Sayulita - Mexico

Mid-January

The roar of the ocean came on the summer sea breeze dancing across the sand just off the terracotta tiles of the patio before playing with a tendril of Breanna's shoulder-length brown hair. She rolled her head over the back of the lounger, resting the wine glass on her midriff as she took in the stars in the inky midnight sky. The glittering twinkles danced above her, enthralling, entrancing, and finally relaxing her.

The nights were the worst. Lack of sleep drained her of the energy needed during the day, but when arriving, it brought nightmares. Haunting scenes from her past. Dredging memories from The Madhouse, an underground laboratory owned and run by Darcia, her identical twin sister and her scientist sidekicks. A place where Darcia found it fun "tweaking" the human gene pool. It was a torture chamber of absolute pain and bone racking agony for those in line for the procedures.

Breanna shuddered hard. Experiencing a dehumanising existence, where personal identity loss could happen. It created confusion, disorientation and disillusionment. Perhaps tonight would be a night of peaceful sleeping. Maybe tonight, memories of the horror she had experienced would subside just enough to allow rest for a few hours. Her heavy eyelids slowly closed, shifting her back three years into her ever-present nightmare.

The sterile smell of antiseptic filled Breanna's senses. Opening her eyes, she found herself in a passageway of cold, white floor to ceiling tiles; the glare was everywhere around her. White metal doors ran the length of the left wall; the opposite wall held no windows or doors. The sense she needed to move and move quickly urged her into action. She walked toward the exit that had suddenly appeared near the end of the corridor. She could feel an abnormal ache deep in her bones. Blood trickled down her arm from the needle marks where she had pulled them out. Her body seemed to hum unnaturally. She knew it was from whatever had been injected into or perhaps pulled out this time. She had lost track of which procedures and how many had been performed. All she wanted was to get out of her twin's hell-hole. She moved toward an exit; she was leaving. Now. Two more security groups to get through, and she was home free.

A painful, white flash lit behind her eyes, followed by excruciating pain in her mind. Clutching the arm of the sunbed, breathing deeply, trying to bring herself back to the present, Breanna fought the sucking flashback. Unexpected darkness rose, closing in from the recesses of her mind. For tonight the battle was lost. Getting sleep was not possible. If she was fortunate to nap, her nightmare filled rest would be rocky. It would not be a peaceful night.

"Get in here," Breanna panted, pulling the shivering, frightened woman into the space between the wooden crates and slats that would conceal them. "We are nearly at the extraction point," she whispered, "but you need to do everything I say. Understand?"

"Un...understand," stammered the panting woman, crouching next to her. She wore white cotton sleeveless shirt and pants. Somewhere on the extraction, she had become barefoot. The clothing was slashed with mud, grass and whatever else this woman had met along the way while escaping from Darcia's Madhouse.

Breathing in deeply and slowly letting the air in her lungs out, Breanna accessed her. The escapee was not military, she was unfit, yet for some reason, Darcia had used her as an experiment in genetic manipulation. For some reason, this woman had been able to get out or was she let out.

Movement, from the direction they had come, drew Breanna's attention. Pulling the gun from the back of her pants, she raised an index finger to her lips. The woman next to her stiffened while watching two armed men, turning in adjacent circles, clearly searching, drew closer. A few feet from their hiding place, one of the men stopped raised his rifle, attracting the attention of the second man by aiming at them. Breanna stood, aiming and firing before he had a chance to. Man number one went down quickly while the second man opened fire, spraying the area with dust and pieces of their hiding place. Breanna promptly took cover behind a splintering crate. The woman next to her covered her head with her arms, whimpering quietly.

"I'm going to cover us. We need to move," Breanna grunted, standing, extending her arm, breathing in and pulling the trigger. The second man seemed to fall in slow motion as she grasped the woman, pulling her through a gap in the back of the crates and wooden pieces. Looking around, Breanna spotted an approaching nondescript white panel van.

"Come on," Breanna grunted, "there. Over there. Run."

The woman ran in front of Breanna. The sound of thudding boots had Breanna glancing over her shoulder. Multiple approaching shadows spurred her to run faster toward the opening side door, pushing the woman in as the sound of gunfire rang out. The bullets exploded around them, peppering the ground at their feet, filling her senses as she dove into the black abyss of the open van door. Shielding the shaking, tearful, clinging woman from harm as the door closed behind them.

