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it, was over at the moment that man knocked on that front door. As Christian and I hurriedly got back into the car, top up now, I knew my life with him was probably over, too. We’d had less than a week together.
    I was terrified.
    Christian flung open the garage door, swung open the driver’s side door, and jumped in. I was already in my seat and turned the key in the ignition. The engine roared when Christian threw the Mustang into reverse and peeled out of the garage. The tires left black marks on the driveway and, as we hit the road, Christian threw it into drive and hit the gas so hard smoke billowed from the back wheels.
    We flew down the road at top speed, taking corners so hard I thought we’d flip over. The Mustang held onto the road tightly and I was proud of her and proud of the man who handled her. Yet escape was not to be.
    We were followed by two men in a black sedan. The driver was as skilled as Christian, and he stayed with us at every twist and turn. I kept my eyes on the car following us as best I could, yet my vision kept drifting towards the road ahead of me. Forgive me, but I enjoyed the ride.
    As I said, happily-ever-after was not to be.
    We hit a straight stretch of two-lane road, and there were no other cars in sight. The Man in Black driving the sedan took the opportunity. He drove up right behind us and rammed our rear end. Swearing, Christian kept the Mustang headed in the right direction though she fish tailed slightly. Part luck and part training made him keep the car under control.
    We came over a rise in the road, trees flashing by on either side of us. The sky was bright blue, and there were few clouds. It was a beautiful Fourth of July day. As we crested the hill, the sedan came up behind us once more. On the other side, we caught sight of a beat-up, red pickup coming towards us in his own lane. The sedan driver swerved to the right, to the left then came back at an angle. When he hit us at just the perfect angle, he pushed the Mustang—she used to pretty, but she ain’t gonna be pretty no more—directly into the path of the pickup.
    We struck nearly head on at eighty miles per hour.
    What I remember of the crash is limited. I remember breaking glass, the crumpling metal. I heard my father’s cries of pain as the front end of the car pushed up against his chest. The Mustang had no air bags, so when my head slammed against the dashboard nothing saved me. The last thing I heard was an explosion as the pickup truck burst into flames. After that, there was nothing but darkness.

Chapter Five
    Three Years Later…
    I woke to a scene that would become more and more familiar to me as the years of my life passed by: white tiles ceilings, bright florescent lights, hospital bed with cold metal railings. There were no beeping machines in the room as I half-expected since I’d been in a pretty bad car accident. Yes, I remembered it as clearly as could be expected. The chase. The impact. The breaking glass. The bending, shrieking metal. The cries of pain, both my own and Christian’s. The darkness.
    I swallowed hard against sudden panic. My breath pounded in my lungs as I tried to regain my composure. I could not panic. Not now. Not after being pursued and an attempted murder made on my life. I turned my head slowly to test the flexibility of my neck muscles. There was no pain, which I expected. Then again, it is me. I heal up right fast.
    My eyes scanned the room to the left of me then I turned and scanned the room to the right. I was alone. A single, silent machine took readings of my heartbeat. I could feel the pinch of something on my right forefinger, though I quickly forgot about that. Instead, I did what I should have done the moment my eyes opened; I scanned the room with my mind instead of my eyesight.
    The mind, especially mine, is more trustworthy than the eyes. I’ve known blind people who can attest to that. I sought out every mind nearby, scanned each one and took in what information