Chapter 19 – The Friend of my Enemy

Angela Orosco had learned to trust her instincts a long ago. It had been almost a decade since she left Silent Hill behind. That place that was no longer a town, but rather a prison of memories. When she first set out, she didn't own a car, so she walked on foot, unsure where the road would take her. She could have settled anywhere, but it was her gut that guided her.

After leaving Silent Hill, Angela found herself at a literal crossroads, it was a fork in the road with two signs pointing in opposite directions one to Brahms and the other to Shepherd's Glen. Shepherd's Glen was the closer of the two, but something deep within Angela recoiled at the idea of setting foot there. That dark intuition, the very one that had kept her alive all these years, screamed at her not to go there. She didn't understand why, but after everything she'd seen, everything she had been through, she didn't need to understand, she just needed to listen.

And so Angela turned away and set out for Brahms. Her feet and body ached, tired from the journey, but she knew it was the right decision. Brahms wasn't perfect, but it was better than the alternative. She had lived quietly since then, doing her best to forget the horrors of Silent Hill and her past traumas.

Returning to her hometown was never an option. That place wasn't home to her, not with everything that had happened to her there. It was filled with too many dark memories, ones she never wanted to revisit. Shepherd's Glen, while closer, had given her this deep, unsettling feeling, as if something dark lurked beneath the surface of that town. Her instincts screamed at her to avoid it at all costs, and she had learned long ago to trust those feelings. Those same instincts that had told her to run from home, the same one had guided her out of Silent Hill alive, and now said to her that Shepherd's Glen was no place for her.

So, with no other options, Angela set out for Brahms, the nearest town that offered her some semblance of a future. So she walked, her legs were tired, but her focus was now entirely on the future, whatever that would mean for her. She didn't have a plan, no specifics. Just hope that maybe, just maybe, Brahms would be the place where she could have a fresh start. Somewhere far enough from Silent Hill and the nightmares she had left behind.

The path to Brahms was long, but Angela didn't mind. Each step she took felt like a small victory. It was to her like reclaiming a lost piece that had been stolen a long time ago. The air was crisp, the silence comforting after the screams and chaos of Silent Hill. She had nothing but the clothes on her back and a few dollars in her pocket, but she didn't need much. She was alive.

As she walked, Angela couldn't help but reflect on the strange path that had led her here. She hadn't gone there for answers or peace. No, the brutal truth of things was that she had gone to Silent Hill to die. But now, she was leaving to live. The irony wasn't lost upon her. She thought of James Sunderland, the odd man she had met in that foggy graveyard. She had been so wary of him at first, so sure that he was just like every other man she had ever known. Another threat. Another danger. She had been nervous around him, just as she was with all men. The scars that her father, that monster Thomas Orosco, left behind made trust impossible. But there was something different about James, something fragile, perhaps even familiar to her.

But Silent Hill had a way of exposing people for who they were. She had learned about his past, and he had learned about hers. And while they were both broken people, damaged by life, they had somehow found a connection in that place.

She had wondered then, as she wondered now, had James come to Silent Hill to die too? Was he as lost as she was?

Angela had tried her best to push James away. She had built walls around herself for as long as she could remember, shielding herself from cruelty, especially from men. She didn't trust them. She couldn't. And James was no different. Yet, just as much as she tried to keep him at arm's length, Silent Hill had a way of revealing the truth, no matter how deeply you tried to bury it. The town peeled away the layers, showing people who they were.

James had learned too much about her past, more than she'd ever want anyone to know. She had seen it in his eyes, the realization of what she had been through. She hated feeling vulnerable, the way Silent Hill forced her to confront it all over again. And yet, as much as James had learned about her, she had learned of his pain too. His sorrow, his guilt over what he had done to his wife, Mary. Silent Hill had him in its grasp, just as it had with her.

Still, Angela kept him at a distance, trying to cling to her solitude. She didn't need his help. Not James, not anyone's. But the town had other plans. Silent Hill wouldn't allow her to remain isolated. And when the thing, that thing, had cornered her, her resolve began to crumble.

