“You, girl, what’s your name? Why you sleepin’ on my lawn?” A gruff voice stirred me to life as the world came to me through squinted eyes and my vision was flooded with rays of light filtered by a thick canopy of tree branches far overhead. My skull pounded from a trauma I couldn’t recall and my hand dug into dirt as I coughed and sputtered to life. “What’s your name little girl? You’d best be about answerin’ me!”

I raised a hand to my forehead and groaned, trying to remember, something, anything. My name was Michael. Michael Lewis, I’d just graduated North High School in Springfield Ohio, I was on my way to see Megan, my girlfriend. What happened? I was driving and now I was…what was going on?

“My name is Michael,” I said as I cringed and raised to a sitting position. “And this isn’t a lawn this is…this is the woods.”

“Michael? That’s a funny name for a girl ain’t it?” The man was aged, wrinkles and bags under his eyes painted a picture of experience and a tattered flannel shirt spoke of poverty. In his right hand he clutched a simple double-barreled shotgun, but it wasn’t pointed in my direction; he more held it as a walking stick. “That backpack next you says Makayla, you sure you’re not confused?”

I slowly moved my eyes to the left and rested them on a worn pink backpack that did indeed say Makayla, but why would he think it was my name? I was a guy, right? Just as the thought went through my mind, I saw my hand in front of me, a small, dainty hand with chipped but painted pink nails. What was going on? I instinctually began to look at my body; I was wearing jeans, so there was that, at least, but my white shirt was more of a low cut, like a girl’s. I was wearing a green flannel shirt, open, buttons on the left side, and most importantly, I could see ratty blonde hair protruding downward, resting against my chest. I touched it, ran my fingers along it. It was real, it was mine. This was impossible.

“Well if you’re done fondling yourself, Makayla, what say you get off the ground and come back to my house. We’ll get you some help,” The old man said as he scratched his gray mustache and then offered me a hand up. I took it. I wasn’t in any position to refuse help. My legs wobbled a bit as I rose, and to my utter shock, I didn’t even reach his eye level. Who was I? How old was I? I was Michael, right? I was just…I was just driving my car a few minutes ago. Megan, I wanted Megan. I was… “Don’t be leaving your backpack behind!”

The man was already well on his way. I scrambled, grabbing my backpack…no…THE backpack and slinging it over my shoulder. I stumbled after him calling for him to wait up. He didn’t listen. We tore through the tree line for about five minutes before coming to a clearing and crossing through a slightly more manicured lawn. A yellow house sat front and center next to a ramshackle shelter with a tin roof, large enough to house a lawn mower and an assortment of other items including a work bench. The yard wasn’t well taken care of, I dodged a motor and a tire as I followed him across, toward the side door of the house.

Through the door, the house smelled of age, we drywall, the odor of sweat and dirt, and a hint of natural gas from some heater off somewhere in the house. The area we entered was a small mud room, a set of stairs going up, a set going down to a basement I’d guess.

“I’d appreciate you takin’ your shoes off,” The man said. “Don’t know what all you stepped in out there, but don’t want you bringin’ it into the house, if it’s all the same to you.”

Using one foot to hold the other, I slipped out of the shoes and winced in pain at they slid from my feet and thudded softly against the vinyl tiled floor. My feet must have been broken out in blisters or…something. Why were they blistered? Had I been walking a lot?

“The name’s Zeke,” The old man said as he made his way up the brief set of stairs and into a kitchen. “This here is Shelby, she’s a boarder, just started staying with me last month or so, Shelby, this here’s Makayla. Found ‘er out in the woods sleepin’ with the animals.”

I looked to the kitchen table where the girl, Shelby was sat. She was gorgeous. Long, raven black hair, pale white skin, light freckles dotting her cheeks. She looked up at me almost indifferently.

“Doesn’t she have parents?” Shelby asked, tilting her head at me? “Looks like she can’t be much more than twelve, that one.”

I resented that, I was seriously eighteen years old. What the hell was going on here? No matter what it was, I had to get out of here. I had to get home. Where was home? Where was I right now? I lived in Ohio but how was I supposed to get there from here? Could I just go out the door and make a run for it? I probably wouldn’t survive long in the woods.

“Well girl?” Zeke asked, staring directly at me as he leaned his shotgun against the stove. “You got parents?”

“Hey don’t put that there!” Shelby said, raising her voice. “I’m about to cook dinner, I don’t need no gun layin’ around all willy nilly. You want me to blow my head off while I’m stirring the soup?”

“Shelby you’re all drama,” Zeke muttered as he moved the shotgun to the corner of the kitchen. “If you blow your head off stirrin’ soup I don’t know what to tell ya.”

“Do you…maybe have a phone I can use?” I asked. “Maybe I could call…my parents.”

I was really going to call Megan.

“So you do got parents then?” Shelby smirked. “They know you’re off takin’ naps in the woods?”

