I stand there, dazed. I look around, and I'm back in my "bedroom." Everything in my body feels limp. I can't think about anything other than what I had just seen. I'm ambivalent about what had happened. Could this be a sign? Maybe I wouldn't be held captive for the rest of my limited years.

No, don't be silly, Verena. The chances of my escape are slim to none, and I can't possibly figure out who would save me. There was no way that I, only five foot four, 110 pounds, could fight off my father.

No one else on the outside knows me, who I am. My mother was likely dead, or had forgotten about me, and I had no aunts or uncles or any family that I knew of. No one cared.

And with that, I break down on the floor crying. After several minutes, I fade into darkness.

I wake up on a loveseat. It was crusty and small. I sit up. I'm in a library with bookshelves and reading chairs all around. It's pretty small, maybe the size of a master bedroom. I stand up and walk around. I pulled out a book and realized that it's one of the forbidden stories. I put it back.

I realize that I haven't a clue where I am. Maybe it was the upstairs of my house.

I see a figure in the corner. He's tall, but not as tall as dad. No, not nearly. My breath catches and I turn back towards the bookcase. In my peripherals, I see him coming towards me. I don't know what to do. Do I fight or run away? Just before he reaches me I turn around and swing my arm towards him. The punch knocks him over and I see his nose crooked and bleeding.

I back away to the other side of the room.

"Who are you?" I ask, my voice unwavering.

"Verena..." he croaks. I can see him better now. He's in his mid thirties, it appears, and he has curly ash brown hair. His skin is pale and he has purple bags under his eyes. He stands up, still plugging his nose to stop the bleeding I caused. He looks to be about six feet tall. His eyes are long and blue, just like mine. I gasp.

"I asked, who are you?" I repeated. I stand up tall.

"Verena, sit down, please." He says, nodding towards the loveseat.

"Who are you?" I nearly yell, tears threatening my eyes.

"You're going to want to sit down." He says again.

"Why should I trust you?" I ask, my voice nearly a whisper.

"Because I saved you, Verena. I saved you from the man pretending to be your father and keeping you captive. I saved you from my brother. He's not your dad. I am."

My eyes narrow. I see the similarities between us now. His hair is the same as mine, just more curly and a darker tone. His skin would be like mine, but he had a tan. Our eye colors were exactly the same, and we have the same nose.

"What?" I ask. I feel a tear slip down my cheek. His nose has stopped bleeding, but is still crooked.

More tears spill out of my eyes. I sit down and he sits across from me.

"Listen, Verena. This is going to sound crazy. But I'm your father. And I was kidnaped when you were eight months old. My brother, David, went to help out your mama. But he was abusive towards her. She loved you so much, but hated to live like she was. She killed herself."

I'm sobbing. Tears on the tip of my nose and running down my cheeks. They're salty, and I don't like it.

He continues. "David went insane after that. He locked you up when you were six, correct?" I nodded. "It was because you were figuring things out. You're so, so smart, Verena. You remember you were already in fourth grade by your sixth birthday, right? He didn't want you to know what he was plotting. So he banished you to the basement."

I remember. I remember my friends, Axel and Penelope, and I remember my teacher, Ms. Hoggs, and my school, Clarkwood Elementary.

"Please go on." I whisper.

"Ok. I was kept in prison at the hands of King Dade for fourteen years. Everyday, he showed me clips of you to make me feel even worse that I couldn't help. But one day, the guard forgot to lock my cell. I escaped two months ago, and found somewhere to hide. Welcome to my home." He nods towards the back wall.

"I figured out where you were and knocked out David when the door was unlocked. I made my way downstairs to you, and you were passed out on the floor in front of your bed. I picked you up, you need to eat more, by the way, and put you in the back of my van. Then I drove you here."

"And where is here, exactly?" I ask.

"Chicago." He replies.

"Oh. And where was I for nine years?"

"Galveston."

"Texas?"

"Yes."

We sat looking at each other for a few minutes in a slightly awkward silence.

"Verena... I want to get you accustomed to the world again. I want you to be a normal teenager... at least for a while." James starts. Or should I call him Dad?

"How?" I ask, carefully.

"I want you to go to school." He says.

At first, my stomach starts to sink. But then I remember how much I loved school, getting to learn something new every minute, making friends.

"Ok." I say.