Cariss watched Lindsey sleep, concerned with how weak he was becoming. She'd lost track of the number of days they'd been trapped in this room, but knew it had been several (possibly even weeks), and so far they hadn't been given a single drop of consumable blood. Lindsey had tried to drink the human blood they'd brought after the first day, but his body had rejected it, just at Cariss suspected it would.
These Watchers were smarter than the last ones. By not giving them blood, they were keeping their prisoners week. Without blood they had no choice but to eat real food, and the food was daily drugged with the same aphrodisiac they'd first been given. Nearly every waking moment was spent in bed (and every flat surface of the room) seeking physical release from the induced arousal that never seemed to dissipate. Only complete and utter exhaustion allowed them to sleep. She hadn't been able to even begin planning an escape.
She had to get them out of there. She owed it to the sleeping man who should never have been dragged into this in the first place. Lindsey McDonald should have grown old, married to some Southern girl who could match his sarcasm, surrounded by dozens of children and grandchildren. He shouldn't be trapped into an existence that no one in their right mind would ever choose because some idiot humans couldn't get through their thick heads that she could not, and would not, reproduce.
She'd thrown out the food this morning. She couldn't think clearly if her brain was fogged. If she couldn't think clearly, they would never get out of this prison. She'd already managed to metabolize the last of the drug from yesterday. She needed to find a way to contact Methos. If they were still in London, as she suspected they were, he was the closest person who could help them. He wouldn't have any part in doing this to her, and he would have no qualms in killing those who did. Damn these humans for not being foolish enough to leave a phone. No, they'd ripped the jack out of the wall, and her cell phone had disappeared the night she'd been brought here.
Beside her, Lindsey was finally starting to stir. She could see that his body hadn't completely processed out the drug, no doubt because he was so weak. When his eyes finally opened, they were still clouded with lust and sleep. At least now he was too weak to try to force the issue.
"C'mere."
She leaned out of the way when he reached for her. They both needed to conserve their energy if they were going to make an escape.
"Don't go. C'mere."
"Sorry Lindsey, but you're just going to have to ride this out. We have to figure out a way to get out of here."
He stretched further, and she slid off the bed to start pacing the room. There was too much to deal with, and she just needed to think. If Lindsey didn't get blood soon, he wouldn't be able to do anything to help get themselves out of this mess, and in her current state she wasn't sure she could get them both out without help. Leaving him behind wasn't an option.
"Where's the food?"
She stopped pacing to look at him as he asked that question.
"I tossed it. We can't let them drug us again."
"We need food."
"Here."
She wasn't sure what her blood would do for him, if he would even be able to drink it, but she had to try something. Using her fangs she bit into her own wrist and offered it to him.
"Uh-uh. You're as weak as I am."
"Not quite. Take it, Lindsey. You need blood."
It was a relief when he took her wrist with no more protest and started to drink. She refused to let him see how much it drained her to feed him, and kept her teeth gritted against the ache. She was happy to see that he managed to keep her blood down, and that his body didn't reject it as it had the human blood. He was in desperate need of blood from either an Immortal or a vampire, but it looked like her blood might work for now, and that was all she could ask for.
She stopped him when she started feeling weak, not wanting him to take too much. If someone came in while she was completely out, with Lindsey in such bad shape, they wouldn't stand much of a chance. Lindsey watched her wrist heal in fascination before he pulled her up against him and settled back against the headboard. He knew he was in no shape to do what he really wanted: bury himself inside her and take them both over the edge again and again until they couldn't move. He knew that it was a result of the drugs he'd continually been dosed with, and shook his head to try to clear it out.
He let his thoughts roam as he felt her settle into sleep beside him. He knew she'd been watching over him for the better part of the day, now it was his turn. She was right; they had to get out, and soon. He didn't know who these people were, but he knew what they wanted. Now that he was this-whatever he was—they thought they could use the two of them to breed. They wanted a baby. He'd figured out they were part of the same group as those men who'd attacked them in Sunnydale, and he remembered something about some sort of prophecy; probably from that book that had been stolen from Wolfram and Hart. Lindsey had no intention of falling in with their plans without doing everything he could to fight back.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Angel was getting angry. The worry was there, underlying, but more important was the anger. Cariss was supposed to have arrived before now. Nearly two weeks since the flight she was supposed to be on had landed, without her on it, and he still hadn't heard a word from her. Considering that they hadn't spoken for a number of years before the events of Sunnydale, Wesley had unhelpfully observed that he might be overreacting to a week of silence. Wesley didn't know Cariss, though. If the woman committed to something, even something as trivial as coming to visit for a while, she didn't just not show up. And she certainly didn't not show up and then not call to explain why she was cancelling her plans. That just wasn't her temperament, and it never had been. It was one of the things he loved about her.