“I…don’t think so,” I shrugged.

“Maybe you ought get washed up first,” Zeke suggested. “You look like you’ve been through it.”

“Yeah,” I nodded. I wanted to see what I looked like anyway. Zeke pointed toward a hallway over to the left, behind the kitchen table. I set the backpack down and shuffled over, around the table very aware that both of them had eyes on me. I ignored it and rushed down the hallway, stumbling into a bathroom and flipping the light on. I heard the incandescent bulbs buzz, one of them burning out the moment it illuminated. I breathed heavily as I rested both palms against a shitty particle board vanity and stared into the sink. I needed to look up into the mirror. I needed to see what I looked like, who I was. Surely I was Michael. I was going to look up, and that sandy haired boy was going to be looking back at me. That’s what was going to happen.

I took a deep breath and tightened my grip on the counter, feeling the veneer dip a bit beneath my fingertips. Slowly and carefully I raised my head until it was level with the mirror and stared. Behind the glass a girl stared back at me. She was young, 12 or thirteen if I had to guess. Her blonde hair was matted, hanging past her shoulders, and her lips were chapped, split. She’d been through it, just ask Zeke said, but been through what? I reached a small, tender hand to my face and ran it along my cheek. I was real alright, whoever I was. No, I was Michael, I wasn’t Makalya. I was Michael. Michael. Michael. Come on, I had to keep saying it to myself. I was Michael. God dammit what was going on? I reached toward the sink and turned a cheap plastic handle, causing water to spurt forth from the faucet. It splattered against the basin. It smelled like rotten eggs. Cringing, I cupped my hands and filled them with the putrid, but clear water and splashed it against my face. I recoiled at the smell but it felt so good. I rubbed my eyes and tried to smooth my hair out a bit. Maybe I should take a shower; was that even allowed? I looked back toward the shower, I really wanted to wash up, I felt like…ugh…I don’t know what I felt like. Even more importantly, who the hell was I? Did anyone have an answer? Almost on cue I heard something, the sound of a phone ringing, a cell phone? It was coming from my pocket. Confused, I reached toward my pants pocket, sliding my fingers in and wrapping them around the device. I pulled it from my pocket and looked at the blue screen. It was an unknown number. Whose phone was this? Who was calling me? I looked around the bathroom, almost as if I was trying to find some kind of clue.

“Oh my god, Michael,” I growled at myself. “Just answer the damn phone.”

An uneasy feeling intruded the depths of my stomach as I slid the ‘answer’ button to the right and held the phone to my ear.

“Hello?” I said timidly. I had no idea what to expect. There was silence. A really long, eerie silence. The speaker crackled, I could hear breathing at the other end. “Hello?”

“Did you make it?” A raspy voice asked me.

“What? Did I make what? Who is this?” I hissed. There was no answer. I asked again, still no answer. Finally I took the phone away from my ear and looked at the screen, it was dead. What the hell? I held the power button and waited. The screen flashed to life for a brief second, showing a dead battery icon, and then nothing. Black again. I needed a phone charger. Maybe Zeke had one. I flipped the phone over, it was a ZTE Android phone, kind of a cheap model but I guess it would get the job done – whatever the job WAS.

“Okay,” I said. “Off to find a charger.”

Sliding the phone back into my pocket I quietly used the bathroom and exited back into the hallway. It was a bare hall; no pictures or anything hanging up on the walls, and I only passed one other room. Passing out of the mouth of the hall I emerged into the kitchen where Shelby was stood at the stove stirring stew beneath a yellow hood light, contrasted against the white lights of the kitchen and a backdrop of faded, peeling wallpaper. Zeke sat at the kitchen table, the shotgun apart as he cleaned it carefully with a series of brushes and fluids.

“Zeke, I done told you not to clean that thing at the table,” Shelby said. She shook her head but didn’t turn or make a move to stop him. It seemed like a tired argument that had been hashed out time and again. Maybe they were both sick of it.

“And I done told you you’re a boarder, guess whose name is on the deed?” Zeke replied without batting an eye. “I tell you what, lady.”

“Um, excuse me,” I interrupted. Shelby glanced back at me, Zeke didn’t glance up from his shotgun; the wisping of brush against barrel could be heard throughout the space, just above the boiling of the stew. “Do either of you…have a phone charger?”

“Phone charger?” Zeke said, disinterest tainting his voice. “You mean to say you’ve got one of them fancy cell phones?”

“Ain’t never charged a phone,” Shelby chuckled. “You must be one of them rich kids. Why you dressed like that then? Shouldn’t you be off riding in some fancy car or eating steak?”

That was a little ridiculous, it was a ZTE phone; it couldn’t have cost more than forty dollars. Then again, looking around I would say that $40 was probably the market value of this house.

“Well…” I said, forgetting the phone for a minute. “Do you…at least have a phone I can use?”

