And that was the biggest problem. She didn’t remember anything. Not the attack. Not the rescue. Not the years just prior to her attack. Memories erased from her life as easily as her attacker had tried to erase her.
Sometimes she would try to remember, but all it did was leave her with a terrible headache. The doctors had told her not to push it. Months would go by before it started again—wondering what she wanted to remember—so she’d try to regain her memories, only to be left with the usual headache. It was an unhappy cycle.
Her father thought it was a godsend that she couldn’t remember what had happened while she’d been held against her will, but what they couldn’t understand was that she had nearly two and a half years stolen from her mind. Those years were just gone.
The summer before she was taken—gone.
The days of being tortured—gone.
Two years afterwards—gone.
Her father had once said that for the two years after, it had been like she hadn’t existed. She’d been in a private hospital. Withdrawn. Mute. Completely pulled inward with no contact from anyone other than her immediate family and the medical staff.
It sounded like a lonely existence and sometimes she was glad she couldn’t remember any of it. Other times, she felt like she’d go insane because she couldn’t.
One question she constantly asked herself was, what happened to her afterward? Why couldn’t she remember anything after she’d been found? It didn’t make any sense. Why couldn’t she remember the hospital when she’d been there for such a long time? All she did remember was the last two weeks before her father had taken her home. Even now the smell of antiseptic made her physically sick.
Saige kept so much locked away inside her where no one could see. She was tired of being her. Tired of being afraid, and tired of not remembering.
Seeing Quinten Peterson on the television today had really thrown her for a loop. There was something about him that teased at her memory. He’d been familiar, but not in a frightening way. She’d always expected him to be terrifying to her when, or if, she ever saw him, but that reaction hadn’t come.
Instead she felt a hint of affection. Perhaps after all these years she could finally admit to herself that she was crazy, because why the hell else would she have felt affection for someone who’d tortured her for days and then left her for dead?
Her father had kept her locked away from the awful truths. He’d kept her away from the trial and from seeing him. She hadn’t testified at the trial, as she was in the hospital recovering from all the injuries she’d suffered. Later, she remained in a private hospital for close to two years. Eventually, she started to speak again, and had relied heavily on her father, who’d been there every step of the way. He’d been the one to take her home from that dreadful place.
Saige shuddered and hoped like hell that she’d never have to step foot inside the walls of that hospital again. Every time she thought about that place, chills of fear raced down her spine. She often asked herself what had happened to her while she’d been a patient—she would probably never know.
Forgoing dinner, Saige struggled to get herself up from the chair and slowly dragged her feet to her bedroom.
She stripped out of her work uniform and climbed under the covers—wanting to hide from the unknown that haunted her. Just for a little while.
* * *
3:15pm
* * *
For eight years he’d waited for the execution warrant to be signed by the governor, and now that it had been, Quinten felt nothing but fear...and anger.
He’d constantly asked himself, why him? He’d never gotten an answer. All those years ago, he went after the woman he loved. He didn’t regret finding her. Even knowing how he ended up, he would do it again as long as it meant that Saige lived. Despite the odds against him, he’d managed to save her.
Even now, as they led him in shackles to one of the death watch cells, he could still see the blood covering her—his beautiful girl. Just her smile had been enough to bring him to his knees.
“Steady now,” one of the guards said.
He blinked a few times and realized his body had tensed, and that his fists clenched together in front of him.
Four heavily armed guards flanked him while the warden led the way. The death squad. He didn’t know any of these guards, but he’d certainly get to know them now that he was under twenty-four seven observation. That was, until they transferred him to the execution chamber, adjacent to his new home.
Quinten briefly closed his eyes and tried not to think about the end. He’d prayed since his incarceration that he’d be freed. He hadn’t done anything wrong, and wondered if he was being punished for that last night when he’d seen Saige before she’d returned to college.
“Nearly there,” another guard grunted.
The shackles around his ankles and wrists rattled when he slowly shuffled forward, and then he froze. His legs wouldn’t carry him further.