She woke screaming, frantically clawing at an attacker who was no longer there.

“Valerie,” said a voice cutting through the darkness. “Valerie, do you know where you are?”

“I’m at home,” she screamed, drawing her arms to her head deflecting invisible blows.

She covered her belly feeling steel tearing into her. A quick swipe at her groin failed to find the instrument repeatedly penetrating her.

The heated rush of confrontation dwindled as sensors relayed new information.

An unfamiliar stench bore into her. Her skin prickled, bathing in foreign humidity. Steam rose from puddles of sweat swirling with the cold damp air.

A flurry of thought raced through her mind faster than she could comprehend.

She panted, sucking in deep breaths, her body spasming in small fits despite lack of motivation.

Though she swore she could still feel the sensation, the sensors no longer registered the heavy weight of sweaty flesh on top of her.

No one was there.

A crystalline bead of perspiration carved an icy path down her body. A shiver ran through her.

Lights were angled in her direction, blinding. She could make out forms, but not much more than silhouette.

In the darkness, a semicircle of bodies huddled over her. Soft breath. In and out. Trying to veil their presence.

Her eyes adjusted.

Light reflected a white circle over the left eye of the man in the center.

He reached out.

Touched her shoulder.

Soft. Almost comforting.

She shrugged it off anyway.

What did they want?

Helpless, she withdrew, pressing herself up against pegboard. Metal tools rattled.

She didn’t have the strength to stop the shadowy forms if they were intent on doing her harm.

Her eyes roamed, searching for the slightest bit of familiarity.

And found none.

“No…” Gasping, panting breaths dissipated into an even pace. Her voice came out as barely a whisper. “This isn’t my home. Where am I?”

Once again, a hand reached for her, but she cowered at its approach. It withdrew, placed rigidly at the side of the man with the white circle eye. In the dim light she could see he was wearing a lab coat. The white circle was glinting light reflected from something he wore like a jeweler’s loupe.

The man said, “You are at the police station. You were attacked. Do you remember being attacked?”

She scanned the darkness, searching for a face she could trust.

Five bodies. Stern faces mostly hidden in shadow.

She recognized one of the men. She had seen him on television. His name was William Parks. Police Chief William Parks.

Two uniformed officers stood on either side of Parks.

A fifth man was shrouded in shadow. He didn’t seem to fit with the rest. His weather worn leather jacket hung ragged on broad shoulders contrasting the others’ slim builds and pressed uniforms.

“Valerie,” said the man with the white circle eye. “Do you remember being attacked?”

“Yes. I remember.”

“Can you tell us about it?”

There were so many people in the room.

Strangers.

Her body began to tremble. “Where’s Christian?”

“He’s outside. Waiting.”

She jumped at the sound of a deep baritone voice. “Mrs. Von Medvey,” said Parks, “anything would help. The smallest detail. Anything you can remember.”

“I remember it all.” The words came out hostile.

“What did the assailant look like?”

“I didn’t get a good look.”

The men hovering over her grumbled.

There was apprehension in their eyes. Knowing glances exchanged, like they knew the truth better than she did. Chalking up her inability to feed answers they wanted to hear like it was her fault. Looking down on her like she didn’t want the attacker caught because it would be an admission of the violation that took place.

She clenched her fists, feeling her body heat rise.

She wished the attack had never happened.

Wished things could go back to normal.

Back to the way they were.

Before.

The men standing in the shadows nodded, but she knew they had made up their minds. Passed a collective judgment as soon as word left her lips. Likely long before that. Opinions formed when they carted her in helpless and limp.

A victim.

The collective hovered over her, forcing her to relive the crime, hitting her with a barrage of questions.

“How did it happen?”

“Did you resist?”

“Please, Mrs. Von Medvey, anything you could give us.”

A sensation came over her, like she was naked and exposed. She became painfully aware that she was lying down. Still lying down. During the attack. And now with foreign eyes examining her every move. Her hands slid back on the hard unforgiving surface, and she propped herself up into a sitting position.

“I remember,” she began, her voice wavering. “It was about the time my husband comes home from work. I heard the door open. I went expecting Christian, but when I rounded…”

Tears welled. Turning her head slightly away, she dabbed at the corners of her eyes.

She’d be damned if she showed anyone that this incident had affected her.

She was not a victim.

This wasn’t going to ruin her.

“He had a knife.” She took her time, grasping for composure, trying to force out the story, but only finding broken fragments.

“He kept stabbing. And stabbing.”

Her arms shook. No, they were doing something else. She paused, realizing her body was still not completely under her control. She had been acting out the attack, once again fighting off her invisible assailant.

“Did he violate you?”

The world closed in around her, tight and cramped. She was suffocating. “What kind of a question is that?!”

The men in the shadows silently watched, gauging her every reaction.

Logically, she knew they needed to ask these questions. Questions they needed to solve the crime. Questions they needed to track down who had done this.

To her.

But logic had very little to do with how she felt.

She inhaled deeply. “No. He didn’t violate me.” With a crude boldness edging on condescension, she said, “He stabbed me.”

“Do you think you could describe the assailant to a sketch artist?”

“No.” Her words were surprisingly defiant. “I did not see him.”

The attack had taken so much from her. Nearly her life. She would not let her dignity fall prey.

The man in the weather worn leather jacket had been staring at her the whole time without saying a word.

Those that questioned her had a difficult time holding eye contact. She’d tell her story, look at them, and they’d glance away. Subtle, but just enough to let her know things were different now. And always would be.

Even the lab technician with the white circle eye seemed friendly enough—seemed like he genuinely wanted to console her—but even he couldn’t hold her gaze for more than a brief second.

But the man in the weather worn leather jacket, hidden in shadow, looked into her, unblinking.

She wanted to ask him what he was doing there. Scream, What the hell are you doing?! Wanted to yell at him. Wanted any excuse to yell at anyone.

Energy surged through her body, commanding her to stand. She couldn’t sit any longer. She needed to move. To get out of there.

Her hands gripped the edge of the table, muscles drawn taut as she leaned forward, poised to lunge, when she noticed someone else in the room.

A young girl stood by the side of the man in the weather worn leather jacket. She came up to his hip, hanging on his sleeve. Her hair hung in dark curtains framing a pale moon face. Giant eyes glowed golden in the dim light.

Valerie looked at the girl. And back at the men surrounding her.

So surreal.

Did they not see her?

A flash of realization hit. Or maybe it was her imagination.

She hadn’t survived.

This was Heaven.

Or purgatory.

Yes, it felt more like the inbetween.

Or even…

Oh, please let it be the inbetween and not the other place.

The girl made eye contact. Like the man to her side, she maintained it, unblinking.

Unlike the man, whose gaze cut Valerie exposing her in ways she preferred to keep hidden, the girl’s gaze was its opposite, filled with curiosity and wonder.

The girl looked at her as if she was an intricate puzzle. A million jigsaw pieces tossed and scattered. She could see the girl’s eyes flitter back and forth examining her features, sizing her up, wondering if she could ever be put back together again.

The girl approached as if in slow motion and took her hand. They were so small. So soft. Yet, with a strangely firm and confident grip.

Valerie stared in disbelief. Despite her efforts, her manufactured facade, her struggle for composure, something warm trickled down her cheek.

The girl smiled, brilliant like staring into the sun, and said, “We will find who did this to you."