“Phone’s in there,” Zeke pointed to the living room. “Up on the stand where we keep the video tapes. Mind you don’t call long distance. I called the sheriff while you was washing up, he says he’ll have someone out here tomorrow to take you where you need to go. Till then you can sit tight here. I don’t got more than two rooms but you can make yourself at home on the couch. Just don’t touch nothin’.”

“Right,” I said. “Thank you.”

With that I turned and walked through the archway leading into the living room. It was probably the crappiest living room I’d ever seen; the couch was a three-cushion upholstered in faded wood camouflage, and there were a few wicker chairs accompanied by a recliner. In the center of the room a long wooden coffee table stood proud, though the paint was peeling and it had never been stained. I could see the outline of a moisture ring where someone had been setting a cup without a coaster. A wire rack beside the couch held paper magazines. Outdoor Life, Bowhunting, Field&Stream, Guns&Ammo. Nothing I would be interested in. Why were there paper magazines anyway? Did Zeke own a tablet? Oh, right, he didn’t even have a cellphone. Speaking of which, I located the phone sitting on the wooden cabinet at the front of the living room; it was an older style with a corded handset and a number pad. Easy enough; I’d seen one of these in a museum. I reached out and gripped the handset, pulling it off the receiver; as I held it up to my ear the buzzing of the dial tone rang out, nearly startling me into dropping the handset. I’d seen one of these used before but I’d never actually done it myself. Who the hell used a corded phone anymore? More importantly, who even kept one in their house?

I stared at the number pad and reached out, but then came to a startling realization: I didn’t know any phone numbers. It hit me like a ton of bricks that I’d owned a cellphone for most of my life, and who dialed numbers anymore? I set the receiver down slowly, then stood there, trying to remember Megan’s number. What was it? I needed to talk to her so badly, and I knew she would answer the phone if I could only remember the number. I heard Zeke click the shotgun back together in the kitchen, I heard Shelby turn the stove burner off with a click. I stared at the phone for another second and then my eyes wandered a bit to the left; a newspaper sat on the stand. I stared at the huge bolded headline for a moment. It read: ‘DID YOU MAKE IT?’. Did I make it? Did I make what? Then I read the subheading: ‘TURN THE PHONE ON, MICHAEL!’.

Turn the phone on. Turn the phone on. I touched my pocket for a moment and then shoved my fingers in, grabbing the ZTE phone and yanking it out. I held the power button again but this time, no battery icon. It was completely dead. How was I supposed to turn it on when it was dead? God dammit, what was going on?

“You know, you don’t clean up too well,” Shelby said. I jumped a bit and turned; she was standing in doorway, leaning against the archway with her arms folded. She was dressed in a pair of jeans and a purple cami with this thin black sweater that reached down to her knees, almost like a bathrobe but definitely not. My eyes caught her jet black hair again, the left side held tightly in place with a purple barrette to compliment her pale white freckled face. I swear if the circumstances had been different, I might have been in love. The circumstances weren’t different, I had to get out of here. “Soup’s on, if you’re hungry. You’re gonna be here all night, less you plan on taking a walk into town, about five miles thataway.”

She pointed to the east, I guess the direction of town, whatever town that was. It suddenly occurred to me that I wanted to ask where we were, what town, but that would sound a little weird, wouldn’t it? Suddenly an idea occurred to me. The newspaper behind me, it had to have the city name, or if I were lucky, even the town name.

“Alright,” I said. “I’ll be right in.”

Shelby stared at me for a brief second with her piercing, pale blue eyes and then nodded. She unfolded her arms and turned, walking back into the kitchen. I heard her mutter something to Zeke about keeping that ‘stupid shotgun off the table’. I closed my eyes deeply and drew a deep breath, turning back toward the stand. The newspaper was still there but the headline now read: ‘Timothy J. McVeigh Sentenced to Death for Oklahoma City Bombing’. Who the hell was that? It wasn’t important. I looked to the top of the paper: Bartville Courier. Okay, Bartville, where was that? Oh, there, right below it said: ‘Kentucky’s Finest News Source’. Okay even if I were in Kentucky, ‘Finest news source’ was probably a stretch.

So I was in Kentucky, and I was a girl named Makayla. This wasn’t right at all. A few hours ago I had been Michael, I’d been driving to see my girlfriend, in Ohio. She’d moved, I had been using my iPhone to navigate to her house. The night before I’d played World of Warcraft, Battle for Azeroth. Come on, Michael, try to remember! It was like my memories were getting fuzzy, but why? I had to figure this out and most importantly, I had to turn this stupid phone on, somehow. I kept thinking about the message in the headline: ‘Did you make it?’. What was it talking about.

“Little girl, you goin’ for this soup or can I have your share?” Zeke called out from the kitchen. I sighed. Right now, I had no choice but to eat.

“Shelby where’s today’s paper?” Zeke asked as I sat down at the table in front of a white ceramic soup bowl.