It wasn't her Daddy, she reminded herself over and over again. The creature that loomed before her, its twisted, grotesque form, was just an illusion. It had to be. It was a nightmare given life by the town. But even knowing that even understanding that the creature couldn't be real, didn't stop it.

The memories were just too much.

Her father's face flashed in her mind, his cruelty and nights of torment. She had run from him once, escaping in a night of blood and desperation. She had killed him in self-defense, her trembling hands gripping the knife as she made her escape. The journey to Silent Hill had been her final flight, and in the depths of her soul, she had believed the town would be her grave.

But there, standing before her, was her 'Daddy', or something wearing his skin. It was the Abstract Daddy. Its monstrous form was a twisted nightmare of what her father had been. And though she knew it wasn't him, facing it felt like reliving that horror all over again.

Just when she had felt cornered, broken, and ready to collapse, James had appeared. For all her mistrust and her attempts to keep him away, James had stepped in. He had thrown himself between her and the creature, defending her against the nightmare. Angela could hardly believe it, a man, this man, just as broken as she was, had chosen to fight for her.

She didn't trust easily, but at that moment, James had done what no one else had ever done for her. He fought not because she asked him to, but because he saw the pain in her eyes. He saw what the Abstract Daddy represented, and even in his guilt and grief, James had chosen to face the darkness on her behalf.

Angela watched stunned, in silence as James battled the creature, her heart pounded with fear and something else, gratitude. She didn't know why he had done it. Why he would risk himself for someone as damaged as her? But in that twisted room, where her past had come back to haunt her, James had become something more than just another lost soul in Silent Hill. He had become her defender, even if only for a brief moment.

And in that moment, Angela had allowed herself to believe, maybe just for a second that she wasn't entirely alone.

Even after James had defended her against the Abstract Daddy, Angela's resolve hadn't wavered. She still intended to die. Just like James, she thought. She had seen it in his eyes, the same brokenness, and the same overwhelming guilt. People didn't come to Silent Hill for comfort.

Angela's mind wandered as she continued down the road. She thought of her mother, of Mama, of the truths she had uncovered in Silent Hill, and of the lies she had been forced to believe for so long. Mama hadn't been the villain she had always feared. Her father, the real monster, had twisted everything and poisoned her life and mind until she had almost drowned in it. But now, she was free. Free from him. Free from the lies. Free from Silent Hill.

She had remembered how the pull to that cursed town had begun, how it whispered to her in the dark. "Mama," she had thought, even though she knew the truth deep down. Her mother had been dead for a long time, buried and gone long before Silent Hill ever crossed Angela's mind. And yet, it was Mama's voice, her presence that had beckoned Angela toward the town, something she couldn't resist.

Why had she listened? Why would she think Mama would be waiting for her there? Angela didn't know, and it didn't matter. She had gone there, fully expecting never to leave.

And on that staircase, she had felt it, the call of the void, and the warm embrace of death calling her. She was just so tired. Tired of the pain, the memories, of what her father and brother had done to her. It had never been about surviving; it had always been about finding the right moment to let go.

She had appreciated James's efforts to pull her back from the brink. He had tried, hadn't he? Tried to talk her down, to offer some hope. But Angela had seen through it. She knew the truth, they were both just too far gone. Two sick people, drowning in their misery, trying to save one another when they couldn't even save themselves.

Angela had seen it in James, the way he was haunted by his wife, Mary. No amount of kind words or friendly gestures would change that. Just like her, James was trapped in his hell.

On those steps, as the flames flickered around her, Angela looked at James and felt a strange kind of kinship. They were alike in that way, broken people who had come to Silent Hill searching for an end, not salvation. She saw it in his face. He didn't belong in the world any more than she did.

"You see it too, don't you?" she had asked him, her voice quiet, filled with resignation. "For me, it's always like this."

James had stared at her, confused, unsure of what to say, but Angela didn't need him to respond. She had already made her decision. She had been ready to let go for a long time, and now that she had faced the worst of her demons, there was nothing left to keep her in this world.

