I did not stop running until the glowing sign of a twenty four hour market came into view. My breath tore at my throat. The clerk inside jumped as I stumbled through the door. He locked it immediately when he saw my face. I sank to the floor and tasted salt on my lips. I was not sure if it came from tears or sweat.
When the police arrived, they spoke to me gently. Their questions felt far away. They told me I was safe. Safe felt like a foreign word.
Officers apprehended Silas at home. They found him at the kitchen table, hands folded neatly, folder open as if waiting to explain his notes. He did not resist. He did not deny anything. He spoke about me with clinical distance, discussing my “patterns” and “responses” like a scientist discussing experiments.
Tests later revealed the sedatives he had slipped into my vitamins. His records documented how each dosage affected me. He had been shaping my reality with the meticulous care of someone pruning a garden. Quietly. Consistently. Purposefully.