I woke up a little while ago, but only because Caroline coaxed me out of my sleep. She told me that my mother was on the phone, and wanted to speak with me. I almost made the mistake of saying that I didn’t want to speak with her, but I caught myself in time. I didn’t want the woman to think that I hated my mother or anything. I mean, I don’t hate my mother…but she’s so eccentric, that I knew getting on the phone with her was only going to involve listening to her wail and cry and carry on. But given the circumstances, that I was kidnapped…that I almost died; I figured I owed it to my mother to at least say hello. So I took the phone from Caroline, and said ‘Mom?’

Naturally, her response was a burst of eccentric rambling, that included, but was not limited to: ‘Kerrigan! My god, are you alright? Are you in pain…did they hurt you, did they touch you…’

I tried to get a couple of words in here or there, but with no success. She kept rambling, and all I could do was lean my head against my hand and listen. She seemed to be talking more to herself, than she was to me…and I nearly hung up on the woman. My head was pounding as it was, and all I really wanted to do was put on a clean change of clothes and go to the bathroom. The remains of the handcuffs were starting to get on my nerves too, and I knew I needed to try and get them off. “Mom please,” I finally interrupted, not being able to take her whining anymore. “I’ll be home in a little while, but I need to change and get my act together before the police get here. I really don‘t have time for this right now.”

Then she was silent. That always happens when she realizes how whacko she’s acting. I thought I could hear her sob a little, but I didn’t say anything. I was so tired, and so…bitter towards the world, I really didn’t care about her feelings. I feel shitty about it now though. I mean, she’s my mother, and she thought I was lying dead in a gutter someplace. I guess I could have been a little more compassionate…but then, I wasn’t anywhere near the state of mind I’m in right now. I was still shocked…still very much shaken. I still am of course, but I have more control of my emotions than I did when I was on the phone. If I had to, I could probably walk around and force a smile for everybody…

I’m sure I’ll have to do it later. I know Justin is bad…really bad. Everybody will probably be so worried about him, they won’t have time to comfort me. It won’t help me if I’m an emotional mess, so I’ll just suck it up and keep my feelings to myself. I’ll talk to Trace…yeah. He’ll listen.

“I love you Kerrigan,” was the next thing my mother said to me. I told her that I loved her too, that I would talk to her more when I saw her, and to send daddy and Mary my love. I really hate talking to anybody on the phone for long periods of time anyway, so I figured she would understand. She agreed of course, the reluctance in her voice not going unnoticed by me. Then I hung up. I was tempted to call back and talk to Trace. I think I could have used one of his many spouts of wisdom at that moment…but I didn’t want my mom to feel like I was shutting her out. I figured it would have to wait. Anyway, it’s better if I see Trace face to face. If I talk to him over the phone…I’ll only end up crying or something.

I’m so fucking tired of crying.

After I got off the phone, Craig took on the task of picking the locks on my cuffs. At first I told him I could wait for the police, but then he smiled and told me that he’s one of those on-call locksmiths. One of those guys that has to drive around to different places and get people back into their cars…or into their houses or whatever. I guess it’s a good profession. Calling up a locksmith like that usually costs a good chunk of change. It’s weird that he wants to live all the way out here though. I’m sure his work takes him into Tennessee all the time. Hell, maybe it’s why his wife wants to move to Nashville, or wherever he said. I guess I picked the right door to knock on today, because it didn’t take him long to jimmy the locks open. I told him if I ever needed a locksmith, he would be my first choice. Then he sort of smiled at me and patted my knee like I was his daughter or something. I felt warm inside…for the first time in a long time…

My father never pats my knee.

The skin that the cuffs were rubbing against is chafed to shit. My wrists were all bloody before Craig wrapped this gauze around them. One of my wrists is really bad…when I bend it the wrong way, the cut opens up, and it’s so damn deep that the blood comes gushing out of it. I’ve had to replace the gauze three times already. Craig said that I might need a stitch or two. I really don’t care if I need stitches though. Anything is better than having those things locked onto me.

