Page 91 of Searching Blind

Pierce rubbed at the dull ache in the center of this chest. What he wouldn't give for the simplicity of the life Zak and Anna had built up here— it wasn't perfect, but it was a hell of a lot better than this cloak and dagger shit. Always looking over your shoulder, never knowing when it was safe to stop running, never knowing whether the next face you saw would be friend or foe.

Inside the apartment, Raszta let out a protesting yip… and Pierce couldn’t do it. Couldn’t leave him. It was stupid and dangerous. He couldn’t run, couldn’t blend into a crowd and disappear with a dog as unique as Razzy with those dreadlocks and the raspy, pack-a-day smoker’s bark. But he couldn’t leave him behind. Raszta wasn’t just a dog. He was family.

Pierce turned back to the door and opened it, whistling for Raszta to come. The dog’s tail wagged furiously as he bounded over, playfully nipping at his fingers.

He smiled down at Raszta even as his heart thudded. This was a mistake— but fuck it. Couldn’t he have one thing in his life that wasn't tainted by the past? One thing that was purely his? Maybe he didn’t deserve it, but he was going to take it.

“Come on, Raz,” he signed. The dreadlocks were going to have to go if they were going to blend in. He smiled slightly at the thought of Razzy sporting a close-cropped ‘do. At least he wouldn’t have to spend an hour every night separating out the cords anymore.

A lump rose up hard and fast in his throat. Shit, why did the thought of losing that simple nightly routine hurt so much? It was just hair. It’d grow back.

He shook his head, clearing the lump in his throat, and looked back toward the rescue. Zelda had stopped at the edge of the woods and was staring straight at him, her ears flattened as if she knew something was wrong. Sawyer paused then, his head tilted as if he was listening to something only he could hear.

Pierce clenched his jaw hard, a sharp pang of regret twisting in his stomach. He wished he could tell Sawyer what was happening, but that would just put him—and everyone else—in danger.

“Let’s go,” he signed to Razzy and with one last look at the rescue, he climbed into his beat-up Ford Bronco. He’d have to lose the SUV, too, and that also hurt. He liked this car. It was old and a bit rusted, but it was reliable and his. The only thing from his former life he’d kept, a remnant of his all too short childhood.

Which was why it had to go.

He’d take it as far as San Francisco and swap it out for something less conspicuous.

But first he had to put as much distance between him and Steam Valley as he could. The engine roared beneath him as he hit the highway ramp and stepped on the gas. Razzy sat beside him, head hanging out the passenger window, tongue lolling sloppily, dreadlocks flapping from his ponytail like banners in the wind.

Pierce watched as the familiar landmarks of Steam Valley faded in his rearview mirror, growing smaller until they were just specks on the horizon. The town had been his refuge, his sanctuary. Here he had found a semblance of peace, even happiness. But it was all an illusion, just like everything else in his fucked-up life.

Christ, he was tired.

Tired of running, of looking over his shoulder, of the merciless grip fear had on him. That fear was a relentless beast, gnawing at his insides and shredding him to ribbons day by day. It was exhausting and unending. But it was the only constant in his chaotic life.

He glanced at Raszta, the dog’s face turned towards the rush of wind, eyes closed in blissful ignorance. He wished he could swap places with him, if only for a moment, to know what it felt like to feel the sun on his face without wondering when it might be the last time.

He turned his gaze back to the highway, his knuckles white on the wheel as he sped along the road that stretched out before him like a gray ribbon against the rugged California landscape.

The highway was busy today, clogged with weekend traffic, heading toward sun-soaked stretches of coastline and craggy heights of the surrounding mountains. Paranoia scratched at the back of his skull. Every car that pulled up alongside his Bronco made his heart jump. Every unknown face a potential threat, every glance a possible recognition.

It was suddenly hard to breathe. He couldn’t open up his lungs, couldn’t suck in air.

Panic attack.

Fuck, it had been a long time since he’d had one of these. He'd been working with Rylan on managing his anxiety, but with the sudden uptick in stress, it seemed his old habits were creeping back in.

His breath hitched and his hands twitched on the steering wheel. He reached for the dashboard, fumbling blindly until he found the vent. Cranking it up, he let the ice-cold air whip against his face as he tried desperately to remember what Rylan had taught him.

Focus on the present. The way the vinyl of the steering wheel felt beneath his sweating palms, the sound of the engine rumbling beneath him, the steely taste of fear on his tongue.

He looked over at Razzy again, hoping the dog's calm demeanor would ground him. But it didn't.

With every passing mile, his anxiety worsened. The tight knots in his stomach pulled tighter, each twinge sending jolts of pain up into his chest. His breathing came in short, shallow gasps. The world outside became a blur of colors as his vision tunneled.

He had to stop, take the time to get it under control, or he'd be a danger to himself and Raszta.

He pulled into a rest stop just off the highway and parked the car in a secluded corner.

Pierce slumped back in his seat as he tried to steady his breathing, each inhale a struggle, each exhale a victory. He closed his eyes, focusing on the cold air pouring from the vent and the soft whine from Raszta at his side.

Rylan's words echoed in his mind. When it happens, ground yourself in the present. Try naming five things you can see, four things you can touch, three things you can hear, two things you can smell, and one thing you can taste.

But it was easier said than done when every fiber of your being screamed to run, to hide.

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