Even James couldn't save her just like she couldn't save him. They were just two sick people trying to survive a town that thrived on their pain. And in the end, the only person who could save Angela was herself. Somehow, she had.

She had walked up the staircase, knowing it would lead her into the flames, and James had stood there, watching her go. She knew he wouldn't follow. He couldn't. They were both too far gone.

Angela hadn't found the release of death at the top of the stairs, though that had been her intention. Instead, she had found something far more bittersweet. She had found Mama.

Past the flames and into a room that had been her mother's, Angela stood frozen, staring at her mother. The figure wasn't like the monsters Silent Hill usually conjured up, it was her mother just as she remembered her, fragile and tired. The sight of her had stirred a storm of emotions deep within Angela. She had wanted to scream, to let out all the rage and sorrow that had built up over the years. She wanted to cry until she had no tears left. But when she opened her mouth, all she could manage was a single word.

"Why?"

The word hung heavy in the air, with all her years of pain. Why had Mama left her? Why had she abandoned her to face that monster alone? Her father had loomed over her life, crushing any hope she might have had. But her mother, Mama, had always been her one source of peace. Until she wasn't. Until she had vanished suddenly from her life, leaving Angela alone with him.

"Why did you leave me?" Angela's voice trembled. "Why did you leave me with him?"

She had expected no answers. After all, Silent Hill wasn't a place to find comfort or explanations. But in the eerie quiet of that moment, something shifted. Angela had learned something that tore at her heart even more than the flames surrounding her.

Her mother hadn't left her willingly. She had killed herself. Her mother hadn't spoken those awful words that Angela had deserved what happened, that the abuse was all her fault. Those weren't her mother's words at all. Those had been lies. Lies constructed by Thomas Orosco, the man who had twisted her life into a nightmare. He had poisoned everything, even her memories of her mother, to keep control over her. To keep her believing she had nowhere to turn, and no one to trust.

Her Mama had been a victim, too.

The realization hit Angela like a punch to the gut. All this time, she had blamed her mother, resented her for leaving, for turning a blind eye to the abuse. But now, standing there, she understood the horrible truth. Her mother hadn't abandoned her, she had been suffering, too. Trapped, just like Angela had been. Controlled and manipulated by the same man who had taken everything from them both.

Angela's chest tightened as the weight of it all sank in. She had carried the guilt, the shame, the pain, and anger for so long. And now, knowing that her mother had been as much a victim as she had, filled her with a different kind of sorrow. The kind that comes from realizing you've been angry at the wrong person all along.

Silent Hill had brought her mother back, not to torture her, but to reveal the truth she had been too broken to see. Her mother hadn't failed her. They had both been destroyed by the same man.

Angela felt the tears she had held back for so long begin to fall. But there was no one to blame anymore. No one to rage against. Just the bitter truth of what had been taken from them both. All she could do now was mourn the life she could never have, the family that had been destroyed.

She stepped closer to her mother, her voice soft now, now barely just a whisper.

"I'm sorry."

Sorry that she had believed the lies. Sorry that she had let anger consume her for so long. Sorry that they had never been able to save one another from the monster who had taken everything from them.

Angela stood there for what felt like an eternity. She didn't scream. She didn't collapse into sobs. She simply stood, letting the grief wash over her, knowing that nothing could ever fix what had been broken between them.

But at least now, she knew the truth.

And somehow, that was enough to help her walk away from the flames, not to die, but with the understanding that she wasn't the only one who had suffered. Silent Hill had given her that much. And for that, she was grateful.

She didn't think it was possible at first. She had been ready to end it all right then and there. But something had changed inside of her, something that felt like hope. She had left that room, left the staircase behind, and with it, her past. Silent Hill had taken her to the brink, but it didn't claim her. Not like she thought it would.

As Brahms finally appeared over the horizon, Angela felt a strange sense of peace wash over her. She didn't know what the future held, but she knew that she had one. A new life awaited her, and while it wouldn't be easy, she was ready to face it head-on.