His mood wasn't helped by Giles' near daily calls asking if he'd heard anything of Spike's whereabouts. Willow had somehow managed to let Buffy know that Spike had taken her, and the Slayer was trying her best to hunt them down. Angel could honestly tell Giles that he hadn't heard from Spike, which saved him from having to lie to the man that he, for the most part, respected. Spike wouldn't call him for help, at least not until he ran out of money, and he wouldn't just show up in L.A. with Willow. The fact that they hadn't come to L.A., when he knew Spike would feel the same need to be near him that he was feeling to be near his childe indicated that he hadn't turned the girl yet. L.A. was far too close to Sunnydale to bring the young witch who would doubtless fight her captivity.
He had a vague idea of where Spike and Willow were hiding out, based on the properties in his name that he'd been getting higher utility bills for the last few months, but nothing concrete. And he wasn't about to set the Slayer on their trail by giving the Watcher vague possibilities. Spike needed time to either get Willow to settle, or turn her. He would give his childe that time. After leaving Spike in the hands of the Slayer for so long, unable to defend himself, he owed him that. Cariss had noticed the strong attachment Spike had for the mortal girl, and that it appeared to be mutual. Nothing in the world would convince Angel to try to take Willow away.
He wasn't being entirely heartless, he told himself. He was concerned for Willow, just as much as her friends were. He was concerned for her physical wellbeing, and had even gone so far as to send his childe a cell phone so that he could speak to the girl himself to ensure she was alright. It might take a few days for the phone and the running couple to intersect, but he knew they would eventually. Spike wouldn't take Willow somewhere he wasn't familiar with; he would stay with environments he could control. That meant he would stay with places Angel knew well, and had real interests in, and at some point they would be in the house where he'd sent the phone. As soon as that happened, he had a few words to exchange with his childe concerning the mortal witch. He didn't think for a minute that Spike would intentionally try to harm her; this wasn't Dru, who would respond eagerly to such treatment. No, Spike would be as careful as he could be of his Willow. Any injury to the girl would be purely accidental.
But Angel owed it to Willow as well to be concerned about her overall wellbeing. He had to give careful consideration to what he would be returning Willow to if he did take her from Spike. The neglect showed by her parents made his own father look like an exemplary role model. They wouldn't be equipped to help their daughter deal with a trauma, if they even noticed. And her friends? Her friends would be very concerned, and would do their best, but he'd seen their best, and he wouldn't wish it on his enemy. He wouldn't even wish it on Lindsey McDonald. They would always see her differently for her time with Spike. She would never be able to go back to life the way it was before he carried her off, and trying to rebuild a life for herself in Sunnydale, where the few friends she had would always look at her as something other, something tainted, would be impossible.
No, he was certain Willow would disagree with him, possibly even hate him for it, but he couldn't in good conscience take her from someone he knew would take care of her and treat her as something precious just to turn her back over to people who never really saw her for what she was worth in the first place. She deserved better than that.
He idly wondered if Spike had figured out yet just how different keeping Willow was from keeping Dru. With Drusilla all he had to do was replace the pets she continually starved to death because she couldn't remember to feed them. Angel was fairly certain that Willow would give Spike a run for his money, once she got over being afraid of him. If she ever put that genius brain of hers to use against him, his childe would be in serious trouble.
"Angel, there's a call for you."
He looked up from his internal musings to see Cordelia standing in his doorway. He hadn't even heard the girl come in.
"Who is it?"
If it was Giles again, he was hanging up.
"Some British guy. I thought he was calling for Wesley, but he asked for you specifically."
"Take a message."
"He said, and I quote, 'if the bloody vampire doesn't answer the phone or put Cariss on right now I'm flying over to L.A. to have the pleasure of running my sword directly through his heart'. I don't know what he's talking about, but he sounded kinda pissed."
