That night, my dreams granted me a brief reprieve from the nightmares I’d come to expect. I saw Ophelia again, and we were in Lilah’s apartment. Little Ophelia approached me with a blanket over her head saying, “Hey, I can’t see!” over and over until I removed it, at which point she would laugh, run off into her room, and return to start the game once more.

  At some point in the dream, she must have tired of the game, for she came up to me saying that her sisters told her they were waiting for her. I asked her what she meant, because Ophelia was an only child.

  “Do you mean girls at kindergarten?” I asked.

  “No, my sisters!” she insisted with a wide smile on her face.

  “What do your sisters look like?” I asked.

  “They’re very tall and pretty,” she told me.

  As if answering her call, three figures appeared in the apartment, all standing behind her. They wore long white dresses, and their hair hung down to their hips. I lifted my gaze from Ophelia to greet these “sisters,” only to wake before I could see their faces.

  It was still dark, about an hour before the sun would rise. For a moment, lying in the bed, I reached over in an attempt to wake Lilah to tell her what I had just remembered. Maybe she’d have some idea of who these three sisters were. When I did not feel her there, I stopped and tried to recall why. Had she gone on a trip and asked me to watch Ophelia while she was out? Or was I back at my house that night? When had Lilah returned home?

  At once, everything came crashing back. I remembered where I was and why. I recalled removing the battery from my phone and tossing it into an open field several miles back, cutting all ties. Shame came with the memories. Not long ago, I had planned to start a life with Lilah and raise Ophelia like she was my own. I had been looking at rings, contemplating how best to propose to my girlfriend.

  She had been married once before, so I needed to be especially romantic if I was going to ask her. I kept thinking about how I needed to reassure her that I was not going to be like her first husband.

  At least that much was true, because her first husband wasn’t a killer.

  Knowing I would be unable to get back to sleep, I rose from my bed and started to wash up, getting ready for another day of hard work. In the mirror, I saw that the strangulation bruises had almost faded, leaving only faint hints of purple and yellow.

  As I went through my morning routine, I questioned whether I had done the right thing, leaving Lilah and Ophelia behind like that.

  What else can I do? I thought. It’s too late now. If I went back, I’d go to prison for sure. Hero slayers? Father slayers? They don’t get to walk free.

  Even if I returned to Ophelia and Lilah, they would lose me again shortly thereafter as the cops hauled me away. I had to weigh what might be more traumatizing to a little girl. Having a father figure suddenly disappear without explanation? Or watching him leave in handcuffs?

  In those early hours of the morning, before the sun rose, there was little to do but sit with my thoughts. I had not brought any books with me, neither did Lloyd keep any in the loft, and I had long since abandoned my phone.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  One thought returned to the forefront of my mind: police are probably looking for my license plate.

  It was too much of a liability, so I took a flashlight and a screwdriver from the toolbox and headed outside. Removing the license plate was the easy part. Deciding what to do with it was harder. If I hid it somewhere, it might be discovered. I ran the same risk if I simply threw the thing away. Destroying it did not seem like an option, for while Lloyd had blowtorches and other tools that could melt metal, I did not know how to use them. If I asked Lloyd to help me destroy the license plate, that would make him an accessory to crime.

  No, I thought. The less I involve him in this the better.

  In the end, it seemed there was no path that did not involve some degree of risk, and I decided I would rather be able to keep track of this damning evidence of my identity than leave it to chance if some stranger were to find it. So, I returned to the loft and hid it under my mattress. I figured that if anyone was checking under there, they already suspected me anyway.

  As I tucked it away, I chuckled to myself, remembering a time when I was ten and I rescued one of my mother’s old clothing catalogs from the garbage. I stole what she had so casually discarded because, for reasons I did not yet completely understand, I liked looking at the models. This was especially true for the lingerie section toward the back of the catalog.

  I had hidden the magazine under my mattress and forgotten about it until a year later, when my father decided it was time to rearrange my room. I still cannot remember the reasoning he gave. Something about “we need to change things up now and then.” The moment we moved the mattress, I spotted the catalog, recalled that I had hidden it there, and snatched it away. Looking back on it, I am certain he saw exactly what it was that I had stashed away, though he said nothing and, much to my surprise, I did not get in any trouble.

  Probably because he was relieved it wasn’t actual porn, I thought.

  Shortly after sunrise, Carol called me into the house for breakfast. At the table, I pondered whether I needed to get rid of the car next, for if anyone came by and saw a vehicle with no license plate on Lloyd’s property it might raise some suspicions.

  “I need to go to the feed store today.” Lloyd’s declaration snatched me back to reality. “And I want you to come with me, Alex.”

  “Me?” I said.

  “Yeah,” said Lloyd.

  Derek chimed in, “I’ve got some things to take care of here, and Dad will need some help loading up the truck.”

  “Why don’t I take care of those other things for you?” I asked. “Then you and your father can spend more time together.”

  Carol chuckled. “That’s sweet, but these two aren’t exactly starved for each other’s company.”

  Lloyd leaned closer to me. “Alex, I know what you’re afraid of.”

  My heart raced, dreading that he might have discovered the truth.

  He continued, “You think that if you leave your hiding place that the one you ran away from might be there. But look at it rationally. How far did you drive before you found Derek? You don’t have to answer that out loud, just think about it.”

  A moment of silence passed between us. I tried to pretend I had found relief in that logic, but in truth he misunderstood everything. He thought I was just a runaway who had escaped my abuser. He had no reason to think the police would be actively searching for me.

  “And,” Lloyd added, “if the one who you’re so afraid of is there, I’ll keep you safe. You can tell me, and we’ll leave immediately. Understand?”

  “Nothing to be afraid of,” said Derek, though the look in his eyes bore a hint of suspicion. “Right?”

  “Right,” I said, helping myself to more coffee. “A little trip into town might do me some good.”

  I kept up a brave face in front of them, but everything inside me screamed, as if I had just promised to climb into the lion enclosure at the zoo.