A stinging pain revived me from unconsciousness. I yanked my leg away from the stimulus to evade the pain. Hissing, I tensed when a strong, callused grip captured my leg and shifted it back to where it had been. I struggled to the surface and fully came awake, eager to find the culprit. The grip was still holding my leg down. I couldn’t see anyone where a person should have been.

I was lying on my right side on a couch in a minimally decorated living room in what appeared to be an apartment. My left leg was straightened at an angle so that it could rest on the ottoman. Various first aid supplies were scattered across the ottoman. Bottles filled with clear liquid and gauze pads laid amongst the bandages and creams. I struggled to sit up more to better see where I was and examine my injury. Unless I twisted around on my hip, I could not see the laceration. The fiery, radiating pain assured me it was still there and ran from inches below my knee to mid-calf.

The grip tightened on my leg to prevent me from moving. "Stay." It was the same voice that I remembered right before I had descended into unconsciousness in the car. The same voice that belonged to the man who had helped me escape from the facility. All at once, the memories of the past couple of hours came back to hit me right in the chest. I tried to tug my leg away as I kicked out with the right one at whatever was restraining the other one. My eyes searched the area as my mind attempted to make sense of his invisibility. The only other sign of his presence was the chair wedged in between the ottoman and couch. "Do you want me to get all the demon poison out of you or not?" the man snarled. "Because I don’t really care if your leg falls off when the demon poison rots it inside out. Perhaps it will even spread to your heart and kill you. Though, if we're being honest here, maybe that wouldn't be a bad thing."

I froze, remembering the claw that had swiped at my leg and to what exactly that claw belonged. "It was real? The demon?" I whispered.

"As real as humans are," the man answered resolutely. "You ready? I’m going to pour polyhexanide into the laceration. You must keep your leg as still as possible. It’s going to sting like a mother, so you need to control yourself. You jerked your leg away the first time. I didn’t get all of it. We have to do it again." There was no sympathy in the man’s voice. His matter-of-fact tone contradicted the service he was trying to provide. Almost as if he was only sanitizing my wound because he felt compelled by his duty to do so.

"The cuts are superficial. I can still walk!"

The man’s grip on my leg released. I sensed he shifted his focus away from my leg. The first aid supplies on the ottoman disappeared into invisibility as the man gathered them. I sat further up on the couch in a panic. "Wait. I didn’t mean—I want you to clean the cut."

I was relieved when I saw the bottle of the cleaning solution and gauze settle back onto the ottoman. The man tugged my leg back into its awkward positioning. I settled onto my right side and just stared at the chair's legs, waiting for the solution’s fiery sting. It came as a surprise when the solution was poured onto my calf. The man didn't try to conserve. From the amount that spilled onto the ground underneath my leg, I knew he was just carelessly pouring the polyhexanide into my wound. The sting was too much. I flinched and brought my legs back towards my core, where I curled into a ball on my side. I cried out against the fire flaring in the wound. The cries melted into panting as the pain slowly subsided. I breathed in and out of my nose and mouth.

When I could open my eyes, I melted against the couch cushion and angled my injured leg to see the wound. The laceration was now covered in small white bubbles. It was peculiar when the bubbles disappeared under the dab of a gauze pad, and although I felt the material press purposely over the scrapes, I couldn’t see who was behind it. The man had pushed up my red uniform pants so that now the left side brunched over my thigh. Apart from the demon’s claw mark, my leg looked normal. It was pale from the lack of sunlight over the years. It was something I could live with—at least there wasn't a greenish tinge around the calf muscle. The demon poison hadn't spread.

"Who would have thought that a human-created solution could destroy... something not of this earth?" I felt a cool cream contact the laceration. I released a breath and sunk further into the couch. It was exactly what I needed to extinguish the fire in the wound—whatever it was. "How did you know I got hurt?" I asked as the male continued his ministrations.

"I was there." The lid to the cream was replaced, and the jar was set aside. The next to disappear under his invisibility were the bandages.