Methos. It could only be that Immortal friend of his Faerie. Now Angel was really concerned. He'd thought that maybe Cariss hadn't come because she was too wrapped up with Methos to remember her flight. It wouldn't be the first time she'd done it, gone off with that Immortal and completely lost track of the days and weeks that passed. It was the only explanation for her absence that didn't include trouble, and it had just been blown to hell by that phone call. Methos wouldn't be looking for her here in L.A. if she was with him.
"I'll take it, Cordy. Thanks."
As soon as she left he picked up the phone and hit the button to transfer the call to his desk. He definitely didn't want this conversation to be heard by the rest of the building's inhabitants.
"Look, bitch, I don't care how much time you want to spend in bed with your little lawyer boy-toy, but you answer your bloody phone when it rings!"
"It's Angel. Cariss never made it to L.A."
"Say that again."
The conversation was terse and to the point, with the Immortal not liking the vampire any more than the vampire liked the Immortal. Angel hung up the phone wondering how Lorne ever managed to get along with that guy. He really hated Immortals; they thought that just because they weren't technically demons they were above everyone else. And they just wouldn't die, no matter how many times you ripped their throats out. Still, if he had to work with the annoying wanker to find out what happened to his Faerie, he would do so (and hope that he at some point had the opportunity to cut off his head).
B-B-B-B-B
Willow was exhausted as she pulled on yet another dress. Somehow, someway, Spike had found a boutique that catered almost exclusively to demons. So here she was, stripped down to her underwear while a sales associate tossed various articles over the curtain for her to try on. She'd already been at it for almost three hours. To make matters worse, she had to model everything she tried on for Spike, who had the nerve to sit on one of those cushioned chairs and sip a glass of blood. She didn't even want to think about where that blood came from.
If only one of these ever-so-helpful sales people would just talk to her! Tell her where exactly she was! But no, they didn't speak to her, not even when they took her measurements. The woman took every imaginable measurement, and the only words she ever said were "suck in", "hold your breath", and "what size do you wear", before she disappeared out onto the sales floor. They just treated her like she was a live doll to dress up, coming in to stare critically at her, taking in every detail of her appearance before either taking away something they'd brought for her to try or manhandling her into yet another outfit.
The clothes were beautiful, she would give them that, but they were nothing she'd ever wear. The dress she was shrugging into at the moment was a lovely peach flowered silk that looked like something out of the 30's. It fell past her knees and the skirt was just full enough to flare at the bottom. She'd never dreamed of owning something so classy, especially not something that hugged her few curves so nicely. But she didn't want Spike buying her clothes. Ever. Not since he'd gone from trusted friend to kidnapper and rapist. She wasn't his danged pet!
"Come on out, Red."
Her most recent tormentor helpfully pushed her out of her curtained retreat into the main room, and she fought the urge to fidget as Spike critically looked her up and down.
"Lovely. She'll take this one."
Without another word she was herded back behind the curtain, and the dress was pulled off and carried out to be added to the ever growing pile of "keepers". Spike had apparently decided to buy her an entire new wardrobe. Tops and jeans were mixed in with the dresses Spike seemed to want her in, and her cheeks flamed at the thought of all the lingerie that had been delivered from another store for his approval. She'd put her foot down, flatly refusing to model those for him, not caring if she pissed him off enough to drain her dry. That was far past the extent of her cooperation. He'd just smiled and let it go, which actually worried her more than if he'd insisted.
And the shoes. Willow had never owned so many pairs of shoes in her life, or even seen so many different pairs in one place outside the mall. Some specialty store had delivered a large variety to choose from, in addition to what the boutique had on hand. Had Spike threatened that many people, or was he really just that important in the demon world that people jumped to do what he asked? Willow guessed money really did buy anything. On the plus side, at least one pair that he'd picked had stiletto's pointy enough she might be able to stake him with them.
After Spike finally decided she had enough, she was allowed to put her regular clothes back on. Even those were a bit of a disappointment, as she couldn't even call them her regular clothes. The only thing she'd left Sunnydale with was the clothes on her back, and Spike had long since gotten rid of them. His idea of appropriate clothing had led to arguments that should have woken any nearby neighbors, and resulted in her grudgingly wearing the jeans he'd picked up for her, and his t-shirts and button downs. She'd managed to get a hold of his lighter long enough to burn the corsets and transparently gauzy tops he'd supplied. What she wouldn't give for just one fuzzy sweater from her closet at home.