It felt so good to get rid of the dirty clothes I was wearing. The Tripton’s daughter, Shelly, gave me a pair of her jeans and one of her sweatshirts to wear before. My other clothes…they smelled like urine. I was so embarrassed when I took them off and had to give them to her. I thought she was going to tell me I was dirty…but she didn’t. I think she knew why they were all full of urine. She knew I’d been given the scare of my lifetime…and peeing is a natural reaction to fear. So instead of acting like she was disgusted with me, she just smiled, and told me that it was okay…that she understood. Then she left me alone so I could take a shower.

I think I took the longest shower of my lifetime. At first, I just stood under the spray, letting the water work its magic on my body. Then I scrubbed myself down and washed my hair. I loved the way the soap felt against my dirty skin, and the way the shampoo left my hair and scalp feeling healthy and renewed. I guess I never realized how good it felt to take a shower before…because I’ve never gone more than a day without taking one. After this, I’ll probably start taking two or three a day. Hell, I might even take another one when I get back home tonight. I never want to feel dirty like that again. It’s disgusting, barbaric. Nobody should have to sit around in their own filth like that. It’s not human.

The Triptons have one of those massaging shower heads. Sometimes Siobhan and I go to Bed Bath and Beyond and debate about whether or not we should get one. But we always chicken out in the end…telling each other that we won’t be able to install it. After using it though, I know I can’t go without one any longer. This year, when Siobhan and I go dorm shopping…it’s going to be the first thing on my list. Hell, I don’t care if we don’t know how to install it. I’ll make Scott do it. He never does anything but make out with Siobhan, and raid our fridge anyway.

I just got out of the shower a few minutes ago, and I wrapped a towel around myself, instead of getting dressed right away. I felt like letting myself air dry. I wanted to feel the cool air against my bare skin. The towel, it’s one of those big fluffy white ones…my favorite. It’s warm and soft, and smells like fresh linen. I love clean…I love everything about clean. It’s freaking me out a little, like…what if I end up like Danny Tanner on Full House? What if I go crazy and tape sponges to my kneecaps and make one of those belts with the pockets for my spray bottle and squeegee?

God, I’m so fucking weird.

I wipe my hand across the mirror, and clear some of the condensation away. The girl I see nearly scares the daylights out of me. “Jesus,” I hear myself say. I don’t recognize myself. I don’t look…normal. My eyes are small, and tired, and there are huge bags underneath them. There are scratches all over me, as well as a couple of welts on my face…left behind by our captors. One isn’t so bad…it’s a little faded. I think that’s the one Nathan gave me in the car. The other one is the bad one. I remember…it’s the one Shane gave me out by the shed. It’s a mixture of blacks, blues, and purples, and when I poke it I flinch a little. It still hurts. I hate looking at it, because it reminds me of everything I’ve gone through. I tremble a little, and I start to feel a little faint. I lean over the sink to steady myself. And then I remember…I see it…

I cough a few times, and then my stomach surrenders to my nerves. I vomit violently into the sink. I‘m confused, I don’t even know what my body has to give up right now. It feels horrible coming up, and it looks equally as bad. It’s yellow…it’s nothing but stomach acid and water. There’s nothing in my system…nothing but emptiness and the constant reminder of what’s happened. Or rather…what’s still happening. After I manage to regain control of myself, I run the faucet and splash some cold water on my face. Then I look at myself in the mirror again. Damn, I look like I’ve just awoken from the dead. But…I guess I could look worse. Yes, sadly, there’s always a worse side to this story.

Justin is a prime example.

God I hope he’s doing okay. Craig and Caroline took him into their bedroom to get him cleaned up before. Although, I doubt there is anything they can do with a household first aid kit that can heal Justin’s horrible welts and bruises. My bruises…they’ll probably be gone in a day or two. But Justin’s…it’s going to take a long time for all of that to clear up. It’s a bad thing. For weeks to come he’s going to wake up, look in the mirror, and be reminded of everything that happened to him. It will pull at him…tear him apart, and it’s not fucking fair. What happened to us was horrible, but Justin…he got it a thousand times worse than I did. I don’t want to think about the images and memories running through his mind, of all the pain he’s going to have to overcome in the next year. I’m afraid he won’t be able to handle himself…that he’ll be all alone with nobody who understands. He’ll want to talk to me, but I’ll be in New York, and I’m sure he’ll be back in California, with that girlfriend of his. I’ll want him to call me, but he won’t, because he’s stubborn like that. Then I’ll call him and ask him how he is, and he’ll give me some bullshit about how he‘s fine. Eventually, I’ll get tired of getting the runaround, and…then I’ll stop calling…

Like he stopped calling me.

