Disclaimer:See first chapter.

Running Blind

"What is needed, rather than running away or controlling or suppressing or any other resistance, is understanding fear; that means, watch it, learn about it, come directly into contact with it. We are to learn about fear, not how to escape from it." – Krishnamurti

The day before:

When he left the house, Aiken ran blindly through his backyard, past the tire swing, past the tree house he and Braden had built with the help of his Dad and Uncle Billy, past the sign that warned of dogs, and into the forest. He kept running, hoping to get free of the man who had killed his mom and brother, hoping to outrun the images that kept playing over and over in his mind. Running, jumping over fallen logs, stumbling over roots, he kept going, unaware of the scrapes that now graced his face and arms. He felt nothing as he ran; the images of his brother's and mother's deaths kept recycling themselves in his mind, mixing with the stark image of the monster who had killed them so that Aiken could imagine the monster's face floating in front of him, egging him on as he ran. Soon, the sound of harsh laughter echoed in his ears. Was it real or just his imagination? He could feel hot breath on his neck as he ran, causing him to run faster.

As he continued to run, the rhythm of his heart soon matched that of the pounding of his feet, and his breathing began to even out. He started to take comfort in the rhythm; the echoes of laughter began to fade and the feeling of hot breath on his neck disappeared. The images pulsed with each beat of his heart, alternating with each step that he took: the man's face, his mother's dying eyes, his brother's blood inching its way toward him…

Soon, Aiken's breathing took on a ragged quality and his lungs began to burn, yet he continued to stumble forward, deeper into the forest. He feared that if he were to stop the monster would get him and so he pressed on, until his legs finally gave way and he fell to the forest floor, sobbing. Tears mingled with the sheen of sweat that covered his face, snot ran freely from his nose. He wept until he felt that he had nothing left inside. Sitting up, he swiped at his nose with a corner of his dirty t-shirt. Hiccoughing painfully, he stemmed the flow of his tears and, for the first time, took notice of where he was.

A brief solace from the endless picture show of his brother's and mother's deaths stole quietly over him and he noticed that he was alone in the woods and that the sun was starting to set. A momentary panic grasped him and he found he couldn't breathe. Wheezing and coughing, he tried to remember the breathing exercises he and his brother practiced as 'good soldiers' and started his slow count to ten. Again and again, he counted until it was no longer painful to breathe.

Looking around, he took in his surroundings, trying to find anything that looked familiar. A tired sob escaped his lips and he firmly told himself that, no matter what, he would not cry again because it would not help him. He was so tired, yet he knew that he should get up and try to find a way out of the forest before it got too dark. There were many wild animals that lived here that Aiken knew were not friendly: wildcats, bears, and snakes among them. He really had to get out of here, he knew it would grow cold as well, even in the middle of summer, being so deep in the woods; the cold would seep into his bones.

He had been lost in the woods once before, but Braden and his father had found him before it got too dark. He had cried that time and it was so scary that he had dreamt about it for several nights afterwards. He was able to find comfort in his brother's or parent's bed then and he had felt so safe. The thought of being lost forever and never being able to see his Mom, Dad, and brother again had nearly suffocated him at the time. Now, he would no longer be able to go to his mother or brother for comfort.

Suddenly thoughts of his father engulfed him, what would his dad be thinking? Had he returned home yet? Would he think Aiken had been a coward for running away? Would he look for him? Maybe his dad would find him. But would he really want him? Maybe he thought he was dead too and wouldn't look for him. Would he rather have Braden alive? Aiken knew that his dad loved him, but sometimes he thought that he loved his older brother just a little bit more, would he be disappointed that he had survived and his brother had not? These thoughts started racing through his head and nearly caused him to start crying again, but he bit his bottom lip determined not to begin crying, knowing that it would be hard to stop once he started.

Bracing himself, he stood shakily, turning in a full circle. His dad had thought it important to teach Braden and him survival skills after he had gotten lost and Aiken remembered how he had drilled into them both what to do if they were lost: walk in an ever-widening circle. He began his walk, hoping that he would recognize something soon, fearing that the images that he had been freed from would assault his mind once again or that the monster would somehow pop out and grab him.

Taking a deep breath, he began his second circle, then his third, and his fourth. He always kept the same tree in sight so that he would know he wasn't going off the path and getting further lost. It was starting to get dark on his fifth circle and he began to shiver. He was thirsty, tired, dirty, and he ached all over. Maybe he should lie down and rest. He really should wait just a bit though, until he found a good place to lie down, a place where he could hide himself.

It was on his tenth circle when he finally recognized the road to Savannah Leigh's place. He nearly jumped in joy, and though he was so exhausted that he could barely put one foot in front of the other he began to sprint down the road that would lead him to a place he considered to be his second home. Grandpa Joe was no longer alive, but his granddaughter, Savannah Leigh, the most beautiful woman Aiken had ever met, was just as friendly. She always let him, his brother, and cousins come over any time they wanted. Her smile could take away nearly every ache he had, and she always smelled of lavender and vanilla – his favorite smell besides that of the chocolate chip cookies his Mom always baked on Saturdays.

Savannah, whose voice was like the brook behind his house, soothing and bubbling at the same time, would be able to help him. She would hold him and sing to him. He would feel safe again. Maybe he'd even wake up and everything will have just been a terrible, terrible nightmare.

When he neared the house, his footsteps began to falter; he grasped his knees greedily drinking in ragged breaths of the cold air. Her truck wasn't in the drive, she was gone. His heart gave a sick flip-flop as he fell to the gravel road, rocks biting into his bare knees.