Her jaw dropped at the total after all the clothes were wrung up. The sales lady looked ecstatic, and Willow dimly realized she probably worked on commission, which was likely more than this woman earned in a month. It was definitely more money than she'd ever earned in a month the one summer she'd actually worked a job. The purchases were packed into boxes and bags that far outnumbered what a single person could ever hope to carry. How would he even get all this stuff back to his car?
"It will all be delivered before dawn, Sir."
Well, that answered that question. Spike slung an arm around Willow's waist and guided her out of the boutique and back to the car. She looked around, trying to take in every detail. There had to be something that would give her some idea of where she was. But no, Spike hauled her back into the car in record time, and she didn't have a chance to take in her surroundings while she was holding on for dear life as he drove like a madman. She closed her eyes as she saw the needle on the speedometer climbing.
She was surprised to see the box waiting on the doorstep when they got back to the house. Judging from the expression on Spike's face, he was surprised to see it too, and not in a good way. The handwriting was familiar; Willow knew she'd seen it before. It looked like—it was. It was Angel's handwriting. Angel knew where they were!
Before she could say anything, Spike had the door unlocked and quasi-shoved Willow inside. The box he set on the coffee table in the living room, looking at it as if he was waiting for it to explode. She kind of hoped it would, but no. His cautious opening of the box revealed nothing more deadly than a cell phone. But still, that was good news, right? Angel had sent a cell phone. He would—what did his sending a cell phone mean he would do? If he was going to threaten Spike and rescue her, he would have done that in person. And he had to know that she was being held here: there was no way Buffy or Giles wouldn't have told him that Spike kidnapped her. If he knew where Spike was, then he knew where she was too. So why hadn't he come in person? Or at least told Buffy where she was, so that the Slayer could take care of Spike, if he didn't want to do it himself?
XXXX
Spike was worried about Willow. The girl had gone silent hours ago, after a conversation with Angel. His Sire had actually come through, telling Red point blank that he wasn't coming to get her. It had been a blow to the girl, hearing that her last hope for rescue wasn't coming, and from his own lips. He didn't know why Angel had decided to be so accommodating, but he'd take it. The sooner his human understood that she wasn't going anywhere, the sooner she would finally settle down, and the better off she would be.
It hurt to realize just how badly the girl had been hoping for someone to rescue her. He hadn't treated her badly; he hadn't so much as laid a hand on her in violence. He'd given her anything she asked for. What more did the bloody woman want? He was starting to regret not turning her as soon as they'd gotten away from Slutty and the rest of her friends. If he hadn't wanted to enjoy the warmth of a human woman for a while he'd already have his Red Goddess. How he missed the vampire version of Willow. That woman, for the brief time she'd been in this reality, had been his match in every way. He'd waited, something he'd never bothered to do before, for the human girl to grow up. Turning her prematurely wouldn't bring out the vampire he knew lurked beneath that innocent exterior. She'd be even more powerful now that she'd started practicing magick. Even if her spells were beginner at best, the potential was there. When he finally turned her, she would be a force to be reckoned with.
He growled impatiently as the doorbell rang, and he pulled the steel door open. It was about time they delivered this evening's purchases! He paid for their service, paid dearly, and they waited until it was nearly sunrise to deliver everything? He had a few words for their manager when he called them up after sundown.
"Put it all in the bedroom," he ordered the rather unfortunate looking demons hauling boxes and bags. Willow barely looked up as they filed past her and disappeared down the stairway to the bedroom. She didn't look up during any of their treks in and out, or when they finally left. Only Spike securely locking the door she didn't have any hope of being able to open got her attention.
"It's time for bed, Pet."
She didn't answer, but rose from the couch and headed for the bedroom, leaving him to trail behind her. She grabbed one of the flimsy nightgowns she'd just acquired and shut herself into the bathroom. Let Spike believe what he wanted about her silence, but she'd spent the last hours thinking. Angel wasn't coming for her. He knew where she was, he knew what Spike was putting her through, but he wasn't coming for her. Now she knew that wherever she was, Buffy had no idea. She couldn't count on help from that end, either. She didn't know why Angel had decided to become her enemy, but that was fine. If she couldn't count on anyone else helping her out of this hell, she would just have to escape on her own.
