Horrorstruck, I started walking backward until my back hit the wall behind me, even then it seemed that my feet kept taking steps back. In my head, I felt an alarm ringing, red and white, red and white, red and white, red and white.

The reality finally unfolded in front of me, and what I discovered made me sick to my stomach. In the reality, I didn't escape my tormentors. Anywhere I go they would find me, even as far as forty-seven years away.

The collector hadn't just left me be. There was no such thing as a charity for demons. Either my life suddenly became worth preserving, or there was something else going on in Animus, that happened to become my ticket to life.

My breath was coming in and out in frantic pace. Only when I sensed that something blocked the view of the screen, I looked up. George took my hands into his and compressed them tightly.

His mouth was forming sentences, but I couldn't hear what he was saying. Ringing in my ears overshadowed other sounds in the room. Several times I watched George shaking my hands gently trying to pull me out of my muted bout. His touch was warm and face strangely reassuring. I shook my head kicking off the confusion, and several words slipped into my consciousness.

"Who was that man? Stacy, you need to tell me what is going on." That seemed to do the trick, and my brain seizures eased letting common sense overtake.

As my respire stabilized, my body felt soft, and I dropped onto my heels. George let go of my hands and without his support, I started inclining on the side in sitting position. He caught me again and grabbed my shoulders fixing firmly in one place.

"Stacy, you need to tell me what is going on."

"I can't tell you," I finally replied.

"You need to tell me," he insisted.

"I can't. I just can't," I shook my head negatively.

"Just tell me!" His voice turned into a demand. "I need to know what is going on."

"I can't tell you!" I snapped and glared at him.

"Well, let me put it this way. You have no choice!" He snapped back.

"Do you want to die?" I cried out. "Do you seriously expect me to put you and your friends over there in danger? Even if I tell you the truth, the chances you believe me are zero point zero to none. So, the best way for you is to let me go. Burn the videotape and pretend that it never happened. It's for your own good, not for mine."

"Who was the man, Stacy?" He asked me gently. "Are you a spy or some kind or a recruit in training?"

A giggle left my mouth. "See, you're trying to find logic in everything that has occurred, but the thing is...logic doesn't apply in circumstances like that. I'm no KGB or FBI, George. I was no recruit or spy. And this man isn't even human. Do you want me to keep going, or no rational explanation will be enough to consider me out of my right mind?"

George groaned in frustration standing up and began walking in circles nervously rubbing his hair with his fingers. This man was confusing. He had something cold in his gaze, but at the same time, I couldn't help catching compassion in his actions.

"Okay," he paused and observed me questionably. "Let's say that hypothetically speaking I believed you. Let's presume that we covered the part that you claim to come from the sixties. All right?" I nodded. "Good. Now tell me everything from the very beginning."

I took a deep breath and helping myself over the wall, pulled myself up and relocated on the chair.

In a way, it felt like the interrogations of my demon doctor, but I was free right now. Well, at least I didn't feel her soul-wracking gaze on me. Not hers indeed, instead five humans were staring at me with wide from shock eyes.

I glared back at them trying to scare their gawking away. One of them instantly averted his eyes. That was the guy who mocked me about the bear. Then Mike forced his stare down and slowly all of them pretended to be busy with watching the video.

George stood firmly in the middle of the room. His attention fully on me. He was waiting for me to begin and I couldn't bring myself to open my mouth and pour my entire story on him. He wasn't ready. He had no idea how much he wasn't willing to hear me. How many times I tried to convince myself that it wasn't true, that it didn't exist. Even the shrinks that Mr. Palus hired to fix me didn't brush the fantasies out of my head. Merely because they were no fantasies. I didn't just wake up one day and decided that boogieman along with the demons and fallen angels lived in my closet. No, no, it was a long and painful process of accepting the truth, and it would take me more than two damned months to make me stop believing.

I remembered cold and cunning gray eyes of Dr. Farmosa. Her artificially sweet smile and the way she perfectly combed red hair framed her thin, pale face.

The first five sessions that we had, she treated me like I was a five-year-old girl that lost her cuddle toy. When I didn't respond favorably to the treatment, her true nature started surfacing. There was no need in hiding it, anyway. I knew what I saw in front of me. Vacuum. Emptiness. Absolute nihility. Darkness radiated out of her. Her office didn't even have plants of any kind because everything dies around her. She wasn't a fallen - she was a demon. A vile creature with a practical mind on a mission. Not even like that. It was a demon that occupied the body of Dr. Farmosa and unfortunately... it was permanent.