Hearing a knock at the door, I straighten myself and run a hand through my wet hair. I clear my throat the best I can. I don’t want them to know that I got sick just now. I manage a strong sounding ‘yes?’, and I’m relieved.

“Are you okay um…Kerri?”

Shelly is at the door again. I manage to smile a little. She’s really a nice girl, but I have to admit, it was weird seeing her room. Seeing all those pictures of Justin plastered on her wall sort of knocked me back into reality a bit. Justin is a star. Shelly is a fan. It’s so strange…that Justin isn’t just some guy I grew up with. That millions of teenage girls just like Shelly have their rooms plastered with pictures of him. They think about him, dream about him…they wish they could know him like Trace and I know him. It almost makes me angry. Justin can’t just be my friend…or Trace’s friend, or Lynn’s son He has to be more…he has to be up on this crazy pedestal for the world to see. Even now, despite the horror he‘s experienced…he still can’t hide from who the world thinks he is, and wants him to be. He still has to be Justin Timberlake, superstar extraordinaire. He’s going to go home, and everybody will want to hear about what happened to him. They’ll all be so damn interested…they’ll all feel so sorry for him. And Justin, he’ll sit there and smile and answer their questions because he has to…

Then he’ll go back to his life, and be even more fucked up, because he’ll have had to relive the whole experience in front of everyone: his public, his management, his friends, and his family. He’ll never really be normal again, but he’ll keep that part of him tucked away for when he’s alone. He’ll need to get some help of course, but if I know him, I know he won’t get any. He’ll just make do, until the day comes where he just can’t take it anymore…

Then I don’t know what he’ll do, and that really scares me.

“I’m okay,” I call back. “I just got out of the shower.”

“Oh, okay. Justin is finished getting cleaned up too. He wants you to know that some guys named Tiny and Trace are here with the police.”

My eyes widen. Trace is here? I rip the towel off of myself and throw my clothes on faster than I’ve ever done in my life. I can’t believe he came…well okay I guess I can believe it. I guess it’s more like…I can’t believe Tiny would let him come along. Tiny is so strict, so down to business. I mean, I love him and all…if you get him going he’s the funniest guy in the world. But I know him, and I know how he is when it comes to Justin and keeping him and his family safe. He probably wanted Trace to meet us later on with his mom and everybody else. But then, I know Trace probably went through hell trying to keep his head together during this whole thing. He probably told Tiny he was coming along, and that he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. Then Tiny probably rolled his eyes and said ‘come on’.

I fold the towel I was using nicely, and drape it over the tub. I try to leave the rest of the bathroom as it was before I came in as well, making sure to wipe the sink clean of any residue my vomiting left behind. I take a deep breath, and run my hand through my hair again before I open the door. Everything seems newer now…not so dark…not so lonely. Shelly is standing off to the side, still in her pajama’s. I feel bad. All this time, she’s probably been waiting to get her shower in too. It’s my fault. “Sorry to keep you waiting,” I say softly.

“You don’t need to be sorry,” she says quietly. “I’m sure you needed a shower worse than me.”

I nod quickly. I’m about to say something else…about how I appreciate everything she’s doing. But then I hear Trace’s voice down at the other end of the hallway, and I can’t find the words. I want to see him. I want him to hug me and tell me that everything is okay…

“You should go see your friend,” she tells me, as if she can read my mind. “He was asking about you.” She walks past me, into the bathroom. “It’s been nice meeting you. If you‘re ever around, and you feel better, maybe we could hang out or something. Me and my friends go to Nashville on the weekends and go to the clubs downtown.”

I smile at her. I‘m glad she isn‘t so interested in Justin that she‘s lost interest in getting to know about me. “Yeah,” I say warmly. “That would be fun.”

“Bye,” she says, flashing me another reassuring smile before closing the door.

“Kerri?”