She wouldn't return willingly to Silent Hill, not now, not ever. That chapter of her life was closed. Now, all that mattered was moving forward, step by step, mile by mile.

Angela Orosco had decided to live. And nothing, not her past, not her pain, could take that away from her now.

Angela's new start in Brahms was far from easy. After all the horrors she had survived, beginning again felt almost impossible at times. But she was determined. She had chosen to live after all.

Her priority was finding a place to stay. She was fortunate to come across a women's shelter, a haven for women who had been through rough times. It wasn't much, but it was clean and dry, quiet, and most importantly, safe. The other women there had their own stories, their scars, and demons, but they didn't pry into hers, and for just that, Angela was grateful. She wasn't ready to talk about the things that haunted her, the nightmares that still plagued her sleep. Here, she could begin to heal in her own time at her own pace.

But healing required more than just a roof over her head. She needed to find work, to build something for herself. The thought of returning to waitressing made her stomach turn. The memories of that greasy diner, of lecherous men grabbing at her, and the stench of cooking meat were unbearable. She couldn't go back to that life. She wouldn't.

After some searching, Angela was able to find a job at a small arts and crafts store in town. It wasn't glamorous, but it was quiet and peaceful. She stocked shelves, organized displays, and rang up customers' orders. Most of them were hobbyists, buying supplies for knitting, painting, or scrapbooking projects. The environment was calm and Angela found a sense of comfort in it.

It was here in this quiet, little store that Angela rediscovered something in herself that she had thought lost forever, her love for painting, of creating art. Surrounded by art supplies, paints, and brushes, the urge to create began to stir within her again. At first, it was small, an experiment with a few colors, a brush stroke here and there. But as she spent more time around the materials, something clicked.

Art had become her way to heal.

She would go back to the women's shelter after her shifts, and with a few supplies she'd saved up for, she began to paint. Her small space became the canvas for her emotions. She poured everything onto those surfaces, her pain, her rage, her sorrow, the hope she'd found after leaving Silent Hill. Her paintings were dark at first, full of twisted shapes and colors that mirrored the chaos she felt burning inside. But as time went on, they softened. The colors brightened. The shapes became less tortured and more peaceful. It was as if, with every stroke of her paintbrush, she was rebuilding herself.

Angela's art wasn't just about expressing her pain, it was about reclaiming something that had been stolen from her. Creating something new out of the ruins of her past.

She didn't make many friends in Brahms at first, but that was fine with her. She wasn't ready to trust fully people yet, and she preferred to keep her distance. She had learned to protect herself, to keep people at arm's length. It was safer that way. But in the arts and crafts store, she found a kind of quiet solace in the customers and coworkers. They didn't ask too many questions, and they appreciated her talent when she helped them with their projects. She wasn't the broken woman they might have assumed she was, here she was an artist.

As the months passed, Angela slowly began to rebuild a life for herself in Brahms. It wasn't perfect, and she still had her bad days. But even in those moments, she had her paintings. She had a way to channel her inner darkness and transform it into something else. Something beautiful.

Angela had gradually built something of a life for herself in Brahms. After a year of steady work and careful saving, she managed to move out of the women's shelter and into her apartment. It wasn't much, a modest one-bedroom, but it was hers. For the first time in a long time, she felt safe. Safe from the horrors of her past, from the memories that haunted her, and from the kinds of people she had always tried to avoid.

Her apartment became her sanctuary. She decorated it slowly, filling the walls with her paintings, each one a reflection of the emotional journey she had been on since leaving Silent Hill. The space was cozy, filled with the soft purrs of her two cats, Sebastian and Oliver, a pair of rescues she had adopted to keep her company. They were quiet, and affectionate in their way, and most importantly, they didn't ask questions. Like her, they had been through things, and like her, they were learning how to live again.

