{Monday, September 12th: 2:15 P.M.}

  I watch as the once familiar landscape passes by the window, feeling like it's literally been forever since I last set eyes on it.

  The truck turns right onto a long gravel driveway, a wooden fence on either side. The vehicle tilts up as it ascends a small hill, the bright sunlight streaming in from every window. Going down, my eyes land on the old - yet new, country styled house in the distance.

  It looks exactly the same since I last saw it seven weeks ago. White paint with red shutters, a white picket fence surrounding it. A small apple orchard outback along with a giant oak. A tire swing hanging from a limb.

  There's a deep feeling of comfort from just looking at it. Helping to loosen the many stress knots that undoubtedly hide beneath my skin just a fraction as I let a relaxing breath out.

  I'm back.

  The car ride from the clinic to here was met with silence, no one feeling the need to speak. Don and Lucy sit up front, and I sit in the back with my right elbow propped up against the door.

  Just like so many other times.

  Another minute goes by before Don pulls up into the parking spot in front of the house, the engine shutting off as he flicks the key around.

I feel both their gazes turn back to me. Then they open their own doors before stepping out into the fresh country air.

  There's a feeling of nostalgia as I take in the property again, slowly drawing in a breath as I savor this moment. Everything...peaceful.

  Staring out the window a few seconds longer, I then regretfully look away, distastefully tugging the sling strap up and over my right shoulder I had laying in my lap during the drive.

  You can tell I'm not very fond of it.

  Fiddling with it a minute in hopes I might be able to make it not dig into the skin of my shoulder, I finally give up with a irritated eye roll before popping the door open with my right hand.

  That fresh air smacks me in the face, my lungs moving in a deep inhale as I greedily suck as much in as possible. Relishing just this small difference. Appreciating the clean air.

  Being stuck down under New York for seven weeks tends to do that to you.

  I immediately frown as my mind drifts off to unwanted memories, a clamp quickly snapping down over them. Quieting them for the moment.

I step down on the gravel ground, sliding the rest of me out before I place my other foot down beside my other. I hold my left arm up against my stomach, uncomfortably restrained in the stupid sling I'm forced to wear.

It's been two days. Isn't that long enough?

Walking around the truck towards where Lucy and Don wait for me over by the deck, my eyes unconsciously glance up towards the hill in the distance. The four small houses sticking out more than what I remember.

  Bill and Jack apparently still live and work here, and the dogs too. Excluding the one that was...killed when...you-know-what happened.

My chest tightens, and I look away. A breath of tense air blowing out from my mouth.

Take it one step at a time.

I walk up to Lucy and Don, both of them quietly observing me like they've been doing these last two days.

  Just like everyone else at the clinic. Just like when I was back at the other hospital. Everyone walking on eggshells around me. Afraid I might combust with one false move.

  And I'm honestly getting a little annoyed with all of it.

  Sure I appreciate their concern, their interest in my well-being. But this doesn't help. No matter how much they want it to.

  And yet, I can't make myself tell them how I feel about it. Heck, I've barely even said anything to them these past two days. Resorting to simply staying quiet unless spoken to.

Too absorbed in my own thoughts I don't even want to face.

  I step up onto the first wood step, lightly placing my right hand on the railing. Lucy immediately stands on my left, hovering there like she's expecting me to collapse at any given moment.

  I glance over at her from the corner of my eye, moving up a step. "I'm fine." I tell her for what feels like the hundredth time, voice coming out gruffer than I intended. A stab of self-hate immediately hits me hard in the chest at her sudden crestfallen face.

  She's just trying to help you Alex. Stop messing everything up like you always do.

  "Sorry." I mutter just loud enough for her to hear, looking down in shame as I quickly step up the last twelve or so steps.

   I don't mean to come off as ungrateful to them. Harsh and ignorant. I honestly appreciate them more than they probably think. I've just been on edge since....the other day. Jittery and anxious. Unhinged I guess you could go even as far to say.

  I just want to be alone. Alone so I can stop pretending.

Don meets me at the door, quickly unlocking it before he swings the door open. I make a move to walk in, but a sudden light hand on my shoulder stops me.

  I ignore the sudden unexplained acceleration in my heart, the tightening in my chest as I look up into the eyes of Don. Needing to quickly remind myself that this is in fact Don and not that doppelgänger I knew back in the underground.

It's Don. Just Don.

"If you need anything - anything at all," he starts, pulling his hand back. "Don't hesitate to ask." He sincerely says, eyes soft.

  My gaze lands back on the wooden ground, head moving in a slight nod after a few seconds of hesitation.

  Lies.

  My right hand moves up to the bottom of my neck, fingers playing with the smooth wood beads of my necklace as I ignore my subconscious. I walk past Don, heading inside. They follow slowly along behind me, like a scene out of a old sappy movie.