I turn around. It’s too late for me to go see Trace, because he’s standing at the end of the hallway now. He’s a mess. His expression is an exhausted, withdrawn one, and he looks like he’s been wearing the same clothes for about three days. His baseball cap is pulled over his mess of hair, which I’m sure he didn’t bother to brush before he came out here, and his face is full of stubble. If I could manage to joke right now, I would tell him he looks like river trash…but I can’t joke right now. I can’t say anything. All I can do is stand here, and think how lucky I am to be here right now, alive and almost in tact. “Hi,” I manage to say, as the hot tears start to glide down my cheeks.

He quickly makes his way down the hall and over to me. “Hey,” he says softly. He wraps his arms around me, and I close my eyes, as I feel him press his lips to my forehead. “You okay?”

I open my eyes again. I’m not going to lie to him. “No,” I whisper, leaning my head on his chest. “Not at all.”

My response doesn‘t seem to surprise him. He knows what I‘ve been through, and he knows that I‘m beyond fucked up right now. “Y’all gave me a scare,” he says after a moment. “You know that?”

I pull back from him so I can look him in the eye, and I nod. “I didn’t think…I would see you so soon, Trace,” I whisper.

“I wanted to come,” he nods. “And Lynn wanted me to come too.” He shrugs and glances down at the floor for a moment, before looking back at me. “So here I am…it’s Trace to the rescue.” He smiles a little, but it fades when I don’t do the same. “That’s okay isn’t it?”

“Of course it is,” I tell him. “I’m glad you came. I…need you right now. We both do.” I take one of his hands in mine. It feels so good…to make that connection with him again. It’s familiar, welcoming, a feeling I never thought I would experience again. “Thank you for being here.” I kiss his cheek, and let him hold me again. Then we get over ourselves and let go. I think we both know we can’t be doing this right now. Justin is out there with the police, and I know I have to be there, help him retell our story.

“How did you guys get away?,” Trace asks me, as we start down the hallway together. “If you don’t my me prying.”

I swallow hard. Should I tell him about Justin and the gun? Is it the right time? Would Justin want me to say anything…or does he want to be the one to tell Trace how he shot those bastards? I don’t really have an answer, but I do know, that if I don’t tell Trace, I don’t know when Justin will…and I don’t want Trace to feel in the dark about everything. Not after all he’s been through. “Justin did it,” I whisper.

He stops walking, and looks at me strangely. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” I don’t look at him for a moment. I stare down at the plush beige carpeting and trace a pattern into it with my big toe, before I meet his gaze again. “Justin…he got one of their guns, and he just…he had to do something or--or they would have…” I bite my lip, knowing that if I try to say anymore, I’ll end up crying again.

“Hey,” he says to me, squeezing my hand a little. “Hey Ker, it’s okay. I’m…I’m sorry. This is hard to talk about right now, I know. You just take it slow okay? When…when you’re ready though, I’ll be here to listen okay?”

I manage a slight smile. “Okay.”

He smiles. “Okay.” He takes my hand in his, and we walk out into the living room together. I see Justin. He’s sitting on the couch, and a paramedic is kneeling before him, checking him out. Good…that’s what he needs. They were smart to bring somebody like that along. I look around the room. There are FBI agents everywhere. They’re so official looking, with their navy blue jackets with the big yellow FBI letters on the back. Damn, it’s just like…

“It’s just like the movies,” Trace whispers, completing my thoughts. “All we need now is Mel Gibson and that Gary Sinese guy having it out in the middle of the street.”

I smile at him, and hear myself giggle just a tiny bit. I’m really, really glad he came.

**********

I don’t want to be touched. I really really don’t want to be. But I know if I don’t let this paramedic finish what he’s doing, I’m not going to feel better. He’s not here to hurt me, I know that. He’s here to find out what, if anything, is physically wrong with me. So far he’s discovered that I might have a fractured rib…but I sort of suspected that myself. He told me that I would need to go to the hospital and get some x-rays taken. I asked him if I would be able to go home first, and he sort of sighed and told me that he didn’t think so. He said that I’m probably going to spend the night in the hospital. I’m not happy about this. I want to see my mom and everybody. I want to see Cam. I mean, I’m sure they can come to the hospital…but it just won’t be the same. I won’t be in the house…where everything is familiar and safe. But I guess I don’t have a choice. If I do have a broken rib, it has to be fixed. And the only way it’s going to be fixed is if I do what the paramedic says I have to do.

