It wasn't his good looks or manners that caught Sarah's attention, nor was it the special attention he paid her every time he came in; it was his voice. It was a deep, almost husky kind of voice, the kind you'd want to talk you to sleep at night and assure you that everything was going to be all right. Except that, it wasn't going to be all right and it wasn't a voice of comfort or love. It was the voice of a homicidal maniac that whose owner had set his eyes on the wrong woman.

Sarah never had feelings for him, not the kind that she had for Charlotte, but there was something there. Perhaps it was a deep longing that pulled her to him, or the aura of protection that he projected, whatever it was, he had Sarah wrapped around his finger after only ten minutes of knowing her. She agreed to meet him for coffee several weeks after their first encounter and it was the beginning of the end of Sarah's life as she knew it.

When he took her, Sarah never thought she would be sitting in her apartment again, fourteen months later, alive and as well one could hope to be. But she wasn't safe. Even though he was dead, she wasn't safe and there was nothing she could do about it.

Sarah stared at herself in the bathroom mirror. She hadn't left the house in almost a week and only showered when Charlotte forced her to. Charlotte had moved in the morning after their talk and Sarah could smell the faint hint of dinner from downstairs. Curry, again.

Not that Sarah minded, really. If Charlotte didn't cook, Sarah probably wouldn't be bothered to eat anything more complicated than peanut butter and crackers.

He always forced Sarah to cook. He would stand behind her as she fried onions in a skillet or scrambled eggs for breakfast, his breath hot on the back of her neck. He would slink his fingers through her hair, brush his fingers across the skin of her neck and whisper to her how much he need her, how much he loved her.

"Just a little longer, baby," he would whisper, as the smells of sizzling food filled the small kitchen. "I can feel the tension, right there," he'd place his hands between Sarah legs, halfway between her knee and crotch. He did it every night, as though convinced it turned Sarah on.

A sweat broke out over Sarah's brow and she shook the thought from her head. It was bad enough being on the D.U.P's radar, let alone a series of self-torturing thoughts that was sure to force Sarah to make a stupid decision. The last thing she needed was to do something careless and get caught. The idea of being under Augustine's watch made Sarah shake.

"Hey! What are you doing up there?" Charlotte's gentle voice rang up the stairwell, a comforting sound that brought Sarah back into reality. "You okay?"

"Yeah!" Sarah called back, finally finding her voice. "Yeah, sorry, I'll be down in a minute."

Sarah splashed cold water on her cheeks and took her shirt off. She took a moment to look at herself again in the mirror. Hints of green ink peeked out over the tops of her shoulders and over her collarbone. Sarah remembered every detail of the tattoo, from the colours of the dragon's scales to the strangely alive sparkle in its eye. On the inside of her forearm, just below the elbow, was a grenade, the kind you'd imagine soldiers in the army would use and on the other a small decorative knife. Sarah had them tattooed six months after she escaped and it took her months to be able to pull the grenade from her skin without the spring tripping and the thing disintegrating back into its dormant form. Butterflies, a dozen of them, passed over both Sarah's wrists and she often would use them as a source of comfort. When she felt her anxiety start to take control, Sarah would pull them out and watch them fly about her head until the panic attack subsided.

Sarah ran her fingers over the ink that had settled so willingly into her skin and felt the buzzing beneath her touch, as the tattoos breathed and existed within her, waiting to be pulled out again.

"Are you going to go outside today?"

Charlotte stared intently at Sarah over her cereal bowl. Another two days had passed and Sarah still refused to leave the house. There had been no mentions of the D.U.P or Augustine for almost a week, no knock on her door, no phone calls or e-mails, nothing to suggest that Sarah was still being hunted. If anything, it looked as though the D.U.P were lessening their grip on the small city.

Indeed, yesterday an announcement had been made on the local news channels that the Malahat highway was expected to open to normal operations again in the next few days and several ferries were being allowed to run to the mainland and back. There was a small glimmer of hope in Sarah at the announcement. Perhaps Augustine had bigger fish to fry, bigger problems to take care of instead of some traumatized woman in a small town.

Yet, Sarah still feared leaving the confinement of her home. Her work had called and informed her that if she didn't come in she would either be placed on a temporary leave of absence or fired, depending on what the head honchos decided. But Sarah didn't care, she didn't care about her job, she didn't care about the petty problems of everyday life. All she cared about was keeping quiet.

But she knew, even though she tried so hard to deny it, that she would eventually have to leave her home and be exposed to the world beyond. She knew it was time to face her fears, whether she wanted to or not. Charlotte wasn't going to take no for an answer.

It was bright outside, and borderline balmy. The coast weather was, at times, unforgivable and would rain for days on end. But today it was clear out and the sky above was a deep blue with only a few wisps of white cloud. A light breeze picked at Sarah's hair and played with it about her face.

Charlotte had decided on taking Sarah downtown, first to the waterfront, then to lunch and a walk around the small streets to visit the shops there, which were as unique as the streets they sat on.

The waterfront was quiet and Sarah lavished the salty air on her cheeks and breathed it in. As nervous as she was, it felt good to be outside again and feel the power of Mother Nature. Sarah smiled.

"Aha!" Charlotte yelled out, seeing Sarah's expression. "A real, genuine smile!"

Sarah laughed, "I smile all the time!"

"For my sake," Charlotte said, taking Sarah's hand in hers. "I know this is hard and I'm so proud of you for coming out with me."

Sarah smiled and as she leaned in to give Charlotte a kiss, a sudden movement to her left caught her attention. Charlotte's lips met hers but Sarah wasn't paying any attention. Her mind was elsewhere, ripped from the moment by letters D.U.P in her peripherals. Sarah pulled away from Charlotte, her heart in her throat.

"What's wrong?"

Sarah wrinkled her brow as she looked around the park. There were families at the playground and crowds of people going across the walkways, in and out of restaurants and shops and sitting on benches but no soldiers. There were no men in black armor storming across the lawns or a formidable woman smiling as she encased Sarah in concrete, but still she felt the prickle of panic run up her neck …

"Sarah!"