I frowned, blinking. The demon hadn't attacked me as soon as my cell door had opened. There had been some time in between. I had sensed another presence there. "You were there. At my cell." Then there was the matter of the blood droplets I had stepped over when I finally escaped my cell. At the time, I had thought the blood was unusual. With the possibility of deadly transmitted diseases, the jail staff freaked out about even a droplet of blood. They had a biohazard crew there in minutes to sanitize any area marred with human substances. The blood on my cell’s threshold had been glistening as if it was fresh. It hadn’t been mine; miraculously, I had evaded the monster while I had been in there. Had the male stood in the cell’s threshold for those seconds in between, just watching me? Had he been inadvertently clawed by the demon as it rushed into the cell? "You were hurt, too," I realized.

All I got was a simple, "I was."

"Was it the demon?"

"Indirectly." The male transitioned into the bandaging. It was invisible in his hands until it became a part of the wrap around my calf.

"What were you even doing there?"

There was a distinct pause. I wished I could see his face to gather information from. If I had his nonverbal cues, I would have been able to read in between the lines. Instead, I was left wondering with limited information. Eventually, the male revealed, "Well, I rescued you, didn’t I? Doesn't that tell you anything about why I was there?"

My eyes narrowed at the chair. "Your attitude tells me it was contrary for you to do so."

"If you expect me to be okay with breaking a convicted mass murderer out of jail, then you must live in a fantasyland," the male barked. The barbs hit straight on, causing a wave of remorse and shame within me. I had to force myself to swallow to get to the next moment.

"Then why did you do it?" I forced out.

"Because someone else has my balls on a leash," the male snarled. There was so much animosity behind his tone that I could feel the tears bubbling behind my eyes and a lump in my throat. I glanced up at the ceiling and blinked a couple of times. He finished with the wrap and tucked the end into the top part of the bandage. "Keep the bandaging on it for a couple of days. The ointment should heal the laceration enough that you won’t have to worry about infection."

The man regathered the first aid supplies; I watched as they disappeared into his possession, as if they had never been there. I heard his footsteps down the darkened hallway that led back to the bedroom. The floorboards croaked as he completed his task, presumably to return the first aid materials to their rightful place. While he was gone, I pulled down my pant leg. I pondered my bare left foot. A part of the bandage secured to its heel. I was a complete mess; the missing sock was only one aspect of it.

I waited until the man came back to ask, "What's going to happen now?"

"I don’t know" was his lousy answer.

"You don’t know? What, you haven’t gotten any orders from your masters yet?" I shot back, unable to restrict my frustration over his lack of answers and my underlying fatigue. Whatever sleep I had gotten during the car ride over to wherever he brought me was proving to be inadequate.

"I’m still thinking about whether or not I am going to follow through with the orders I’ve gotten," the man snarled. "If you think you’re safe with me, think again. I have half a mind to return you back to the jail so you can rot in hell in a prison cell for those one hundred four lives you stole." I tracked his voice as he walked from the darkened hallway to the kitchen area. My irritation fueling me, I pushed myself up on my feet and stood behind the edge of the couch. My gait was a bit wobbly. Despite him administering to my leg, I didn't trust him or his intentions. I felt better with a barrier in between us.

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"If the jail is even still there!" I argued.

"The jail’s there."

I blinked. "It’s overrun with demons! You think they are going to reopen that jail? Guns couldn’t even stop those monsters!"

"Demons have been harassing humans for millennia now." The male snorted. "The proper authorities were advised about the attack and will get it taken care of. No one will even remember tonight ever happened. Besides, weren't you supposed to be housed with the other psychopaths at prison for the rest of your life? I could just drop you off at the Department of Correction's front door myself." His repeated insinuations related to the mass murder blemish on my record were becoming harassment. It was like he was jabbing the preexisting guilt I already had there with every insult.

"Look, you don’t have to be a fuckturd. I already feel horrible about what happened. As soon as you’re ready to take me back, I’ll go willingly." I pushed my arms together in front of me as if they were already bound and thrusted them at him.