Tiny is sitting beside me, yakking away on his cell phone. I think he might be talking to Johnny, or somebody along those lines. Maybe Renee? I’m tempted to ask him, but know that if I go there…I’ll end up on the phone with whoever it is. I’d rather not. It’s only going to involve business, and business isn’t something I have the patience to deal with right now. There’s too much going on…too many other things to think about. I need a few days to clear my head and rest. Then I can think about what I’m going to do about the press…my career. Momma will be there, so that will help a lot too.

In all the years I’ve known him, this is the first time I’ve ever seen Tiny get emotional. When he first came into the house, I couldn’t really tell what kind of mood he was in. He scoped out the house first, before he even started to talk to me. It was like he was looking for a reason to blame the Tripton’s for my discomfort. Then he finally sat down with me and asked me how I felt, if I was in any pain. When I told him I was having a lot of chest pain, he practically screamed at the agents to get the paramedic in the house. Tiny, sometimes I think he’d rather be my father than my bodyguard. But, he’s known me since I was fifteen years old, even though he didn’t become my personal head of security until last year, so I can‘t say I blame him for acting like that. I told him that I was in a lot of pain, but that I didn’t want him to worry because I was safe now, and that was all that mattered. Then he looked away from me, and I think…I think I might have seen him flick a tear off of his face, but I can’t be sure. I would never ask him about it of course. Tiny has too much pride to admit that he gets emotional over my welfare. It’s ‘his job to care’. That’s what he’s always told me anyway.

I wasn’t expecting Trace to be here. I didn’t think Tiny or the feds would have allowed to him to tag along. He told me that it was at my mother’s request that he come along, but I know he probably made a big stink about being able to come along too. Then I’m sure Tiny said ‘just let him come, he won’t be in the way’…yeah, and on the way out the door he probably said ‘don’t fuck around, Trace. This is business’. I smile. That’s exactly how Tiny is. It’s really great to see Trace again though. It’s familiar…normal. We talked for a bit in the kitchen, before the paramedic started to examine me. Caroline finally made breakfast and Trace and I chowed down together while we waited for Kerri to get out of the bathroom. We talked about a lot of things…that new demo Rell sent me the other day, that new single from Outkast…last Sunday’s game. We talked a little bit about work, about how the press was going crazy back at momma‘s house. We made fun of them a little bit, about how eccentric they are and all. The conversation was so laid back, I felt like I was back at momma’s, and Nana had just made breakfast for us. Trace has always been good like that though. He’s always been able to make me feel comfortable, even in the most stressful of situations.

But the best thing is…he hasn’t brought up the kidnapping once since he arrived. He‘s been by my side this whole time, acting as if everything is normal. That I didn’t get taken somewhere and have a gun held to my head for three days. I think he knows I’m not ready to go there and talk about it yet, and that when I am I’ll sit down with him myself and talk to him about it. But, that’s how it’s always been between Trace and I. Even when I was going through my break up with Brit, he didn’t just bring the subject up Sure, he made me get out of bed and helped me to get my act together, but he never made me talk about how I felt about it. I talked to him when I was ready to, and I was grateful to him for giving me that space. I’m so proud to call him my best friend. He’s really kept his emotions in check throughout all of this…he’s been strong, he’s handled himself well. He knows his place, and he knows what he should and shouldn’t be asking me. He knows I need a friend to laugh and joke with right now…not somebody that’s going to sit here and baby me. I’m going to get enough of that from momma and my girlfriend. I don’t need it from anybody else.