“In the god damn living room where you left it, by the phone,” Shelby said, her voice stretched and irritated.

“Now don’t be mouthin’ off with me,” Zeke said angrily as he raised the spoon to his mouth and sipped the broth.

“Shut it old man,” Shelby took a seat. “If I leave whose gonna make your soup for you?”

“Um…excuse me,” I interjected. They both stopped eating and stared at me as if I were a monk breaking a vow of silence. I removed the phone from my pocket and set it on the table. “I really need a charger for this, do either of you have a micro USB cable?”

“A micro WHAT?!” Zeke shook is head. “Little girl, you’ll have all kinds of time to play games once you get back to civilization. You don’t need none to get you through the night.”

I looked at the phone, confused. Yeah, I guess it could probably play games but he knew it was a phone, right?

“I…just need to make a call,” I said, pointing to the phone. “If I can get it charged-“

“We know what a Gameboy looks like,” Shelby smirked. “And we know it don’t make no calls.”

I stared incredulously at both of them. They really had no idea what a phone looked like. What was even going on here? I slid the phone back into my pocket and watched both of them return to their soup. I sipped mine slowly; it was okay, nothing great. I suddenly wished I were back home. My mom would have been making meatloaf tonight. I loved her meatloaf. Did I have a mom anymore? Was any of my other life real? Maybe now wasn’t the best time to be asking myself those questions.

“Yeah, you’re right,” I shrugged. “So what happens tomorrow?”

“Sheriff’ll come and gather you and your things,” Zeke informed me. “Then you’re no worry of mine no more.”

“I didn’t mean to be a worry,” I said. “The last thing I remember is-“

“You can zip it right there,” Shelby said with a tone of complete and utter disinterest. “Everyone round here, they got a story, and it’s always the same, ‘poor me’ and ‘why me’, and all that other crap. Best you keep your story to yourself cause we already heard it, I know for sure.”

I chewed over that for a moment and realized that they were probably right. I didn’t even know my story, why would they want to hear it? What did I even know so far? I’d woken up in the woods, I knew my name was Makayla, I knew these people were friendly, but they’d never seen a cell phone in their lives. I was in Kentucky but how far away from civilization was I?

“When you’re done with that soup you can go sit and watch TV,” Zeke suggested. “Might help you pass the time, but if the sheriff can’t come get ya’ by tomorrow you start earning your keep around here, you hear what I’m saying’ to you?”

“Why wouldn’t the sheriff be able to come?” I asked, frowning. I didn’t want to stay here any longer than I had to, it’s not that Zeke and Shelby were bad people, but more that I wanted to get back to my own life. I wanted to see Mega.

“Because the sheriff’s busy,” Zeke said. “And you’re just one person. There’s a TV guide in the livin’ room, you can flip through it, see if there’s anything you like.”

A TV guide? What was that? I was more than a little confused; in my entire life I had never really watched TV – there were a few shows I watched on my tablet but who really had time to sit down and watch TV these days? Old people?

“What’s uh…what’s a TV guide?” I asked, a little embarrassed that I had to inquire about something that was obviously common knowledge in this house. Zeke stared at me hard.

“Were you raised by wolves or something?” He asked me. I couldn’t tell if he was serious or not.

“We’ve got more bobcats than wolves round’ here,” Shelby interjected helpfully. “She was prolly carried off as an infant and taught to hunt. Maybe we can use her to get better stew ingredients next time.”

“I…I wasn’t raised by wolves,” I said, though I felt like I was being particularly unhelpful. “You know…I’m actually not that hungry…”

“Suit yourself,” Shelby shrugged. “More for me I say.”

“For me,” Zeke said as he snatched the bowl from in front of me. I excused myself to watch television in the living room. I spent some time flipping through channels, coming across a few odd movies that I didn’t know the name of, and some that were obvious thanks to the TV guide. ‘All American Ninja’ and ‘Raiders of the Lost Ark’ were on but they didn’t catch my interest. I landed on a news channel that claimed scientists had cloned a sheep named Dolly but I couldn’t figure out if the sheep was Dolly or if the clone was Dolly. I was rapidly losing interest in the shows; I needed to get out of here. I needed to get that phone working. Maybe I should start walking. I could get to the road, maybe hitch hike my way into town, maybe even get back home to Ohio. Except…I still looked…like this. How could I even begin to explain to my parents or even Megan that I was actually Michael? This was a disaster of epic proportions.