The man sarcastic snort irked me. I heard his footsteps migrate across the apartment towards the front door. "We’ll see." The man paused before asking, "Did you know you could do that back there at the jail?"

I felt my jaw twitch. "Do what?"

"You sent both the officers and demons flying backwards." The man stated with a tone reflecting his belief that it was ridiculous he had to remind me of it.

"Absolutely not." I rolled my eyes. "Don’t you think that if I knew I could do it—whatever I did—I would have used it against the demon in the cell instead of hiding underneath a freaking bunk and throwing cookies at him just to get away from him? And you saw me use that... power—you saw me in the middle of that warfare, and you didn’t open the door for me until I had taken care of the issue myself?" I was incredulous when I realized he had been there the entire time while my life was in danger on the battlefield between the officers and demons. He had been utterly useless in those moments. "Were you getting amusement from watching me struggle?"

"Whatever. Do whatever you want. Maybe you'll go turn yourself in so I don't have to do it myself. Maybe you'll be good for once." The front door opened to the apartment. A few seconds later, it slammed behind him, making the doorframe vibrate. I glared at the door. Instead of facing my ridicule for his own contradicting actions, he had ran away. I didn’t know if he was really there this morning to save me or watch me die. He had only rescued me because someone else had ordered it.

I had so many questions I needed answers to. Like why he was invisible. If he was a sort of demon himself. What was he doing at my cell before the demon had attacked; had he been planning to rebel against his orders to break me out of jail? Was he behind the chaos at the jail in the first place; did he tamper with the electronic door system? Who were his bosses that demanded he went against his morals to break a convicted murderer out of jail? What did they want with me? What did I do back there in the upper hallway of the jail? Was it even remotely like what I had done three years ago at Union Station? What was his name?

With a sigh, I glanced around the empty apartment. I was intrigued and looked for answers to my questions. One wall in the common area had a brick façade pairing with the ceiling's exposed beams. The furnishings and appliances had been remodeled to reflect a more modern interior. A long marble countertop with a sink faced the open space containing a long rectangular table and the couch. The kitchen cabinets were black to contrast nicely with the marble, while the kitchen appliances were stainless steel. An artificial mixture of purple roses and hydrangeas arranged in a pot decorated the round table. There were large pieces of acrylic artwork adding depth to the space. Someone had taken the time to mix navy blues and golds on one and then violet and silver on another. There wasn't much in the common area. The apartment had been staged—perhaps professionally.

The apartment had three tall windows, each accompanied by swaths of white and navy curtains. Peaking my head around them, I discovered we were on at least the third floor, if not the fourth, of an apartment building. It overlooked a communal patio area and ultimate frisbee area. There was a wide, two-lane sidewalk that separated the apartment’s space from a small river. Boulders formed a downward slope down to the river. I could imagine people spending their summers lounging on the boulders and splashing around in the water.

I wandered down the hallway. To my right was the entrance to the petite bathroom, which hosted the bare minimum. The minimal hygiene products were gender neutral. A search in the hall closet revealed the first aid kit and accompanying medication. Eager, I scanned the bottles, only to be disappointed. All the bottles contained over-the-counter medication; nothing was strong enough to propel me to the sanctuary. To my left was the bedroom. The bedroom featured a black framed queen-sized bed and a computer desk. On the computer desk, there was a flat-screened monitor and keyboard. The closet hosted a broad range of clothing for both genders, all of it new with the tags still on them. There were clothes for the gym and clothes for a black-tie gala. I found a pack of women's socks in the dresser, and quickly exchanged them for the single one I had left.

The space didn't look lived in. There was minimal decoration which lacked personality. Mementos failed to clutter the space. This added more questions to the mountain I already had. Where had the man brought me to? This couldn’t be his home. I expected some sign that he lived here, like a used drinking glass in the kitchen sink. The hygiene products in the bathroom appeared to be untouched, while there were the essentials of milk and eggs in the refrigerator—also untouched, and yet fresh. The cabinets contained a neatly organized set of dinnerware and nonperishable food items. I snooped around the drawers and desk in the bedroom. There was nothing there connecting someone to this apartment.