“Hey.” Kerri sits down next to me, as the paramedic wraps the blood pressure cuff around my bicep. She looks a little better, a little renewed. I think she just got out of the shower, she smells like it. I got to take a shower too, but it wasn’t easy…I was in pain for the entire time. When I lifted my arms above my head, I could feel the pain in my ribcage, and I’m almost certain the paramedic is right about my fractured rib. I didn’t really get to wash myself all that well, and I‘m sure I still smell a little bit like the inside of a garbage can. I guess I’ll have to have somebody help me with that later. God…I really don’t want anybody touching me. Not even Cameron, even though when I was on the phone with her I felt like I would able to handle it. I can’t handle it. I can’t even handle this paramedic’s examination. My hands are trembling, almost as badly as they were back at the house, and I‘m bobbing one of my legs up and down, nervously. I want it to stop…I bite my lip…

“Justin,” she whispers. “You’re shaking.”

I take a breath, and look at her. Her eyes are full of concern. She knows I’m not okay. She’s the only one that can really understand. But I don‘t want to explain myself, so I simply nod and ask: “You feel better?”

She shrugs. “I took a shower,” she tells me. “I feel clean.”

“Well…that’s something,” I whisper. It’s a pathetic answer, but I don’t know what else to say. I know she’s not okay. She’s messed up, just like I am, and I know it’s going to take a long time for her to feel somewhat normal again. I know she’ll never be the same girl she was before all of this happened. The happy go luckiness in her will be nonexistent. She’ll always be looking over her shoulder now. She won’t want to be alone…or in the dark. Her claustrophobia will have reached a new level. And why?

Because I had to take her for a ride in my car. Because I thought being alone with her would ‘help the situation’. It’s my fault…yeah. It’s funny…I didn’t think it was possible to ruin somebody’s life twice, but I guess I proved myself wrong this weekend. My god, I’ll never forgive myself for getting her into this…for as long as I live. The guilt will plague me until the day I die. Kerri didn’t deserve this. Three years ago we both moved on with our lives. She was done with me, with our friendship, and I thought I was too. I hope she pushes me away after we get settled in back home. I hope that she doesn’t feel the need to call me or see how I’m doing. She doesn’t need me around, ruining her life. If she doesn’t push me away, I think I‘m going to have to cut myself off from her. It’s a horrible thing to do, a selfish thing to do…

But I know if I keep her around me all the time, I’ll never be able to stop remembering all the horrible things that happened to us. I want to try and forget about it all, as impossible as it sounds. I think that maybe if I’m just by myself, without Kerri…I might be able to get over everything a little bit easier. At least, I hope that’s the case. It’s a big gamble though, and I know that…but I think the risk is worth taking if it means pushing the awful memory of what Shane did to me out of my head for good.

“Are you in any pain,” the paramedic asks her, when he finishes taking my blood pressure.

“I think I might need some stitches,“ she tells him quietly. “One of my wrists is cut really bad.”

He has her hold out her wrists, and removes the gauze from them. I see her flinch a little, and I make myself look down at her wrists. They’re bad. They’re all chafed and bloody. I know she must be in pain. I look at her again, and she manages a small smile, but I don’t return it. It’s my fault she ended up that way…handcuffed. It’s my fault that I let Shane want me…it’s my fault. I look away from her, and rub my face with my hand, trying to prevent myself from crying.

“J, you alright?” I hear Tiny ask me.

I feel the tears now. They‘re trickling out of my eyes and down my face. “Fine,” I lie. “I’m fine.”

“Justin.” Now Trace is talking to me. I make myself look at him. He doesn’t point out the fact that I’m not fine…that I’ve started to cry in front of everybody. “The detectives want to talk to you inside.”

Talk. They want to talk. They want to hear about what happened…they want to know every last detail. They want me to tell them how those bastards held a gun to my head and beat the crap out of me. They…they want me to tell them about Shane. But I won’t tell them about Shane. I wont. That’s my secret…our secret. “Now?” I ask.

Trace nods. “You want me to tell them you’re not in the mood?”

I almost say yes, but then I think about it and I know if I put it off, I’m going to have to talk about it later on…and I won’t want to do it then either. It’s better if I get it over with now…yeah. That way later, when I’m at the hospital I’ll just be able to relax with momma and Cam. I won’t have to talk about anything I don’t want to talk about. Drawing in a deep breath, I stand up. I flinch a little. I’m still in a lot of pain. “No,” I say. “Tell them I’m coming.”

“Alright,” Trace whispers. “But only if you’re sure.”