Through time, Angela had made a few friends in Brahms, coworkers from the arts and crafts store, and an elder neighbor lady she would sometimes chat with within the hallway, she kept them all at a distance. Her apartment was her private world, a place where no one else could intrude. She never invited anyone over. It wasn't that she didn't trust them, but after everything she'd been through, she valued her solitude. The apartment was her space to heal, her space to just be. The outside world was chaotic, but inside her home, she had control.

Eventually, it was Angela's idea to write to James.

No one else knew her the way he did, not after what they'd both been through. They weren't exactly friends, but they shared a bond that was impossible to explain to anyone else. In that town, they had faced their demons, some of them literally. And while they had gone their separate ways after leaving Silent Hill, Angela found herself wondering about him. Was he still alive? Had he made peace with what had happened to him?

So she wrote him a letter, unsure if he would respond, unsure if he even could. She didn't know what had become of him, but part of her hoped he had found some kind of resolution with his wife, the same way she had with Mama.

But to her surprise, James wrote back.

Their letters were infrequent but steady. It was strange at first, putting her thoughts down on paper for someone who had been such a big part of her darkest days. But something was comforting in it too. They didn't have to explain themselves to each other. They didn't have to hide. They both understood the darkness that was left behind, and they didn't have to pretend they were better than they were.

Over time, their correspondence became a kind of lifeline for Angela. It was the closest she allowed herself to get to a man, and even then, she kept him at arm's length, or rather, at letter's length. There was safety in that distance. They could talk about their lives, what they had been up to since leaving Silent Hill, and how they were managing to live in a world that no longer seemed as terrifying as it once had.

But they had one unspoken rule: "Don't try to fix the other."

Neither of them wanted to be anyone's savior, nor did they want to be saved. They had both made their choices back in Silent Hill, and those choices were deeply personal to themselves. James never asked her to explain what had happened with Mama, and she never pried into his story with Mary. They had made peace in their ways.

Angela had never asked James what had made him decide to live, and she wasn't sure she wanted to know. Maybe, like her, he had found a reason in the middle of all the darkness. Maybe he had made peace with his wife, just as Angela had made peace with Mama. Whatever his reasons, she was glad he was still out there, somewhere, trying to live. Just like she was.

And in their letters, they found a way to keep moving forward.

As Angela settled into her new life, her passion for art deepened. It wasn't just a hobby to her anymore, it had become her way of healing, a way to process everything she had been through. Slowly, as her confidence grew, she realized she could share that part of herself with others. She didn't think of herself as a teacher at first, but opportunities began to present themselves. The store where she worked offered to let her run small workshops on painting and crafts, and though at first she was hesitant, she agreed to give it a try.

At first, it was just a handful of people, a few children curious about painting and some elderly customers looking to try a new hobby. Angela found that she enjoyed it more than she expected. Something was soothing to her about guiding others in creating their art, watching as they mixed colors on a palette, nervously putting brush to canvas for the first time. It reminded her of her journey, how uncertain she had been when she first picked up a brush again after everything that had happened to her.

Working with small children and the elderly felt worlds apart from her old job as a waitress at that diner. Back then, she had been trapped in a cycle of serving people who barely noticed her, dealing with grabby hands and the ever-present stench of greasy food. The diner had been a suffocating place, where she was just another part of the scenery. Now, she was doing something that felt meaningful, something that helped her connect to people on her terms.

The children, in particular, had a way of brightening her day. Their laughter and curiosity about the world brought a warmth into her life she hadn't expected. She admired their creativity and how uninhibited they were when it came to painting. They didn't care about making mistakes, they just painted. And the elderly? They had stories to tell, and Angela liked to listen. Many of them had lived through their struggles, and though they didn't talk about it directly, she sensed that they, too, were finding comfort in the simple act of creating something new.

Angela's classes weren't big or fancy, but they were hers. She had found a sense of purpose in them, a way to give back and to keep herself anchored. It was a quiet life, but after everything she had been through, it was exactly what she needed.

She didn't need grand gestures or big successes. Just being able to paint, to share that joy with others, was enough for her. Slowly, she began to feel like she was moving forward, step by step, but it was moving forward nonetheless.