This house actually had potential. The main door might be steel, but the windows weren't. They weren't even barred, they were just boarded up. She'd been practicing her spells on the brief occasions she was left alone, and she was sure she could get rid of the boards. Once she did that, she could get out through a window. All she had to do was get out of the basement-turned-bedroom they occupied, and up to a window. The biggest problem would be getting free of the handcuff that kept her bound to Spike during the day, but she had a plan for that too.
"What's taking so long in there, Red?"
She hurried through changing, using the bathroom and brushing her teeth. If she took too long, Spike would just come through the door. He'd done it more than once when she took longer than he thought she should. Probably wanting to make sure she didn't try to drown herself in the bathtub or something. She grabbed the fingernail clippers and carried them out with her, making a show of clipping her nails. Spike grabbed her hand, inspecting the job she was doing.
"Pity. I rather liked them long."
"Well, they were starting to crack, so I wanted to cut them before they broke."
Fortunately he didn't say anything to that; he just waited for her to finish her grooming before applying the handcuffs to their wrists and pulling Willow into the bed. She hurriedly set the clippers on her nightstand as Spike pulled her into a kiss, reaching across her to turn out the lamp. Her protest was brief as she was rolled under him, and she focused on getting through the encounter without losing her cool.
She waited until she was sure he was asleep to feel along the nightstand until she came into contact with the nail clippers. She fumbled with the tiny implement until she was able to rotate out the pointy tip she never actually used on her nails. It was small enough; it should be able to fit into the keyhole on the cuffs. If she could manage to get the cuff unlocked without waking up Spike, she could make a break for it.
She stuck herself more than a few times as she tried to get the tiny pick into the keyhole. She cursed the fact that the room was pitch black, but didn't dare turn on the lamp. If he woke up while she was still cuffed to him, she'd be in real trouble. She froze when he turned over, but he didn't stir beyond punching a pillow and getting more comfortable. After a few tense minutes of waiting, she went back to work.
The click of the cuff unlocking was so soft that for a moment Willow didn't realize that she'd finally done it. It had been a long shot, but she felt the shackle loosen, and she was able to slip out of it with only very slight prying. Thank you God, she thought to herself as she very carefully slid off the bed. It was agonizing to move slowly, when she wanted nothing more than to sprint across the room and up those stairs as fast as she possibly could, but she couldn't risk making too much noise and waking the vampire.
Inch by inch she made her way across the room to where she knew the closet was, feeling her way along the wall. Her excellent memory was put to use in feeling through the clothes on the hangers to find a pair of jeans and a tank top. Underwear would have been nice, but that would have required rifling through drawers, and she wasn't risking the noise. She slid the tank top over her head and climbed into the jeans. Footwear might be a problem; Spike hadn't bought her a single pair of sneakers, and she couldn't possibly run in the heels that lined the closet floor and top shelf. Had he at least bought her a pair of flats? Jackpot: a pair of sandals. Not ideal for trying to run, but she didn't want to try running barefoot on asphalt. She would wait until she got outside to put them on, though.
A thought occurred to her, and she held the sandals by their straps and inched her way back over to the bed. Silently, she felt along the mattress until she found what she was looking for: the open handcuff. Terrified that Spike might wake up while she was in reach; she hurried to lock the handcuff around the headboard, then inched/slid her way across the room to the stairs, carefully feeling along the floor for any obstacles. She knew when she reached the opposite wall that she'd made it to the staircase, and climbed the stairs as silently and quickly as she could.
Her relief at making it up the stairs was short-lived, as she heard Spike begin to move around. If he was searching for her, it wouldn't take him long at all to wake up.
"Red?"
She momentarily froze in fear, until the activation of the lamp filled the room with light, and she could see the disbelief, and then rage, that flitted across Spike's face.
"Red!"
He attempted to lunge off the bed, but was stopped by the handcuff, and he immediately lost his human visage. That spurred Willow into action, and she wrenched open the door and ran across the open living area to the next set of stairs. That headboard might be metal, but it wouldn't hold him for long.
"Willow!"
His yell filled the building, and Willow ran to the first window she could get to. Concentrating was harder than she expected when she could fell the vibrations as Spike pulled against the headboard, making it crash into the wall, but fear drove her. This was the closest she'd come to escaping before, and she just knew that if she didn't get away today, she would die. She finally managed to zap the board, the tiny amount of fire sparking off her fingers burning a hole through the wood; a hole she could use to pull the rest of the boards apart.
