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I’m completely naked, so I grab my blanket and wrap it around myself. My dim lamp doesn’t quite light up the rest of my apartment, but I sense his eyes watching me.

“Hello?” I call out in a shaky voice. He referred to himself as the Archer. “I know you’re here.”

Silence.

Of course he won’t answer, but he is watching me. I try to remember the final moments before I was taken. A white ribbon—the same white ribbon I’m holding now—in a bush near my house.

My hair prickles at the nape of my neck.

I tiptoe to the door and check if it’s locked. The deadbolt is still latched, with no sign of forced entry. Similarly, the window leading outside remains as I left it, with the screen open a crack. Beyond that, there’s no sign of him anywhere. No one has been in this room, now or ever, as Beth ensured its security before she let me move in here.

I make a mental note to call the building manager tomorrow to make sure there isn’t anyone else who may have a key, other than my smothering mother, and I hide the ribbon in my nightstand, vowing not to tell anyone about this.

My sanity is too brittle—and I can’t trust this is real. With my episodes, sometimes I can’t recall things I did moments before. It’s possible I bought the ribbon myself because it reminded me of something. Although, I can recount my entire day yesterday, and I’m positive it wasn’t here when I went to bed.

I steady myself and stare down at the proof of my orgasm. I continue to rub my wrist, and I take a moment to assess the rest of my body. My left breast has a small bite mark. Another one on my stomach and on the inside of my thigh.

Bite marks…

A flash of memory comes roaring back. Biting me during sex as a way to claim me. I press my thumb into my fresh bruises, and a throb hits my clit at the thought of belonging to him. At least it gives me a piece of my identity I don’t otherwise have. I must be losing my mind. These marks could be from anything. I could have done this to myself while I was asleep.

I touch myself while I sleep…I always do. I get the best orgasms while in a state of unconsciousness. Always while dreaming about him.

With a deep sigh, I stumble over to the couch and turn on an old movie for background noise. I consider for one moment grabbing my vibrator and finishing what my mind just started. But I don’t get off the same way as normal girls…not anymore. Perhaps I never have. Nothing about it is satisfying anymore. What I just endured is the only way I can give myself release.

Perhaps the bunker didn’t change me…Perhaps it brought out the truest, rawest parts of me. The parts of myself I can never put away in a tiny box so other people are more comfortable with me. Surviving something like that shapes you. It defines you and empowers you. Or perhaps it brings out what was already there.

So, what the fuck is inside me that turned me into what I’ve become?

With a sense of desperation, I grab my paintbrush and pull out the oil paints, dipping the tip in red and continuing my work in progress. With a clear sense of him fresh in my mind, I stare at the portrait. The dark circles of his face, the broad strokes of his hood. I continue the delicate etches on his eyes, but it still doesn’t seem right.

I slam my paintbrush down, splattering black paint all over myself. Why can’t I remember him? Why are these fragmented memories all that fill the void in my heart? And how can someone so beautiful be so deadly?

Chapter 2

The next morning, I wake up on my couch in a heap of sweat and the worst hangover anxiety I’ve ever had. My phone buzzes, momentarily irritating me. It’s been buzzing nonstop for at least twenty minutes.

In a daze, I stumble to my bed and glance at a stream of missed calls and text messages from Beth. Before I reply, my attention is drawn to the painting of the Archer. My jaw drops at how detailed one side of his face is. Yet the other side remains a blur as if I’m scared to bring it to life. When I had the nerve to finally close my eyes last night, it wasn’t until five AM, and my sleep was fitful and nightmare-induced. Somehow, in a fit of terror, I managed to paint half his face, including the eyes and neck where one thing catches my attention. As if in a trance, I run my finger over the scar on his neck and cheek, but the paint is still drying, so I snap my hand back.

My phone buzzes again—this time it’s a calendar invite. Beth made an appointment with Regina for ten AM on my behalf and demands I call her immediately to confirm, or she’s coming to get me.

It’s already nine AM.

Shit…SHIT!

I snap a quick response to inform her I’m on my way.

I take a cold shower to stifle my hangover and rub the fresh wounds I didn’t have yesterday. I keep the shower short, frantically pull my hair into a messy bun, and brush my teeth to ensure Regina won’t smell the alcohol on my breath. Vodka doesn’t have a strong odor, so she won’t realize I drink half a bottle every night before doubling my pill dosage.

She won’t understand why I do it. How do I explain that my body only allows me to orgasm while I’m asleep dreaming of a man who may or may not exist? Especially since she’s spent most of my psychological recovery convincing me I made him up.

Now that I’m clear-minded, I check again for any signs of forced entry. Yanking on the door and frowning at the rain dripping through the screen. My eyes drift to that white ribbon, and a weight slams against my chest. I push it aside, grab my trench coat and umbrella, and dash downstairs. I head straight into a downpour, catch the first bus I see to the SkyTrain, and then make my way to Regina’s office in Yaletown, downtown Vancouver.

The train is packed, but my presence goes unnoticed as I keep my head down, despite my face being plastered all over the news. The population is so dense here, it’s easy to blend in, unlike in Stormwood, where I’m a local celebrity.

My abductor took me right from the one place where I should have been the safest. He took me from my street in broad daylight. Who the hell gets abducted as an adult? One minute I was there and the next I was gone, placed in that bunker to rot.

Sarah Crawley is the only person who believes me and never thought Toby Myers was my abductor. Ultimately, she was the one who found me, thanks to an anonymous tip with my location. She suspected my abductor had been watching me for a long time, and that he was someone close to me.