How was I supposed to share this with George and the boys? Maybe physically they were older, but mentally, I was one hundred. I turned one hundred, the day I've run away, cause I knew too much, and since then I've been adding a decade each day I had survived.

My eyelids started to droop. I felt fatigued, but that pressure on my consciousness was forced. Heaviness in my limbs was of a particular kind, not when I physically tired, but as if it came from inside, rather than from an intensive exercise. I inclined my head back pressing it to the wall, and all I could think of was to lay down and sleep. Irritation from the uncomfortable position was tickling my nerves. I grumped under my breath and started sinking into a nap.

"Are you falling asleep," it was George who asked me.

"I don't know what's happening. One minute I was relatively fine and now can't keep my eyes open. Was there something in the food?" I asked, but my own words came out as a mumble and I was sure, no one understood the last part.

"Shit! It's probably the medicine kicking." I heard Mike saying.

"Was it Nyquil you gave her?" A question followed.

"No, duh! What else I was supposed to give her!"

"Uh, duh, Dayquil!" someone retorted sarcastically. "Now she'll be dead for at least six hours. I want to go home! The whole room sticks like freaking cow sweat!"

"Shut up, Ash! The girl has been through hell and back!"

Someone snorted and said, "literary."

"Enough!" George's bark silenced the bickering. A couple of huffs and tsks rolled in a wave by the room and then dissolved into full muteness. My consciousness shut down submerging me into heavy slumber and for a moment the troubles seemed to step away letting me have it for now.

***

It was too comfortable for my liking. My body forgot a gentle touch and feeling underneath me something puffy, actually irritated me. I wiggled around trying to rid of the warmth and pleasant sensation, but it hasn't subsided. In frustration, I pushed the warmth away with my hands but then realized that the heat was coming from me. My eyes flew open, and I sat up finding myself in a dimly illuminated room. I just couldn't tell if it was late evening or early morning.

I removed a soaked in my sweat cover off my laps and slowly stood up. My entire body hurt tremendously, and I still was in a fever. My eyes were inflated making my vision blurry, and clothes were sticking to my flesh the way that was utterly revolting considering that chills were passing through me every other minute.

I couldn't put a finger on it, but something felt off. Like a part of me was missing.

Ignoring my cranky health situation, I scanned the allowance. Two small rectangular windows located on top of the wall, and by the look of it, it was evident that I was in the basement of a middle-class home.

How did I know that the house was a moderate income? Simple. Even though the furniture looked out of my era and organized to feel cozy, it still lacked splendor.

The sofa I was sleeping on was large and made of dark green leather fabric. It overlooked a huge TV screen that was similar to the one I saw in the storage place. Behind the sofa to its left, I noticed a bar counter with three stools neatly placed next to each other. And on the opposite side of the room, there was a stairway to the first floor. Before I was done ogling the basement, I already knew where I was. One didn't need to be a genius to realize that this house belonged to George or one of the guys. My mind wasn't clouded; in fact, my brain was working with scary clarity considering the circumstances.

My gaze traveled further by the room and stopped when the brightness hit me into my eyes. The light was coming from the door that was slightly ajar, and actually, it was the primary source of the room illumination. Acting upon an urge of my curiosity, I unhurriedly made my way to the other side to inspect it.

Behind the door was a little lumber-room, but except some upper clothes and plastic buckets, it contained nothing exciting. I stepped away from the room and noticed that there were two more doors to check. Gaining some courage, I twisted the handle of the second door and pulled it open. To my relief, it was a bathroom. I searched with my hand the switcher, then turned the lights on and let myself in.

This bathroom was nothing like the bathroom in the storehouse. It was clean and ultra modern, at least to my eye. There was a shower cabin with doors; a sink with a sleek looking tap and on a bathroom rack laid neatly folded towels. On the bottom shelf, I noticed some clothes of my size. I looked closer, and indeed, it was left there especially for me to use.

I opened the shower cabin and examined the modern appliances. It didn't look that difficult to figure out how to start the water. Red stands for hot, blue for cold. To the left to the right. I touched the spigot and first moved it up and then to the side. Immediately the water in full force started drizzling down, and I had to take one step back not to catch too much water on myself. Then I considered it for a minute and swiftly pulled my sweaty clothes off me. To take a shower was a good idea. No matter how many times I rinsed myself in the storehouse shower, my body still felt stinky and dirty.

On the floor of the shower stall stood two bottles. One said that it was body wash and another that it was shampoo. Both had an attractive peachy scent. Without hesitation, I grabbed the shampoo and began at first gently and then with vigor rubbing it into my hair. I had no pity for myself, besides it has taken me three more attempts to reach the effect of cleanness.