At some point during the evening I dozed off, only to be awakened by the sound of rain. I opened my eyes to a flash of lightning outside and immediately sat up, straight as a rod. The lightning outside the bay window had been brief, but in that instant of light I swore I could see a shape; a human being stand there just beyond the glass, staring at me. I stared at the window wide eyed, trying to recall the shape I’d just seen. Had it had a face? What was it doing? No, I couldn’t remember. All I could recall was that shape stood against the night like a silhouette cutout. A half-realized apparition. I could feel my skin growing cold, clammy, my stomach knotted. I had to get out of here. I couldn’t stay here. I immediately stood from the couch and looked around in vain, no sign of either Zeke or Shelby; it must have been late at night, they were long tucked way in their beds. Nice of them to just leave me half sprawled out on the couch, remote in hand. The TV was still on, but it had lost signal long ago, the screen was shimmering with black and white static, no sign of the previous transmission. If I had been in any kind of coherent state, I might have stopped to wonder why they were using an analogue CRT television but such thoughts were far from my mind as I bounded aimlessly through the living room and down the kitchen stairs. The door at the bottom was locked, but that was easily remedied and I quickly tore through the threshold, plummeting headfirst into the dark of night amidst a torrent of lightning strikes that ripped across the landscape, illuminating the trees at the edge of the property like monsters, looming against the backdrop of night and waiting to reach out and take me. I had no choice, my fight or flight instinct was telling me to fly and I had no idea what I was so afraid of until another lightning strike illuminated the patch of land in front of me and I saw it again; a shape, like a human. Tall, skinny, but not moving. It was facing me, that much I could tell, and it was no more than ten feet from me. I screamed and backpedaled, falling off balance and slamming my posterior into the soaked ground with a splash. Kicking my legs, I slid backwards, through the mud and regained my footing.

Once again on my feet I used all my willpower to propel myself toward the treeline as another lightning strike revealed yet another humanoid shape just feet from me, still standing, still staring through unseen eyes that shredded through my thin exterior and directly into my bared soul. I think I screamed as I reached the treeline and penetrated the forest but there was no one around to hear me. Above the wind, rain, and thunder, I couldn’t even hear myself. I simply ran, and ran, and ran. I dodged roots, trees, tripped over rocks and gasped as the wind seared my face, even through the thick forest.

I couldn’t run forever, eventually I stopped, pressing my back against a tree as I caught my breath. I held a hand to my chest, feeling my pounding heart through my soaked shirt. Cold, numb fingers worked their way down to my pocket, checking to see if the phone was still there. I could feel the rectangular outline beneath the material; still there. If I could get into town maybe I could find a charger. Maybe I could find out who I was, why I was here, and most importantly how the hell I could get back to being Michael. Who was Michael anyway? Was that ever really me?

“I see you, Michael!” A voice pierced the darkness. My eyes darted around as my fingers grasped the bark behind me. “I know what you’re after, and it’s not going to work!”

I opened my mouth to speak but I couldn’t force myself to make a sound. Instead I pressed my back harder and harder against the trunk of the tree, maybe hoping to disappear into it.

“You can’t save her!” The voice shouted again. “It’s finished, and so are you!”

I breathed heavily, listening to the sound of raindrops slamming against the pools of water forming on the forest floor. Could I bring myself to push off of the tree and continue my venture into the forest? No, I couldn’t. I can’t describe the fear I felt, it was overtaking my entire body, a crushing feeling that cemented me to that spot. My legs were lead, my body was shaking from the cold. Please, god, let it stop. I shouldn’t have left the house. I shouldn’t have…oh God. I was Michael. My name was Michael, my name was—”

In an instant the forest was gone, I woke up on the couch, shooting straight up into a sitting position and gasping for breath. The first rays of the bright morning sun assaulted my senses through the bay window and sweat permeated my body.

“Sheriff’s on his way,” Zeke said as he strode into the living room, once again dressed in flannel, but this time without the shotgun. “You might wanna get some breakfast in ya, eggs on the stove.”

What the fuck was going on?

“Girl, this is the sheriff,” Zeke said, motioning toward the uniformed man near the front door.

“So I can see,” I said. “My name is-“

“Makayla,” The sheriff said. “They told me all about you, nappin’ in the woods like you owned the place. They’re gonna love you down at CPS, or whatever is it they’re callin’ themselves these days.”

“They change their name again?” Shelby said, shaking her head as she glanced up from her magazine at the kitchen table.

“Mayor keeps insisting they change it,” The sheriff said snidely. I could quickly tell that he was no fan of the mayor.

“Garron needs to mind his business,” Zeke said curtly. “’fore he stick his hand somewhere it don’t belong.”

“Probably already has,” The sheriff spat. “Alright young lady, you ready to head up yonder? Daylight’s burnin’.”

“I just need my-“

“Backpack,” Shelby said, finishing my sentence for me. She stepped from the table and passed me the pink backpack that had my name stitched on the rear pocket. No, that wasn’t my name. My name was Michael. I think. I needed to remember that. I wasn’t Makayla, I was Michael. Wasn’t I? I took it in my hand and slung it over my shoulder, taking one last look at the kitchen before I walked toward the sheriff who was already ushering me out onto the porch.

“You take care now!” Shelby called out after me. “Hope to never see you again!”

