Something wasn't right. You know that feeling you get just before something bad happens, that sort of tingling sensation that creeps at the back of your neck and the nagging feeling that pricks at your mind? That feeling of unease was infecting a certain girl's dreams, tumbling her into a chaotic mess of imaginings that refused to make sense even for the world of fantasy. The act of sleep that usually brought relief and freedom from reality was now a place of evil grins and malevolent hands that spread terror wherever they touched. Sweat beaded on a pale forehead as skin twitched in response to such unwelcome nightmares.

A voice that was usually comforting in its familiarity broke through the web of this girl's unpleasant dreams. Ordinarily she would have felt ease at its presence when the alternative was to remain in the clutches of a nightmare. Now, however, that voice was almost as unwelcome as the dreams. It was like a spear tearing at her flimsy world of sleep, jabbing her into the unwelcoming fold of wakefulness. She was ripped from the clutches of her unconscious mind and thrown into a world of waning darkness.

"Get up."

Two blue eyes cracked open to survey the world as illusion spun into reality. Light flooded the room as a switch was flipped, burning the eyes of the girl who was sprawled haphazardly across her bed, her chest still heaving irregularly with the rhythm of disturbed breathing. A loud moan and a hushed series of disgruntled mutterings slipped from her tongue as the girl flipped over to hide her face in her pillow.

"Sweetie, get up. It's time to go."

Go? That caught her attention, helping her ignore the forced and aggravated nature of the endearing term her father had just used. She rolled over in a tangle of yellow and pink sheets to open her eyes. They were forced to acclimate to the room, forced to cope with the irregularity and wrongness of the situation that was surely unfolding. She threw one slender hand above her head as her dad came into focus, fingers mixing with the gentle waves of her wheat blonde hair. Immediately, she was confused by his features; his usually jovial face was creased with lines of worry and a consternated frown. Distantly, she wondered at his expression, puzzled by the lines of age that now graced his face. Since when had he become so old? When had he lost his youthful candor and pleasant poise?

Her attention was caught by foreign voices that were heard outside her room, her sanctuary. Those voices were violating her space, grating upon her ears. They brought back the memory of her nightmares, pulling them to the surface when they would otherwise have slipped into the shadows of the unconscious. She felt them clawing at her mind as she struggled to locate the source of the unfamiliar voices. The prevalent thought that she was struggling to grasp was that there should not be those voices outside her door. They should not be invading her safety without her consent, blatantly ignoring the unspoken boundaries that accompany a sleeping space. She became cognizant of how deeply masculine the voices were. They were almost reckless in tone, completely oblivious of the fact that she was still warding off sleep. She struggled to comprehend the situation, her clear blue eyes now dark with confusion as the feeling of deep wrongness continued to settle in her chest. She felt her lungs constricting. It was as if she were caught in some sort of net with no route of escape present. She felt tangled and confused, the last threads of sleep further inhibiting her ability to form rational thought in this startling situation. Her mind was cloaked in fog.

"Dad? Wh-what's going on?" She found her tongue capable of movement and used it in an attempt to gather information.

"Spencer, I want you to meet Ben and Michael. They will be escorting you to New Hope Wilderness Camp."

His voice was small and gentle and very sad. She found his green eyes no longer capable of making contact with her piercing blue ones. He almost flinched from her words, as if they were snakes reaching out to pour venom into his veins.

"Dad, what are you talking about? New… New Hope Wilderness Camp? What's going on?"

Her voice had lowered. There was now a measure of desperation in her speech.

"Spencer, honey… you're going on an adventure."

That only confused her more. She tilted her head at him, but he ignored her expression. His voice was now throaty and choked with emotion; although you could tell he was trying to remain strong in his resolve. He offered her a smile that was devoid of any comforting qualities. When she refused to return the expression, his lips fell into a frown. She watched as his eyes grazed over her features as if he was trying to memorize them, as if for some reason he was worried he might forget.

"We'll take it from here."