Despite her quiet existence, the shadows of her past were never far behind. They lingered, always waiting for a moment to reappear, though Angela had learned to push them away. While her demons no longer controlled her, they were ever present in her nightmares. If she woke up with a fright and a sweat, she'd get out of bed, feed her cats, and begin to paint.

As she sat at the small table in her apartment, gazing out the window at the falling autumn leaves, a familiar unease settled over her. Something had shifted. That instinct, the one she thought she had left behind in Silent Hill, stirred within her. It was the same feeling she'd had at that fork in the road all those years ago.

Angela frowned, her hand tightening around her tea cup. She didn't know why, but the air felt heavy like a storm was approaching. The quiet life she had built in Brahms suddenly felt fragile, like it was about to be shattered.

She sighed, trying to shake the feeling. It had been years since Silent Hill, and she had fought to reclaim a semblance of peace. There was no reason for her to feel this way now.

But still, the unease wouldn't leave her. Something was coming, something tied to the past she had worked so hard to forget. Angela shook her head, trying to rid herself of those old memories. The past was a place she couldn't live in any longer. Silent Hill had almost destroyed her, she had left it behind.

Or so she thought.

Angela couldn't help but wonder if, despite her escape, Silent Hill would ever truly let her go.

One day, Angela couldn't help but notice the silence. It had been a while since James had written back, longer than usual. Sure, they'd have gaps in their correspondence, sometimes life just got in the way of things, but James had a way of staying consistent. He was usually the one who made sure to keep the letters going, checking in on her even when she didn't feel like writing. Now, weeks had passed without a word, and that silence was beginning to gnaw at her.

At first, Angela brushed it off. Maybe James was just busy, or perhaps something had come up in his life that kept him from writing. He'd always been juggling things, from his recovery and attending Alcoholics Anonymous meetings, not to mention whatever was going on with Laura, the young girl he had taken in and adopted. Still, the feeling of nagging at her wouldn't go away. She had grown used to their steady back-and-forth, and now even she couldn't help but worry.

That afternoon at work, while she was setting up a display of new painting supplies, a coworker of hers, a friendly older woman named Karen, noticed Angela's distracted demeanor. Karen had been working with her for a couple of years now, and though Angela never shared many details about her personal life, she'd occasionally mention her pen pal, James.

"You seem a little off today. Everything okay?" Karen asked in concern.

Angela hesitated for a moment, then sighed. "It's nothing. I just… haven't heard from an old friend in a while. I guess I'm a little worried."

Karen smiled gently. "Well, if you're that worried, why don't you try to find him? There are ways, you know. I know someone who could help, a private investigator. His name's Douglas. He's good at finding people who might've gone off the grid for a bit."

Angela blinked, caught off guard by her suggestion. Hiring a PI to find James? That sounded like a bit much. "A detective? No, that's… that's not necessary," she said, shaking her head. "I'm sure he's fine. Probably just busy."

Karen shrugged. "Maybe. But if you change your mind, Douglas is discreet and he's helped a lot of people. Like when he caught my ex-husband cheating. Just saying."

Angela thanked her for the suggestion but brushed off the idea. The thought of hiring a private investigator seemed too extreme for a situation like this. It wasn't like James had completely vanished, he just hadn't written back in a while. She convinced herself that he'd send a letter soon, explaining everything, just like he always did.

But as she worked into the evening, the feeling lingered. What if something had happened to him? What if Silent Hill had come back to haunt him like it had haunted her?

Angela stuffed her hands in her pockets, trying to shake off the anxiety. She wasn't the type to go looking for trouble, and James… well, James had always been resilient, in his way.

As Angela stayed behind to help close up the store, she worked quietly, her usual routine making it feel like any other night. The sun had set. It was the weekend, and she had nothing better to do, so she volunteered to take the final inventory and sweep it up. The solitude was a comfort to her, a way to keep her mind busy, but something was gnawing at the edges of her awareness.