I nod at him. “I’m sure,” I say. Trace nods and retreats back into the kitchen. I look back at Kerri. She has fresh gauze around her wrists now, and the paramedic is shining his little light in her eyes, checking them for any kind of abnormalities. “Kerri,” I say softly.

The paramedic stops what he’s doing, so she can look over at me. “Yeah,” she whispers.

“I’ll just…be in the other room okay?”

She rises from the sofa and makes her way over to me. She caresses my face with her hand, and brushes the tears off of my cheeks. “You’ll be alright,” she informs me. I’m sure she knows how uncomfortable I’m going to be, discussing all of this with the police. I wish there was a way around it…I wish I didn’t have to tell them anything. I wish I could keep it all to myself. But that’s not possible. These detectives have probably been pulling their hair out trying to solve this case. I need to help them. I need to give them a detailed description of what happened…even if it means I have to relive everything I‘ve been through.

“If you need me, I’ll come back,” I tell her. “I’ll just be in there.” I point toward the kitchen, where I can see two gentleman in suits sitting at the table, reviewing some kind of paperwork. “Just call me, okay?”

She smiles a little. “Calm down,” she says. “Don’t worry about me…just worry about what you need to do right now, okay? That‘s all that matters”

“No,” I whisper to her. “You matter more.” I shouldn’t have said that. Things are going to change, and when they do…I won’t be able to think like this about Kerri anymore.

She kisses me on the cheek lightly. “Go,” she tells me, before turning back to the paramedic. “I’ll be here when you get back.”

“Okay,” I say softly. She doesn’t look at me, and I feel a sinking feeling in my chest. I know after I go and talk to those guys, everything is going to change between us again. We’re not going to be as close as we are right now. I’ll be detached, because I’ll have had to talk about everything…and I won’t really want to confide in her anymore. I’ll have Trace and Cam and momma for that…they can’t fill my mind with the haunting memories of my kidnapping. Maybe Kerri will understand, but then again, she probably won’t because we went through this together. I’m supposed to be able to talk things over with her. She’ll be mad at me again…and I’ll have ruined any chance of us rekindling our friendship. It upsets me, because I don’t want to lose her again…she’s important to me. It almost causes me to tell Trace I don’t want to talk, and I turn around to tell him. But then he motions for me to join him at the table…I can’t tell him no.

“Bye, Ker.” I say, hardly above a whisper. She doesn’t hear me, and it’s probably better that way. She wouldn’t understand why I’m really saying goodbye anyway. I’m saying goodbye to her…our friendship…to everything we’ve ever meant to each other. I brush a tear or two away from my cheek, and force myself to walk into the kitchen. This is it…there’s no turning back now…

“Justin,” one of the men says. He sticks his hand out and I shake it quickly.

“J, this is Detective Michaels,” Trace informs me. “He’s the lead investigator.”

“Hello.” I sit down next to Trace…thankful that he‘s at my side so I don‘t have to face this all by myself. I look at the other gentleman. He doesn’t acknowledge me. He’s talking on his cell phone and jotting down notes on the legal pad in front of him.

“Sorry to meet you under these circumstances,” Detective Michaels says to me. “I want you to take your time with your statement. I know that it’s not going to be easy talking about all of this.”

“If he’s uncomfortable,” Trace speaks up softly. “Can he stop?”

The detective nods. “Absolutely.”

Detective Michael’s response has put my mind at ease a little bit. Knowing I can stop at anytime, makes me feel better about discussing all of this with him. “What about Kerri,” I hear myself ask. “Does she get the same treatment?”

He smiles. “Of course, Justin,” he says. “Now…if you could, I’d like you to start from the beginning. I want you to tell me as much as you can about everything that happened…good or bad, okay?”

I suck in a breath, and I steal a glance nervous glance at Trace. He smiles a little, and nods at me.

“It’s cool man,” Trace tells me. “Just relax and tell it like it happened. You don’t need to be all fuckin’ proper and shit.”

I‘d tell him that I love him…but I don‘t want to sound…well…gay. I nod, and let out a nervous laugh before starting to talk about the nightmare Kerri and I have just been through. “Okay,” I begin. “So…I went to get this cake…”