Spencer turned her head so fast to the man that had spoken that she nearly gave her neck whiplash. The man—who was so tall she swore his neatly combed hair nearly brushed the top of her doorway—offered her father an indulgent smile and stepped toward her. She gave him a withering glare that could have melted an ice shelf in Antarctica. She briefly wondered which one of them it was—Ben or Michael—but she wondered it in the detached way of a person that has just undergone some traumatic experience and can only form the most random and useless of thoughts.

"Spencer, right? Well, Spencer, you need to put on some decent clothes and come with us."

In response to the devious glint that was ignited in her eye, he added, "Oh, and I don't recommend trying to fight us or get away. Trust me on this—you won't win."

His following grin was almost cat-like, and she resisted the urge to leap out of the violated safety of her bed and slap it right off his face. The other man stood behind him, standing square with a blank and disinterested expression on his face. He looked more like a soldier in his current position, and for all she knew, he was one. Seeing that the situation was under control, her father extricated himself from the situation. Her eyes burned holes in his retreating back. She felt hot and angry tears sting at her eyes, but blinked them away as she returned her attention to the two men who were invading her territory. She took a deep breath to center her emotions and prepare herself for whatever was to come. In as calm and rational voice she could muster in this disorienting situation, she spoke.

"Can I have some privacy to get changed at least?"

She saw the one man vacillate, undecided, before he nodded his head gruffly.

"You've got five minutes. And I wouldn't try anything funny if I were you, you hear me?"

She didn't say anything in response, merely stared at him menacingly until he turned out of her room, closing the door behind him.

As soon as he left, she breathed a deep, shuddering breath and squeezed her eyes shut. A rush of emotions clambered for her attention, but she pushed them all down. She should have been crying, screaming, protesting—anything other than sitting in the midst of sheets that retained the impression of her sleeping figure. But no, no sound emerged from her as she focused instead on the silence of her room. She wished it could have been a comfort to her in such a crisis, but now that silence just felt empty, pronouncing the precariousness of a situation she could not control. She clung to her calm. Perhaps she was too shocked to fully comprehend the gravity of what was happening, or maybe she was just grasping her usual calm stature—the only normalcy in a time of irregularities and unfamiliarity. It was difficult to overwhelm her, and even though this situation came dangerously close to that breaking point, she found her calm, her center, in the eye of the coming storm.

She opened her eyes, focusing on her breathing for one heartbeat, then two, before flinging the covers back and stepping onto a floor that felt unsteady beneath her feet. She padded her way to her closet and picked out some decent clothes that would serve her for whatever journey she was about to be thrown into. She changed clothes, trying to remain as collected as possible. No matter how calm she was, however, she could not shake the feeling of wrongness that was infecting her senses. No change of clothes was going to shake the discomfort of this day. Briefly, with a thought to her few friends who might wonder what had happened to her, she glanced to where her phone should have been resting on her nightstand. It was gone.

She opened the door to face her escorts. Their eyes looked eager, almost predatory in the lifting darkness of her hallway.

"I'm ready."

The one who had spoken to her before smiled at her.

"Good, let's go, shall we?"

Spencer followed the two men past her brother's doors, downstairs, and to the front door. She passed her dad on the way. He looked nervous.

"Remember, honey, no matter what happens, I love you. I'm only doing this because I love you."

He spoke as if he was trying to convince himself of that fact. She could only shake her head in a mixture of sadness and disappointment as one of the men held the front door open for her.

"Goodbye, Spence."

It would have done neither of them any good to speak the words that were running through her head at that moment. She moved out of her house and into a world etched in sun's rising light. She could no longer see her father's sorrowful eyes, but she felt them trained on her back as she left the darkness of her house. With an escort on each side, she was led to a black sedan. The leather seats of the car felt new beneath her as she was ushered inside; they seemed to reject her presence rather than embrace it. The car was also new, but its smell was cloaked by the cloying scent of the cigarette the driver had just flicked out his window. The seatbelt felt tight and uncomfortable against her neck; it burned her skin as she snapped it into place. As she settled, she gave one last glance to her doorway, finding her father standing there. She could not see his tears. As the car accelerated away from her home, she felt her world slipping out from under her along with it. She felt numb.