There was a moment's disorientation as she was faced with the bright light of the sun after being in the pitch dark. She was faced with a large pane of what looked to be thick glass. She put all of her strength behind the elbow strike into the glass, but it only barely cracked. That crack coincided with another loud crash of the headboard into the wall, and then a brief moment of silence followed by a roar of anger.
Gritting her teeth, elbowed the glass again, and it cracked further. It also damaged her elbow; blood started flowing freely down her arm. She was getting desperate now; there was no way she'd be able to break the glass before Spike reached her. A glance down the hallway landed on a small wrought-iron table, and Willow sprinted for it. She dragged it down the hallway, then used strength she never would have believed she possessed and hurled it against the window, finally succeeding in shattering the glass.
"Willow!"
She ignored the glass cutting her feet as she stepped on it to get to the window. Oh no. She'd misjudged the distance to the ground; it was a lot higher than she expected. Hearing Spike on the stairs, she shoved the sandal straps into her mouth so that her hands were free for holding on to the window, and climbed through.
"Red!"
She dangled off the window ledge, trying her hardest not to look down, when she felt a hand grab onto her wrists in a crushing grip. She yelped at the pain, dropping the sandals to the ground below her. The pain was excruciating; it wouldn't be surprising to learn he'd broken a bone.
"I've got you, Pet."
No. No no no no no. Not when she was so close! He started to pull her back up, and she kicked her feet, swinging wildly to counter that pulling. Her feet finally made contact with the wall, and she braced against it. Now that she was somewhat stationary, she used that leverage to pull back against Spike. She wasn't giving up without a fight.
"You're not getting away from me, Willow!" he growled at her as he squeezed harder and pulled. Willow pulled back, putting everything she had into breaking his grip. She pulled, and he leaned further out the window.
He was only just in the shadows, and she had an idea. She pushed off from the wall, swinging out. It wasn't a controlled swing, but it was serving its purpose, making Spike move. When she swung, again pushing off the wall, she managed to get into the sun that was moving ever closer, taking Spike's wrist directly into a shaft of sunlight. The air was immediately filled with the smell of burning flesh, and Willow was in a free fall to the ground below.
"Willow!"
She lay immobile, stunned for a moment, as she struggled to draw in a breath. The pain was enough to tell her that she was alive, but was anything broken? Could she move? She had to be able to move. She wasn't naïve enough to think that even the sunlight would keep Spike trapped for long. He could just throw that damned duster of his over his head to try to run outside. Why oh why hadn't she thought to grab it?
She forced herself to her feet. They hurt, quite a lot, from the broken glass, and her ankle felt like it might be sprained, but she started limping into a run. She had to get as far away from the house as she could, and she had to figure out where she was so she could figure out how to get home.
The area wasn't completely isolated, but she didn't recognize anything as she pushed herself to run. The fact that she was heading downhill was probably the only thing that let her keep going. People in cars passed her on the road, not even sparing her a glance. She thought about trying to flag one down, but when a jeep got close, she couldn't understand what they were saying. They weren't speaking English, and she saw more than one person carrying a weapon. She kept her head down and moved off the road, hoping they would just keep going past her.
Judging from the number of buildings she could see in the shrinking distance, she was heading for the main part of the city. She glanced above the approaching skyline and almost tripped as she skidded to a stop. That wasn't possible. There was no way she was seeing the giant statue of Jesus that towered above the city on the mountain. She was in Rio?! How the hell did Spike get her to Brazil without her knowing?!
Keep moving, Rosenburg! You can worry about the how once you've made it out alive!
That thought was needed to spur her into action, and she started running again. She could feel the pain of her injuries more acutely for having stopped, and cursed her stupidity in stopping. She needed to get somewhere she could get treated, but where could she go? She was in Brazil, and she didn't speak Portuguese. She had no clue how their emergency system worked.
People stared at her as she ran down the road into the first busy street. She knew she must look horrible, with blood still dripping down her arm and her clothes disheveled from the fall and running. It was no wonder people turned away if she happened to make eye contact with them. If she saw someone who looked like she did, she'd probably lock the door against them.
Just when she was starting to lose hope of finding some place she might be safe, she saw a church, no more than half a block away. She put on a last burst of energy, and sprinted the final stretch up the steps to the church. The door was unlocked; it opened easily and she flung herself into the building, chest heaving. She couldn't understand the words of the nuns hurrying towards her, but it didn't matter. She closed her eyes, finally feeling safe at last.