That white van.

She had noticed it earlier in the day when her shift started. At first, it seemed unremarkable, just another vehicle parked in the lot. But as the hours dragged on, and customers came and went, the van remained. Stationary. No one ever came or went from it. By now, the store had been closed for nearly an hour, and the lot was empty, except for that van, still sitting there under the streetlights.

Angela's gut twisted with unease. She had learned long ago to trust her instincts, and right now, they were screaming at her. Something wasn't right. She glanced toward the front door, the direct exit to the lot, and then at the back of the store. Normally, she would've left through the front like everyone else, but tonight… tonight something told her not to.

She quickly grabbed her bag and decided to slip out the back door, where the alley led to a different street. She didn't own a car, so it would be easy for her to disappear on foot, avoiding the van entirely. Her hand slid into her jacket pocket, fingers brushing against the small can of mace she always carried with her. It made her feel a little more secure, though the chill in the air sent shivers down her spine as she stepped into the alley.

The cold night enveloped her, and soon, the store's lights faded behind her. For a moment, everything seemed fine, just her, the quiet of the evening, and her footsteps echoing down the empty street. But before she could take more than a few steps, she heard it, a rustle of movement, fast and deliberate.

Before Angela could react, arms wrapped tightly around her arm and mouth, yanking her backward. Panic shot through her body, and her hand instinctively reached for the can of mace, but it was too late. She couldn't scream. She couldn't even struggle before she felt the sharp sting of something cold and metallic against her neck. Her world spun as the syringe plunged into her skin, the sedative working almost instantly.

Her vision blurred, and the last thing she saw before everything went black were shadowy figures pulling her into the van.

Angela's world was a haze, a blur as she slipped in and out of consciousness. Her wrists stung where the zip ties dug into her skin, and every breath felt suffocated by the bag wrapped over her head. The darkness felt suffocating, and her thoughts were sluggish. She was barely able to string together thoughts. Panic tried to claw its way up, but each time, it was quickly pulled back by whatever drugs they had used on her.

She didn't know how long it had been. Minutes? Hours? Days? The passage of time was meaningless like this, and all she knew was that her body felt heavy, her movements restrained.

Eventually, the fog began to lift only slightly. She was aware she was being dragged, her feet barely touching the ground as she was hauled across what felt like concrete floors. There were muffled sounds around her, voices, and footsteps, but she couldn't make out any words. She tried to focus, to pull herself together, but her head throbbed, and it was all she could do to keep breathing under the suffocating weight of the bag.

Then, there was a shift. She was dumped gracelessly onto a chair, the cold surface beneath her sending a shiver through her body. The sound of a door slamming echoed somewhere in the distance, and then, finally, a voice.

"Remove the bag off our guest."

Angela blinked against the sudden brightness as the bag was ripped off her head, her eyes struggled to adjust to the harsh light. Her head pounded, her vision still swimming, but as things came into focus, she realized she was sitting in a dimly lit room, facing a lone blonde woman.

The woman sat casually across from her, a table separating them. She was poised and elegant in a way that set Angela on edge. But it wasn't just her appearance that sent a chill down Angela's spine, it was that smile, a smile that was far too calm, too controlled. It was the smile of someone who enjoyed having the upper hand.

"I believe we have much to discuss, Ms. Orosco," the woman said smoothly, her voice tinged with confidence.

Angela's stomach twisted. She didn't recognize this woman, she didn't like any of this, the room, the zip ties on her wrists, the strange woman's smug demeanor. Instinctively, her defenses went up, her eyes narrowing as she met the woman's gaze.

"Who are you?" Angela asked.

The woman's smile widened, her fingers drumming lightly on the table. "Oh, you needn't worry about who I am. But more importantly, you're here because of him."

Angela's heart skipped a beat. She had a feeling she knew exactly who this woman was referring to, but she stayed silent, waiting for the woman to continue.

"You've been writing to James Sunderland, haven't you?" the woman said, leaning in slightly, crossing her fingers. "We're very interested in what you know."