I drive again. Taylor sits in the front, and Ashley sits uncomfortably in the back. It's a four-seater, but the back seat is full of old vinyl records Liz keeps trying to get rid of. I just take them. These records give me a feeling of home. "Sorry Ashley," I say as I look in the rear-view mirror at her. I don’t know why I say it. I’m not sorry. Maybe she will be so uncomfortable she won’t insist I drive next time.

"It's okay,” Ashley says, smiling brightly as she moves the records that keep falling in her lap.

"Okay, enough small talk," Taylor says eagerly from the passenger seat.

"What?" I ask, sincerely.

"I'm not supposed to tell you because he thinks you will get angry with …"

"Taylor, damn! What are you doing?" Ashley interrupts. Her screams cause me to swerve into the other lane.

“Jesus Christ,” I yell as I swerve back into my lane. “What the hell?” My eyes go blurry and my legs go partially numb. I almost killed us. I take a few breaths. In. Out. In. Out.

"It’s only fair she knows. If he is going, then why not just tell her?" Taylor insists as she turns to face Ashley.

"What? Wait. What are you guys talking about?" I’ve composed myself enough to focus, but their chatter confuses me. That's not uncommon. They ramble.

Taylor turns back around to face me this time, her face earnest. "He's crazy about you. You know that. The only reason he doesn't tell you is that he doesn't want you telling him he can't go."

"Alex is going to Charleston?" I ask incredulously. “Why hasn’t he told me?” Why are they yelling? God, just let me get out of this car.

"Yes. He got an offer to play for the Riverdogs, a minor league baseball team down there." I hear Ashley say from the back. "It's so romantic. Ah, he’s sexy." She sighs as she scoots around trying to get comfortable.

“What? Are we twelve now? I wouldn’t categorize that as romantic. We aren’t in a relationship.” They have now successfully distracted me, though. I'm not completely against the idea, but I don't want a relationship to complicate our friendship. I owe Alex so much. Shoot, he saved my life. He pulled me out of the water when my brakes failed, and I went into the lake. I can’t get excited about this. I could never bring him into my life like that. But, he does have a pull towards me that I can't explain. I know if he is there with me it is inevitable. Stop, Analise. Don’t be stupid. I’m not good enough for him. I’m too fucked up.

"Analise?" They both say simultaneously. I know what they want to hear.

"I know. I'm not going to say I won't consider it." I am surprised at how much I even believe my lies and want them to be true. I just need them to shut up, though.

We finally pull up to Town Center. The conversation quickly turns to dresses, and I am excited to be left off the hook.

"I have got to have this one, Analise. Look at it. It's beautiful." Ashley turns to me with a long pink Cinderella dress pulled to her chest.

"Gorgeous," I say, barely able to smile, but I force it. “A little too much, though. Don’t you think?”

“I know. I just like the way it feels.” She twirls.

It doesn't take long to find the perfect deep green cocktail dress sitting on the hanger in front of me. It is strapless and form-fitting, hitting below the knee. The slit comes to the thigh, a little high for me, but I can manage. Sex appeal never hurt anyone—if I could ever achieve that.

"Ana. Gorgeous. Absolutely gorgeous." I can hear Ashley yell from a distance. She gallops towards me.

"Yea looks like it." I hold the dress in front of the mirror for a moment trying to grasp a little perspective. This is not normal for me. I wonder how my constantly scuffed-up legs will look in this. The dress is beautiful, but there is something else that draws me to it. The image of that murderous night flashes in my mind. The irrational thought that my mother’s favorite color is green because it was the color of her dress that night attaches me to this dress—mom's green dress. It is about the only thing I remember of her. I don't even know their names. I remember that green dress and red blood. I must have it.

BAM. A man runs into me as we exit the store, and I’m thrown to the wall. My bags fall open to the ground. "Excuse me, sir?" I say, angrily. He is not fazed and barely moves. He stands silent, looking at me up and down.

