Neva's eyes slowly part, adjusting to the darkness pierced by the dim glow of a lamp on a nightstand.
Even through her muddled mind, she reaches for Jesus, wanting her Father close to her, her heart heavy and burdened as she asks Him where her fiancé is, if he's safe, and to please lead him to her.
Silence presses close, and a dull ache throbs along the side of her neck as she tries to make out her surroundings: a nightstand, a photo frame, a dark-grey, curtained floor-to-ceiling window, a reclining area, and a silhouette on the couch, watching her.
A gasp escapes her as he remains unmoving, his sharp, alert gaze, following her every move.
"You're awake," the deep, unfamiliar voice says.
Before she can think, a feral instinct propels her off the bed and toward the door, her judgment lagging behind her body as she frantically repeats in her head:
It wasn't a dream. It wasn't a dream. It wasn't a—
A hand closes around her elbow, whirling her toward him until she crashes into a firm, solid chest.
"Help!" A scream tears through her as she struggles against the cage of his arms. "Somebody help—"
A high-pitched squeak slips from her as he hoists
her over his shoulder, carrying her like a sack of rice as she beats against his back, crying out for help.
He places her on the mattress with a gentleness she barely registers and leans toward her, sending her scrambling back until her back meets the headboard.
A sigh escapes him as he straightens. "Relax."
Tears stream down her cheeks as he turns, followed by the sound of a click as light pours into the room.
She flinches as he reaches toward her, only to realize he's offering her a napkin.
"Take it," he says as she remains unmoving. "Then we'll talk."
The weight of the moment finally crashes down on her and her blood chills as she realises she's being abducted and is in an unknown place with this madman, who could do whatever he wants to her.
His gaze lingers on her for a grave moment as her muscles tighten, even if she still feels far away from herself, unable to make sense of anything.
Crushing the napkin and discarding it, he takes the frame on the nightstand before settling beside her.
"Do you really not remember me?" he asks, staring at the photo.
Her mind races as she tries to think of how to escape, what she can use as a weapon, and how far she can go before she finds help, when he lifts the frame
to show her a lifelike painting of a little girl and boy.
"This is us," he says. "I painted it. There's more
in my other residence. With your old paintings."
The children in the meadows. The little girl's face...
"Did you lose your memories in the bus accident?" he asks.
"We're from an island called Miraeth. We both grew up together after your grandfather took me in when I was eleven."
He pauses, studying her. "I've been searching for you all this time."
Her breath grows uneven as she tries to hide the tremor in her bones, her mind locked on the door.
"Who is that man to you, Neva?" he asks, voice low.
"It doesn't matter. You're going to remember me—"
Before he can finish his words, she vaults from the bed, only for him to grab her and slam her back against the mattress.
She screams, thrashing against him as he pins her against the mattress, a sickening dread coiling in her stomach.
He warns her to stay still, but she keeps fighting against his unyielding grip when he seizes her jaw, forcing her to look at him.
"Stay. Still," he repeats through clenched teeth.
Her heart sinks as she meets those grim eyes.
"I don't want to lose you again," he says, his grip loosening around her.
"P—please let me go," she chokes out, tears slipping down her face.
"I just want to help you," he says, pulling away. "Get some rest. We can figure it out tomorrow."
As the hum of the door closing sounds, she curls into herself, shaking and crying as she begs God to send Rhett to her.