I turned to the computer in the bedroom, relentless in my search for answers. It was an older set-up. The hard drive took some time to wake up. I sat in the chair, tensed. I was quick to jump at the keyboard when the monitor lit up with a generic login screen. The background behind the dialogue box had been changed to a bland black. I stared at the prompts in the box, perplexed. The top section in the box was filled out and its lighter color informed me that the text was permanent. It requested a network, and PID was preset in the answer box. The boxes below requested a username and password. After a couple of moments, my fingers slammed down against the keyboard as my mind quickly worked to find some combination of username and password that would get me into the main system.

Unfortunately, I was not a hacker. Unfortunately, I didn't even know my rescuer's name or what PID stood for.

I had to admit defeat.

I was at a loss about what to do. In the end, I resorted to turning on the television in the living room. The television had been preset to the local news. I was not shocked to see my four-year-old mugshot featured in the upper left corner of the television screen. Frowning, I crossed my arms over my chest. I wasn't very fond of the picture. The combination of the stark lighting and long hours of interrogation had induced dark bags underneath my eyes. That strange indigo hue my irises presented had been muted from the despair. My hair was tangled, as I had been too distracted to comb it that previous night. There were hints of my inner despair around my expression. That day had been only the beginning. It was surreal to be reminded of it, considering everything else that had happened since then.

"Disraeli was only one of eleven inmates who escaped from the facility this morning," the female police department's spokesperson advised. "The jail was overwhelmed with a system failure, which allowed those eleven inmates to escape. Currently, it seems as if Disraeli is working alone and not conspiring with the other inmates. There is nothing indicating that they knew each other. At this time, an investigation is being conducted to determine if Disraeli had any role in the system failure or was working with someone on the outside. The Denver Police Department strongly encourages people to immediately call the provided number if they see her; do not contact her. Disraeli is considered highly dangerous and volatile. We do not have any leads where Disraeli may go. If anyone has any information, they are encouraged to contact the police. We are open to questions for a short time."

The reporters immediately hounded the lady. "Do you think Disraeli will go after the remaining victims and their families? Could she go after the jurors who were on her trial? Or maybe the judge? She was just sentenced to life in prison!"

"We can't rule anything out. We are offering increased patrols for anyone who was involved in her trial and who is fearful she will seek them out," the spokeswoman advised.

"You said she escaped the facility around 2:25 AM. It's almost noon now. There have been no sightings of her in the past ten hours?"

"I can't comment on that until the investigation is completed."

"When will it be completed?"

"After Disraeli has been captured."

"What about a perimeter and search of the area?"

"I can assure you both were executed. We still have the perimeter set up and are conducting a more extensive search."

"There is a surveillance system around the facility. Have the cameras been helpful with which direction she headed off in?"

Before answering, the spokeswoman grimaced. "The exterior camera system was not working at the time of her escape. The last sighting we have of her is her leaving through one of the jail's emergency corridors."

I sunk down on the couch. My knees had gone weak. I felt flabbergasted by the news report. I expected the manhunt. Yet, there was a lot of information the news had left out. There had been no information on the demons or that an invisible man was the one who revealed himself to be an unexpected accomplice.

For the next several hours, I remained on the couch, focused on the drone of the television. My escape remained breaking news. A panel of newscasters sat at their desks and discussed the incident with each other and various other 'experts'. For about thirty minutes, the focus was diverted from me and put on the ten other inmates who had also escaped. The broadcast ended in the late afternoon, with the newscasters promising more discussion on the matter later.

My fatigue was dominating me. I was too sluggish to move into a more comfortable position from slouching against the cushions with my elbow on the armrest and chin in the palm of my hand. A couple of times, I caught myself drifting and toeing the line of sleep until I jolted awake. Although I wanated to remain awake for when the invisible man returned, the fatigue became too overwhelming.