Page 229 of On a Fault Line

And my sanity is now in the balance.

It’s as if the atmosphere has swallowed them up into some cosmic black hole and the only thing left are the haunting images of them once being there.

I blink and hope it helps me think clearer. Then I remember my trauma.

“Dr. Radinsky is hurt,” I say in a rush. “She’s bleeding.”

I don’t know why I’m trying to convince him. Maybe if this man who is now just a stranger to me has some sympathy, I can turn him to be on my side.

Holding up his finger to his lips to shush me, I see dark stains around his fingernails. And on the sleeve of his coat, I see the specks of maroon.

“She suffered a teensy, bitsy head wound,” he says in a singsong voice.

I take a step back. “No.” And then placing my hands up in front of me in defense, I take another step back.

I have to remind myself that the person I thought was a friend is not a safe haven.

My mind shifts between a calm and a fragile state. I feel so confused. It’s as if my mind is snapping the threads that bind it together—one by one.

This stranger is part of the problem.

When Rex closes the distance between us in two short strides, I shove him away, causing myself to stumble onto my ass.

Scrambling to my feet, I dart past him, only for him to grab my arm and jerk me toward him. His bloody fingernails dig into my skin. I wince, tugging with all my might to get free.

Then I remember the lesson Collins taught me so many months ago in the gym on the cushioned mats.

“The first step to defending yourself is trusting your instincts.”

I take a deep breath.

And I take my free hand and grip his fingers, and then pull up toward his thumb. “Back off!”

Then I knee him in the groin, while hitting him between the eyes in one sudden blunt move with the palm of my hand. He falls backward, hitting his head on the tiles.

Turning, I race down the hall, until I collide with the heavy metal door. Pushing against it, I realize that I need the keycard.

Looking back toward Rex’s lifeless form, I see his badge attached with a clip to his chest pocket.

“Fuuu-ck,” I moan, extending the syllables to be two. “Likereallyfuck.”

Bouncing on the heels of my feet, I tiptoe down the hall toward the incapacitated man who I knocked out, keeping my eyes trained on his closed ones.

I can do this.

I just need to get the keycard—that’s it.

I’ll just get it and go out the door and then get to safety while I wait for the police to arrive. Surely by now my brothers know I’m missing. I left abruptly from the charity event, and knowing them, they are already out searching for me.

Stay focused, Penny.

Then I see it—the crumpled-up ball of paper.

Escapee.

Mark Tanner is an escapee.

I’m not going crazy.

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