Then I switched to my body. My body, though, was a different story. As soon as nacre-like liquid touched my skin, burning spread by the sensitive areas and set my flesh on fire. It turned out that I had more damaged skin than I realized.

Through gritted teeth, I finished showering and was more than glad to change into clean attire. I looked around looking for a hairbrush and found the products of oral hygiene on the sink and a new toothbrush. Any fanatic dentist would give me first prize for what I did next. I began scrubbing my teeth so stoutly that until I felt blood coming from the gums of each tooth I haven't stopped. I couldn't get enough of that freshness around me. It felt so normal that I wanted to cry from how much I missed being in the healthy environment doing such ordinary things like washing my hair and brushing my teeth.

I rinsed the toothbrush and placed it on the clean surface of the basin. The mirror hung right above it and was slightly fogged. All this time I've been purposely avoiding checking my own reflection. I couldn't allow myself to see my own face. I was scared of what I might find, or better of what I won't find there. I was terrified to find a stranger in the reflection that had only some of my features to match.

This time, I couldn't just turn around and leave. I looked up and exhaled in relief finding my image blurry. It gave me time to prepare mentally for this moment. My hand reached the mirror and ran once by the film of moisture turning it into water drops. The image has clarified, and I met a pair of burgundy eyes that definitely belonged to me, though, the way they gazed at me sent shivers by my limbs. The intensity of my own stare was equal to Dr. Farmosa, or even Mr. Palus himself, and I was just human.

Was I?

I wiped more of the mirror surface and panted when my face came into full view, altogether wishing I hadn't looked. There were only three scratches, and all of them would fade away eventually, but the rest of me transformed fatally.

My face was so thin that it almost looked as if only my nose and eyes remained of it. In the contrast with my dark hair, my skin was lifelessly white, not even pale or a shade or blue, or even sickly green, it was blank and white. I might as well be dead.

Without another thought, I headed straight for the stairs. I wanted to keep in mind that all my life has changed dramatically, and my appearance should be the last thing to worry about. But it worried me. I lost not only my health but was losing my body as well. However, I managed to preserve my soul and wouldn't give up on the rest of me. Never.

When I reached the first floor, the door was open. I slowed my speed and cautiously stepped into the corridor listening. The house was silent, but the lights were on in one of the rooms on the other side of the house. I passed what looked like the family room and stepped into the cozy, spacious kitchen.

"Coffee?" A voice of George boomed in the air. I flinched from unexpected greeting and turned my head to find George sitting at the table with a cup of coffee, reading a newspaper.

I took a deep breath calming my suddenly raised pulse.

"Yes, thank you. Coffee would be wonderful," I replied in surprisingly natural voice.

George stood up and took from the kitchen counter a pot of steaming coffee and an extra cup for me. Then he grabbed a box of something and placed it all on the table. My stomach as on cue twisted with pain and forgetting my uneasiness I forced myself to take the chair in front of George. Automatically he filled my cup and moved it closer to me.

"I hope you like doughnuts?" he opened the box and offered me one. I nodded eagerly delighted at finding something sweet and greasy to amuse my stomach with and reached for the doughnut.

My mouth welcomed food with forgotten happiness. The piece dissolved on my tongue and reached the bottom enriching me with energy.

I felt good warmth traveling up my skin finally spreading all over me giving me strength. Any other time this guilty pleasure would be a no-no item. My mother would flip if she'd seen me consuming doughnut with such zeal. But inwardly I smirked bitterly. There was no mother left to scold me for eating sugar and flour based treats.

I finished the doughnut and when reached to take another one, stopped my hand on a half way.

"If you want, you can finish all of them," George encouraged.

I felt like to give him a smile, but my face remained unreadable.

"No, it's not that. I just want my stomach to absorb it first. I don't want to overwhelm it with food and then be sick." or hear my mother's voice in my head on repeat "Stacy Jenkins! Stop fattening yourself up! Who will marry such a round figure!"

"How old are you, Stacy?"

"Two hundred and thirty," I answered holding a straight face.

George made an amused noise. "I'm glad that you still possess a sense of humor," he retorted.

I nodded, "Me as well. I'm twenty-three, George. OR rather seventy, considering the time difference," I joked again.

"Are you ready now to tell me how did you get here?" He asked.

I lifted my head and met his appraising gaze. "Are you sure you want to hear it?" I asked firmly inclining my head a little. For a moment George just sat there staring at me. I could tell that it finally hit him, that whatever I might tell, could be absolutely different and better not mentioned out loud. Then he drew some air into his lungs and slowly nodded.

"Well then..." I sat back and took a sip of my coffee. "Here it goes."