Now this is a beautiful day!

The work week is over. My sleep is still lacking, but things could be worse. I’m still a functioning adult. They loved my apple cake at the meeting and James has been equally enthusiastic about his since we had that talk yesterday. The house is clean. I feel accomplished.

“Oh, that sounds cracker. Want some?” I asked, gesturing toward the ice cream van pulling up by the sidewalk.

Its melody brought a horde of wains rushing from the playground. A few of them shoved past us in their haste. Laughter leapt from my throat at the happy tune one of the wee lads sang.

James slipped in his ear plugs. I pulled out my notepad and pen. Wrote out a quick “Want some?” His gaze swept the crowd of noisy, happy wains. I got a nod in reply. He fell in step behind me as I led us away from the trees.

The menu posted on the window had pictures of push-pops, fruit popsicles, plain ice cream cones and dipped ones, and a few cartoon-themed ice cream pops. A dipped cone would be tasty. A fruit popsicle is cheaper though.

I clicked my pen to write out a question of preference for James. His hand on my shoulder stopped me mid word. His expression put me on alert.

What could be out here to warrant such a reaction? We’re standing behind a group of wains at an ice cream van. The ice cream van and wains can’t be the reason. So, if not them… what?

His whisper was almost lost under the din of happy chatter.

“Handler.”

I patted his hand and shook my head. “I’m not.”

He took a step back, hand gently pulling me to step back with him. His eyes never left the van.

A car door slammed. He pulled me back another step as someone stepped out of the back of the van. A second stepped out. Immediately their gazes turned in our direction.

“James?”

His arm draped across my shoulders. He pulled me away back toward the trees with brisk steps.  A nervous glance back confirmed they were following at a leisurely pace.

“James, do you know them?”

We got off the footpath. Walked further into the woodsy part of the park. Zig-zagged and looped around trees at a jog. At a marker tree for hikers, he crouched. I followed him down.

“Stay.”

“What? No. James, what’s going on?”

His gaze left my lips. A shout startled me. He gripped my shoulders firmly.

“Handler.”

“I’m not,” I insisted.

“They want me back,” he added in a hushed whisper.

It clicked into place. He meant them. The men from the ice cream van. The same people who were now calling out in thick accents, half English, half something like James spoke in his dreams. 

“I’ll call the police. Stay here and hide with me. We can make a run for it.”

He removed an ear plug. Pressed his ear to my chest. His grip between my shoulder blades held firm for only a moment or two and then he was pulling back.

Another shout, Russian I think, had my gaze swinging for the source. The handle of a knife was pressed into my hands. He moved to stand. I grabbed his arm.

“Don’t leave. Let’s run,” I pleaded.

His hands clenched into fists. He shook his head. Pulled out of my grasp and ran off. The shouts grew fainter. 

They were following.

Alright Maeve, now is not the time to panic. Don’t panic. You need to focus. You need to be quiet. You can’t be quiet if you’re having a panic attack so don’t- Don’t do that.

The police. Get out your phone and call the police. You can do that.

My fingers shook. I nearly misdialed. The call took a small eternity to go through.

My whispered explanation was cut off. They insisted I speak up. I explained again that I was hiding, that I couldn’t speak up, and a gunshot went off.

Flashbacks and worst-case scenarios made my head swim. I struggled to breathe. I think I swore into the phone. Lost grip of it as another shot echoed through the trees.

James.

“I have to- I have to help. He could be injured. He could be bleeding out. What if they killed him?”

“Ma’am, please calm down. Do not move. Officers are on their way.”

“I’ll calm down when there aren’t gunmen on the loose threatening the life of my friend! He led them away unarmed to protect me and I’m just sitting here shaking like a fecking leaf!” I whisper-shouted angrily into the phone.

“I understand, but I have to ask that you remain where you are and try to remain calm.”

“Just hurry up!” I shouted, ending the call.

Alright Maeve. Breathe. Focus on your breathing. In for three. Hold for three and out for four. Focus and breathe. Focus and breathe.

You’re up off the ground. Focus and breathe. In for three, hold for three, and out for four. 

Now take one step. Another.

This is a terrible idea.

I promised I would buy him time if they ever showed up.

What am I doing? They have guns! I have a knife. Knife versus gun is not a fair fight. I’m gonna-

In for three. In for three damn it.

Hold for three and out for- Breathe! You need to breathe. Breathe. I am not having a panic attack in the woods. I am not going to be some useless damsel in distress. He needs me. He needs help or they’re going to-

Breathe. Focus and breathe. Don’t spiral. Don’t spiral.

“There you are!” a gruff voice shouted.

Feck!

My legs burst into a sprint. My breaths grew ragged. My cell phone took the hit when I tripped, slamming my hip against a tree. Fingers in my hair almost got a grip on me.

The trees parted. I struggled to keep pace as the ground changed from grass to sidewalk to grass again. My body slammed into someone when I looked over my shoulder. She swore after me before letting out a scream.

Something heavy hit the back of my head pitching me forward. My vision whited out. I tried to roll away a moment too late. A heavy weight pinned down my stomach.

“So, you’re his woman?” He laughed as I tried to stab his reaching hands. “Дерзкая девушка.” 

My wrist was wrenched behind my head. I couldn’t get it free. My kicks and scratches did nothing. He resorted to slamming his fist against my fingers when I wouldn’t give up the knife. They ached from the beating.

“I have you! Behave and hand it over!”

Another gunshot went off. It stole my breath. My head was forcibly slammed back into the grass. The new pain kicked my lungs back into gear. Sirens pulled my attention for half a second.

“Afraid of guns then?” he teased with a cruel smile.

He reached for something. Probably his own gun. I tilted my head back as far as I could. As he laughed, I slammed my forehead into his.

My gaze spun, the colors swirling together, an ache forming behind my eyes. One moment he was swearing, tightening his grip on my wrist to an unbearable level. The next I was free.

There was a… cracking sound. Somewhere above the din of my hammering heartbeat and labored breaths, I thought I heard a cracking of some kind. Then a piercing scream.

Fingers tugged at the knife in my grip. I tried to keep my grasp on it. Tried to inch away from the swimming vision of a man looming over me.

I couldn’t for very long. Too much pain. Not enough air. Not enough strength left to fight.

I shut my eyes against the blurry shapes. Couldn’t hold back the whimper as my body was lifted. Hot tears slid down my cheeks as I braced for the impact.

My head was… cradled against a chest. A hammering heartbeat pounded against my ear. A soft voice told me I was safe. A voice I knew.

I sagged in relief. Gripped James’ shirt as hard as I could and sobbed.

More voices flooded in. The sirens of the ambulance and the police cars made my headache worse. Everything began blurring together.

Something about foaming at the mouth. Took a pill.

Two body bags.

Self-defense. Protection. Had to fight.

The taste of orange juice.

I woke up somewhere unfamiliar. A bedside lamp was on. Movement at the foot of the bed revealed alert blue-grey eyes. A hand stretched to lightly grip my ankle through the blanket.

A silent comfort. A reminder I was safe.