“Hope so too,” I muttered. I hoped to never see this place again period. I needed to get home. I needed to figure out how to get back to Ohio, and getting out of this hole in the wall was the only way I could do that. I passed through the threshold onto the rickety old porch, the planks flexed and creaked beneath my feet as I made my way forward, past the old peeling swing and down the brief steps leading to a patchy, dying lawn. The sheriff’s car was parked in the driveway, catching the morning sun and reflecting it back in a blinding manner. It was like walking toward the sun and as I came closer I noticed that it was an older car, a Dodge Polero I think, one of those cars that you’d see cops driving around in the 70’s. The second thing I noticed was how clean it was. The exterior had been waxed recently, light glinted off of the chrome mirrors and apart from some mud on the tires, it looked perfectly new. If I’d been thinking clearly, then I probably would have realized just how strange that was for a small town.

“In you go,” The sheriff said as he approached me from behind. With his right hand he indicated the passenger side of the car. My tattered shoes crunched against pea gravel while I crossed the makeshift driveway and pulled the car door open. My backside connected with a hot leather seat and I laid the backpack across my legs. I could still feel the phone in my pocket. The useless, dead phone. God I just needed it to work, I needed to know WHY I was here.

The driver side door clicked open and the sheriff sat down, twisting the key in the ignition, bringing the engine to life with a roar. He was a middle-aged man, medium build with back hair, combed back and slicked. He popped his jaw a lot, I noticed that.

“Where are we going?” I asked while the car was put into gear with the switch of a shifter and we began to roll forward, down the gravel driveway and toward the treeline.

“County’s full up,” He said to me, keeping his eyes front and turning left, off of the gravel road and onto a paved, but very old looking back road. “Got a foster for you at Sunnyside Park until we find your parents.”

“You haven’t found them yet?” I asked, focusing on a pill bottle sat on the dash. The prescription label said “Miratran” in bold lettering. The shadows of leaves and light in between could be seen lightly reflected on the glass windshield. The car’s poor suspension barely absorbed the jolting of numerous potholes as we tore down the country road toward and unknown destination.

“Far as I hear,” He said. “You don’t know much more’n we do, waking up in the woods and all. Best you get settled for the long haul while we try to work it out.”

“How long will that take?” Not that it mattered, they could drop me off anywhere and I was just going to find a way back to Ohio. How hard could it be?

“Takes as long as it takes,” He shot back lazily. “Resources ain’t exactly runnin’ like milk and honey. This is Bartville. Maybe you shoulda landed in Lexington or Cumberland. At least they have money to work with. Nah I think we’ll do the best we can but you shouldn’t expect much unless you suddenly remember somethin’.”

I nodded. He had a point.

“So then who am I staying with?”

“Woman named Miriam and her daughter,” He explained to me. “They help out in situations like this. You’ll be just fine with them.”

I don’t know why but I felt more at ease, knowing that I would be staying with two women. I guess it beat the alternative. I closed my eyes for a moment to shut out the repetitive woodland scenery that seemed to go on into infinity. Exhaling again, I opened my eyes and noticed the slightest beginnings of a headache forming just behind my brow and the roar of the road beneath the car chassis wasn’t helping.

“Hey-“ I started to say, but I didn’t get to finish the sentence. All at once the windshield ahead of us spiderwebbed and the sheriff’s head burst in an explosion of crimson liquid. The car accelerated as his foot slammed against the accelerator in a reflexive death throe. I screamed, or at least I think I screamed as the car lurched forward, tearing through the woods, but eventually succumbing to a sharp turn that it would never make. The front bumper connected with a dirt embankment ahead, and I briefly lost consciousness as my head smashed into the dash ahead. I came back quickly, only to be greeted by a splitting headache and the sigh of blood on the dash. Was it my blood? God there was a lot of it. How was I still alive?

Around me I could hear the roar of the engine as the dearly departed sheriff’s foot bore down on the gas pedal and the wheels outside spun against dirt and pavement. My head still spinning, I happened to glance into the passenger side mirror and could make out the faint outline of someone making their way toward the car. They were a good distance away but I could see the outline of a rifle slung over their shoulder. I cursed and reached for the door handle, I tried but the door itself wouldn’t budge. I pulled again, and again, and again as the man drew closer. As a last ditch effort, I yanked on the handle and threw my shoulder into the door. It gave, but so did I. I tumbled from the car and collapsed into a pile on the asphalt, my backpack dropping on top of me, and the car tires spinning mere feet from my bleeding skull.