This man may appear a southern gentleman in his blue suit, crisp white shirt, and red bowtie, but gentlemen he certainly is not. His heart must be as black as his eyes because he offers no apology or a hand to help me up. He smiles slightly and tilts his head. His hand grasps tighter to his briefcase. You can see them begin to turn white. His face quickly goes to slate, and he then looks me dead in the eyes. He looks me up and down and finally extends his hand for me to grab. I go to grab his hand, but he quickly grabs my right wrist and examines it with fury. I pull it away instantly, shocked and angry at this stranger's lack of respect for personal space. I'm not an easily angered person, at least not in public, but this man unearths a sense of hatred in me. I typically avoid this type of confrontation, but I can't this time. I won't. I’m not even scared. My heart is pounding so hard. "What's wrong with you?" I ask, tense. I sense he can hear the frustration in my voice. I hope he can. I jump to my feet.

He chuckles. Not pleasantly. It is a dark sort of laugh, one that gives you goosebumps on your arms. "Nice to see you, Analise." He picks up my bag, chuckles under his breath again, and throws the green dress to my chest. He walks away.

I scowl and throw the empty bag in his direction. "I don't know you, jackass," I yell so he can hear me. Everyone can hear me. I must have forgotten where I was. It was almost like tunnel vision. Everything else was erased. Now I’m left with dozens of people scaring in my direction. Instantly the pressure is back—back in my chest. It is true, though. I don't know that man, but I know his face. Perhaps I have seen it in my dreams? Only glimpses. And just like his laugh, they were dark.

He doesn't look back to acknowledge my outburst. He walks as composed and confident as he stood a moment before. His cool and collected demeanor angers me even more. It bothers me that I have not left him feeling the way I feel now—defeated and embarrassed. The frustration evidently builds up a migraine because I am slowly becoming more sensitive to the lights. The pain will come soon. I am ready to leave. I ignore them. I ignore their judging eyes, grab the empty bag, and throw my dress into it. I grab Taylor’s hand, eyes downcast, and head toward the car.

The ride home is quiet. Taylor and Ashley are napping from today's retail therapy, and I decide against the radio in order to reflect on today's events. Plus, the headache is still pounding. It is strange. It has been a strange day—unreal almost. I have lived every day since I have been here almost repetitiously. The days that stick out have been highly unusual, though, not the run-of-the-mill happenstance. I am not a conspiracy theorist, but I think there might be something going on. Maybe there is some truth to Elizabeth and James' rants about me not being safe. Maybe my past has caught up to me. Too bad my memory just can't catch up. What happened? I run the only memory I have of my life before over and over in my head. I only see blood and green, smell cigar smoke, and hear sirens. I can’t see any further.

The needle on my speedometer progressively goes higher. I’m speeding, but I don’t care. I’m scared, but I don’t care. My heart is beating so fast that I can almost feel my head spin. This isn’t safe. I feel an anxiety attack coming. I’m going far too fast for that. But, I don’t slow down. Strangely, it makes me see more clearly once the dark speckles disappear. Who was that man? His face runs through my mind again. Does he know me? He has to know me because I know his face. Maybe he can provide me with the information I need. Wait a minute. Is that the same man from this morning? It was far too sunny to be sure, but he could have been wearing a suit. The height and build certainly match. If this is the case I will more than likely see him again. I'll be waiting for that moment. He could help me unless his research is for more sinister means that is.

I weave in between so many cars. I look in the rear-view mirror. I see something different; someone different. She looks almost excited; fearless. I’m smiling now. It doesn’t take as long to get home. I can’t believe I didn’t get pulled over. I walk up the stairs and fall heavy onto my bed.

I don't know what is going on, but I'm sure as hell going to find out. My entire life has thus far been kept secret, and I don't want any more secrets. This time, I am going to get answers. I decide against tonight's run. I have had too much weirdness for one day. Plus, my headache hasn't gone away. It has only gotten progressively worse. I will need my rest anyways. I will begin my research tomorrow.