Reality whooshed back into her mind. The feel of the sunbed arm gripped in her white-knuckled hand bit into her senses, pulling her from the scenes ripping through her mind. Blinking rapidly, Breanna took in her surroundings. Her lungs painfully sucked in much-needed air as she fought the nightmare memories and fear.

The taste of salt filled her senses. She let the taste of salt and the sound of the ocean ground her in the present. Calming her senses, reminding her everything she experienced was a distant memory. Breathing in deeply, she moved her gaze to the twinkling stars, amazed her wine glass still sat on her midriff. Clearing her throat, she slowly lifted it to her lips, sipping while focussing on the sea, salt and sand.

She was trying to forget the endless agony of needles, DNA extraction and testing, endurance tests, self-loathing and finally, very painful and costly freedom. She had tried to get over the betrayal executed by the cold, manipulative, treacherous twin sister. She was still trying.

"Bre," a soft voice came from the shadows near the palms, "can't sleep again?"

Breanna looked over at her neighbour and best friend, stepping onto the terracotta tiles in loose-fitting cotton pants and a tank top. Fiery red hair brushed her shoulders with tendrils from the pile on her head, leaving her neck cooling in the sea breeze. Usually, she wore her hair down, hanging past her shoulders to the middle of her back.

"I've been trying, but all I get is either flashbacks or nightmares," Breanna rolled her head to her left, watching the palm leaves dancing on the breeze, "come and join me. Help yourself."

Rolling her head to the right once more, she took in the empty wine bottles, consumed on a cup of coffee or two and an empty stomach. Lifting her head, she frowned. How many were there? Her mind wouldn't function to process the maths. Resting her head before looking at the stars and the palm trees rising above her into the inky, midnight sky.

Her heartbeat slowly returned to a normal rhythm. Glancing to her right, she found another open bottle waiting for her to drink sitting in the ice bucket. Valencia reached over, lifting it and pouring some into an empty glass before settling it in the bucket once more. Breanna sighed.

"We are drinking at two in the morning ... again. Normally we would discuss how unhealthy this is, somehow I don't think you'll listen to a single word tonight," Valencia murmured. Settling on the adjacent chair — sipping away at her wine.

"Not in the mood for talking," Breanna sipped her wine again, "actually, I'm not in the mood for much."

"Then we simply sit," Valencia smiled at her, "I could tell you what I read on the internet about PTS," she hesitated at Breanna's glare, "… or not."

"I'm surprised you're out here, Val," Breanna whispered, "usually the windows are open, but you're inside at night."

"Yeah, but it was a little noisy in my head," Valencia sighed, "besides, I'm not out alone. Am I?"

"Nope, it's been nearly three years since Madden tried to take you," Breanna whispered. "I would suggest going to talk to someone about your issues, but you'll only remind me that there is no one like us who would understand." Breanna chuckled, "I'm not going to start spilling my issues to you either," Breanna said as Valencia tried to talk. "If you don't try and give me advise, you can stay."

"Fine," Valencia chuckled, "but you know I'm a good listener."

"You are," Breanna smiled, "but you never know when to stop with the advice."

Breanna"s thought went to all the advice she had received. A lot of information. Advise to forget, relax, move on, find the old Breanna and work from there flittered through her mind. She had heard it all and tried to walk away, helping other escapees, even trying a "normal" life of having a home, routine and a job. Nothing to date had helped or worked. She was not sleeping enough, hardly ever hungry and drinking way too much. She was in trouble and looking for a way out of the hole she was digging deeper for herself.

"Find the old you," one of her colleagues had said. Not really understanding the extent of the damage, the advice was well-meant.

Was her old self in there somewhere? It had to be. If she wasn't, then who was she? How did she live with the unknown person she had become? If her old self was there, how did the old her and new her survive together?

Learning things she should remember, know and implement daily was challenging. Especially when she didn't know her style or taste or explain it to others. She didn't even know herself anymore.

A flash of memory surfaced, fluttered and then resided. It came again, clearer. Darcia told her what she would and wouldn't wear, whom she would date and what she would eat during the day. It would seem she had been instructed her entire life. The person who should have let her be herself never did, nor was the allowance of being herself given. Instead, torture and lies were part of her life even before the two years of agony. Sitting next to Valencia, staring out at the world, Breanna wondered where she would go from here. She had choices, but which ones did she take?