I didn’t waste time looking back, I forced myself to my feet and fought the dizziness that was overtaking me, running as fast as I could toward the treeline. With the backpack over my shoulder I crawled hand over hand up the embankment, propelling myself with my feet with the loose dirt constantly giving way beneath them. With a cry, I finally reached the top of the embankment and dragged myself over the edge, working my way through dead leaves and pulling my hair through the soft dirt. The next second I was back on my feet, listening to my shoes pound against the forest floor, through exposed roots, over dead leaves, and dodging the occasional briar patch. I breathed heavily, more and more as I pushed through. I wasn’t in good shape, not in this body. When I’d been Michael I’d been in great shape; an athlete. I’d run track, I’d played football – what the hell had this girl done? Yeah, that was good, I was still remembering who I was. I was Michael, not Makayla. Behind me I heard a crack, a gunshot. The tree trunk closest to me burst into a rain of splinters. Jesus Christ, what was he carrying? In my panic I tripped over a branch and sprawled forward, hurtling across the forest floor and yelping aloud as my wrist folded in on itself. It was sprained. In a panic I used my good hand to raise myself up but I failed, and slammed back on to the ground. It was no good, he was going to catch me. Nevertheless I tried again but my body ached and screamed at me for even daring to use it. All of the adrenaline in the world wasn’t going to save me here. Finally, I flipped over onto my back, staring up at the man who was now mere feet from me. He stared at me with a scarred, dirty face, his body clad in brown coveralls. He towered over me and brought the gun to bear, aiming it carefully at my head. This was it, this was how I died.

“You really thought it would be this easy?” The man said, quietly shaking his head. What would be this easy? What was he talking about? Before I could contemplate that question too much, another gunshot rang out from elsewhere in the forest. The man jerked and stumbled backward once before collapsing to the ground, three thuds. His body, his head, his gun.

“Get up!” A female voice screamed. A new pair of footsteps clamored over to me, I felt a hand wrap around my arm and practically drag me to my feet. In front of me stood a beautiful woman, maybe in her late twenties, perhaps very early thirties. Light brown skin, black hair piled around her shoulders. “Where’s the backpack?”

“What? The backpack?” I stuttered and looked around. It was nowhere to be seen. Had I dropped it somewhere? I must have dropped it.

“God dammit Michael!” She screamed, taking both of my shoulders in her hands. “If you had the backpack this could be over right now! Where is it?! You need to stick to the plan!”

“Plan?!” I screamed back. “What plan?!”

“Jesus fuck you don’t remember anything?!” She stepped back and stared at me, her eyes wide in shock and terror. “Okay, okay, shit. Okay. I need you…I need you to run in that direction. Just keep running, don’t look back. I’m going to find the backpack.”

She practically pushed me in the direction she wanted me to go. I stopped short and stared at her.

“What’s in the backpack?” I demanded. “What’s all this about? Who am I? Where am I?”

“Look Michael, I don’t have long, if I don’t find that backpack in the next five minutes we’re going to have to start over and I don’t know how long it’s going to take. Okay? Just run in that direction, you’ll know where you’re going when you see it!”

“Okay fine,” I said, resigned. “Just…one thing!”

“What?!” She demanded as she surveyed the woods around her, looking for the fallen backpack.

“Who are you? What’s your name? Fuck! Why are you here?”

“My name is…Aleah,” She said. “And I’m here because I picked the wrong side, and now everyone’s paying for it. RUN!”

Twigs snapped, feet pounded, the forest whizzed by in gasps as I dodged from tree to tree, palms outstretched to make sure I didn’t plant face first into a trunk. Aleah said I’d know it when I saw it. What was I looking for? I inhaled as I ran, forest air scraped through my throat and barely inflated my lungs. I thought the endless expanse of trees and briar patches would extend forever, but I was wrong. It ended. I burst into a clearing, stopping short as if I’d just found myself on the edge of a cliff and pressing my hands to my knees as I bent over in exhaustion. I coughed and gagged toward the grass below me as I tried to catch my breath, only looking up ahead after a full minute or two. There was a building there, maybe two hundred yards away. It was big, made from red bricks beneath a black metal roof. Around it I could see playground equipment, a rusty swing set, the seats rotted from their chains long ago. A jungle gym that had once stood level but was sinking into the ground at an awkward angle.

“Don’t go in there,” I whispered to myself. Everything within me was telling me to stay out of that building; the dread building up in the pit of my stomach was almost too much to overcome but I couldn’t just stand here and I couldn’t keep running – I needed to hide from whatever was coming. I had to stay alive, for Aleah. Why for Aleah? What was special about her? I’d just met her, for the first time? I had to go, had to go. I forced myself forward, raking the overgrown grass beneath my feet and propelling myself toward the back door of the school. The sound of my footsteps changed as I transitioned from hard dirt to pea gravel and then to asphalt. The playground blacktop had seen years of use; cracks had formed and weeds had sprung up. Nature in defiance against man’s attempt to seal it out. Nature always wins.