  I walk through the short hallway that leads to the living room, my attention zoning in on the window that broke that night. The table and floor that once had bullet holes littered across them.

  A small gasp almost leaves me as memories from that unforgettable night assaults my mind, everything replying right in front of my eyes.

  Thunder, explosion, glass shattering, screams, frantic thoughts, escaping, car crash, supporting Mack, the cornfield, heavy with exhaustion, confessing one of my darkest secrets, friendship building, fear and anger, helplessness, the world fading away until only darkness was left. Loneliness.

  I lightly shake my head to clear my mind, right hand fisting at my side as I force myself to move forward. Lucy and Don silent behind me.

  Moving past the living room, I head up the stairs at the end of the room. Both Don and Lucy heading into the kitchen as they leave me for the moment.

  Lucy most likely going to add my new collection of medications to my old one. Changing some things up like Dr. Quinn had instructed to her.

  It's really just something temporary for the pain that's still only a small throb in my shoulder, along with something new for my stomach that's manageable at the time, and antibiotics for the slight infection in the...brand. The brand I've yet to see.

  I swallow the sudden clump away from my throat, taking the last few steps two at a time as I near the end. Taking a right at the top, I pass the bathroom, stopping at the half closed door of my room.

  I stand just behind the door, staring at the smooth wood as I mentally come to terms that I'm actually here. That I'm really here.

  This isn't a dream, a nightmare. It's real.

  Because I've yet to grasp that concept despite my efforts.

  Extending my right arm out, I push the door open with the palm of my hand. It slowly swings open, revealing my room to be exactly how I left it.

  There's even one of my shirts still hanging on the bedpost. Everything calm and quiet like its been preserved in a glass case all this time. Untouched.

  I draw in a large breath of air, slowly exhaling as I step inside. The floorboard squeaks beneath my foot just like I was expecting it to, sending a wave of assurance to my mind.

  Walking the last few steps inside, I swing the door shut some with a tap of my foot while pulling the strap from the sling back over my head.

  Gently pulling my left arm out from the confinements of the sling, I hold my hand up at my chest, elbow to the inside next to my body like I've been instructed.

  Multiple times.

  I toss the sling on the back of the bed, running my right hand through my unruly hair before I take a seat on the edge of the mattress.

  I glance over the room again, taking in all the familiar objects; the dresser, the lamp, the bedside table, the desk, even the small trashcan in the corner.

  Leaning forward, I rest my left arm on my lap as I set my right elbow down on my knee. I place my forehead down in my right hand, eyes staring down at my lap.

  I unconsciously find myself looking my hand over. The way there's slight bruises across my knuckles from my....boxing experience. A slight misshapen to them. The white bandage that now wraps around my left hand after I basically ripped my own skin apart.

  My heart skips a beat, a gust of air leaving my lips as my chest tightens.

  Because of....of....him.

  My hand grips my forehead harder, face contorting into a worried frown as my left hand tightens in a fist. Eyes squeezing shut.

  I'd managed to talk to Mrs. Jones over the phone the next day after....that happened. I told her everything. Barely holdings myself together over the phone.

  Then she goes on to tell me I imagined it all - that it was a nightmare. That my over-stressed mind came up with it after learning that small fact about him possibly being alive.

  Because he is. I know.

  And even when I told her I now have the computer drive that he left, she simply said someone must've found it and returned it. That maybe when she made an announcement that we were looking for one the culprit that could've taken it decided to return it. How no one saw any distinguishable character with a half burned face all night at the clinic.

  Insisting he couldn't be here.

  But I know what I saw. Even if no one will believe me. I'm used to being shutdown, to being excused when I believe otherwise.

  Only this time, this time I don't know if I'll be able to handle the mental strain of knowing. Of knowing that he's near and no one believes me. Of not being able to do anything. Deserted.

"Don't forget me, Alex. I'm closer than you think. And I'll strike when you least expect it."

A cold shudder races up my back as his breathless voice echoes somewhere in the back of my mind, a flash of pain running through my left shoulder from just that small movement.

  My right hand grasps at my scalp harder, back tensing as I arch it further over my lap. A warmth pooling in my head along with a sick sensation in the pit of my stomach.

  "Closer than you think."

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A/N

  *Gasps* It's book three everyone!! Be proud!

  So I was originally going to make this chapter one, but I realized it works well enough for the Prologue. So that's what it is!

  Chapter one will most likely start off right after this one. (The same day.)

Questions:

  1.) For chapter one, would you prefer a POV from Polly or Mack?

  VOTE!! (You know how it works! The more Votes, the more motivated I get to write!) Comment!

Next update: Not sure...Bring in the votes and we'll talk about it. 😏

Started: 9/27/17

Maggy