my name. I know that the voice does not belong to Juliet, but even then I barely hear it over the blare of the truck's horn, as I push Juliet out of the way. I am caught in the beam of the headlights and stand serene and strong, ready to accept my fate. Ten feet... then five... The horn is a steady whine in my ears...

Hands suddenly grab me, spin me around. In the glare, I can't make out who it is before I feel lips crash over my own in a searing kiss. I swoon for just an instant in the embrace, recognizing the taste of those lips, but then panic, remembering where we are. Before I have time to react, however, I am given a hard shove and I fall backwards out of the truck's path, nearly over the dividing line and down the slightly sloped embankment. There is a squealing of tires and a sickening crunch.

I am on my knees quickly, mouth open in horror; I barely note how Juliet Sykes is sprawled feet away from me, looking just about as dazed and in disbelief as I feel.

"Kent! NOOOOOO!" My sneakers scrape for purchase along the uneven terrain where grass turns into gravel, and I stumble a little as I fling myself over to him. My heart stops when I see how impossibly still my lover is, gruesome scratches and trails of blood lining up and down his body. A shadow falls over us - the truck driver, now out of his car and yelling at us hoarse how we're a bunch of damned fool kids and what the fuck were we thinking. A ball of fire seems to sit on top of his head, and squinting through the haze, I can see it is a bright red cap. That gives me all the permission I need to tune the guy out. He is not my primary concern, and with his choice of headwear, I can reasonably deduce he is retarded and not worth it anyway. Though the sight of one of those in liberal Washington State is about as exotic as an endangered species on a safari.

I turn my attention back to Kent, and shiver with how chilled he feels. He isn't cold, and I can amazingly still feel a pulse under my fingers, but if some help doesn't come quick...

My gaze lands on Juliet, who is inching into the road on unsteady feet, still staring bewildered at the chaos she has indirectly wrought. I tamp down the urge to be angry with her. None of us could have predicted Kent's intercession.

"Juliet, run back to the house and get help," I order. I finally focus on the truck driver; my directive to him is not nearly as calm or polite. "And you: call an ambulance!"

And I wait in the glow of the headlights as I cradle Kent in my lap.