My hand slammed against the doorframe while with the other I grasped the metal handle and tried to pull it open. Nothing. Shit. Right. I pushed on the release just above the handle and heard a click as the latch released. Throwing the door open, I hurled myself inside and slammed it behind me, pressing my back to it and breathing heavily in a hallway filled with red lockers. Beside me, daylight shone through the slit of a window just above the door handle, segmented by the wire lattice embedded in the glass. So far, other than being abandoned, there was absolutely nothing strange about this school, in fact it was a lot like one I’d attended years ago. I felt a little more at ease stepping away from the door and passing through the row of lockers, the only company being the sound of my footfalls against checkered tile.

At the end of the hall I came to a curved incline on the floor leading down into a sort of lobby area. To my right were a set of bathrooms, to my left, a trophy case. The case, mounted on the wall was filled with dusty awards for basketball, football, even cheerleading. I squinted in the darkness, trying to read one of the engravings:

Kentucky Middle School Basketball Champions
Chippenwood Middle School
1967

As I started to examine the other trophies, I stopped short hearing a noise from behind me. A soft click, like a pencil bring dropped. A normal sound but in this place it rang out like a beacon. It was trouble. I slowly turned around, the hair on the back of my neck rising, my hand trembling as I set my sights on the direction of the noise: the boy’s bathroom. The entrance sat at the bottom of the curved incline, just before the lobby area. It had no door; the frame held indents for hinges, but it had been taken down and carried off long ago.

“Hello?” I called out as I made my way toward the entrance. I probably shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t have even been walking toward the door; I just felt…compelled to do it. I don’t even know how to explain it. Before I knew it I was passing right through the steel doorframe, emerging into a dark tiled hallway. Up ahead was a turn, probably leading into the bathroom itself. I took it slowly, running one hand along the tile as I moved forward toward the opening. It didn’t take long, I found myself standing at the mouth of the bathroom entrance, and my anxiety couldn’t have been higher. The cramped hallway was safe, I knew what was in it. The bathroom beyond was an open space, anything could be lurking behind the corner. I should run, I should do something, anything other than being in this building. Why had I come in here anyway? Nevertheless, against all my better judgement I pushed forward, slowly peeking around the corner. It wasn’t completely dark in here; there were a set of windows high up, just wide enough to illuminate a portion of the bathroom in a dull light. Four of the window panels were intact, one was covered in electrical tape with only a few dots of light poking through. I returned my attention to the room ahead of me. In the center of the floor I saw the pencil that had fallen, sitting against the bare concrete floor, the light from the overhead windows bathing it. A yellow #2 pencil, nothing special.

The bathroom seemed empty so I moved forward, painfully aware of every sound I made. My feet on the concrete, the rustling of my pants, the brief sliding of my hand off of the hallway partition. The room was dead silent, not even the sound of water dripping from the sinks. Had the pencil just dropped? How long had it been there? Why was it there? All at once, and to my utter surprise, the lights came on, white washing the room in fluorescent light. The yellow and white tiles blinded as I cried out and stumbled backward against the urinal.

“Hey hey, look at that, it’s Makayla!” A voice goaded. I looked up, straight ahead, it was a boy, about Makayla’s age, maybe a little older. “You know what my dad told me? He said you like girls because you ain’t never had a man inside you!”

The boy began to laugh. I pressed against the urinal and looked to my left, toward the exit. It was like riding one of those tilt-a-whirls at the fair, my body felt like it was pressed against the wall, the room was spinning as the boy continued to laugh. I screamed as he walked toward me.

“I bet you’ll change your mind, when you’ve had me,” He said, a devilish grin on his face. “Maybe your daddy will like you better when-“

The bathroom went dark again, the boy disappeared. I exhaled heavily and dropped to the floor, hyperventilating as I sat just out of reach of the light streaming down from the windows. I wasted no time, I scrambled to my feet and fled from the bathroom as quickly as I could, bursting out into the lobby area. On either side of me, a set of glass and steel doors, one leading back to the playground, the other leading to what looked like an abandoned parking lot out front. I should just go. I should just…I stopped short again, there was something laying on the floor in front of me, just down the hall leading from the lobby to yet another row of lockers. As I walked closer, I could see it was a book – no, a notebook. One of those gray composition notebooks. I moved closer, bent down and took it in my hands. The front of the book spelled out ‘Makayla’ in black sharpie, written in the ‘name’ section of the cover. Was this my notebook? No, it was Makayla’s. I was Michael. I would always be Michael, god dammit. I flipped through the pages, it was some kind of journal, I’d have to read through it later when I had better light.

“Hey!” A voice rang out from behind me, echoing loudly and rudely down the brick and tile hall. I spun around on my heel, keeping a firm grip on the journal. It was the man from the woods, the man that Aleah had taken down. He rested the grip of his rifle in the palm of his hand and slowly brought it to bear. “You thought you got rid of me, didn’t you?”

All of a sudden, the door to my left opened, Aleah stepped through and thrust the pink backpack into my arms.

“Hi,” She said, almost cheerfully. “We need to run now.”