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  I follow the voice, telling myself that there’s no way it could be Rush, she knows better, she knows not to go out that far, and that the ocean is dangerous and unrelenting.

  I find the woman who is still screaming. She’s holding herself, crying in fear. Fear for the drowning victim. There’s three men trying to reach the victim in time, before the ocean claims another life. All I can see is hands smacking at the water with force, they disappear and then reappear as the waves roll. Until I don’t see the hands any longer.

  And all I can think is it can’t be Rush.

  The hands disappear for minutes, but one of the guys finds them and tows those small hands back to shore.

  Its Rush.

  I jump, awakened by my alarm, thank God. Tears are pooling at my eyes. I swipe them away before tossing my blanket off the bed. Sitting up, I walk over to the bathroom and flick the light on. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the brightness, but when it does, I stare at myself in the mirror.

  I always wonder if others can see the pain hidden in the depths of me, if I’m easily read. This dream, a nightmare in reality, and in truth comes every year, right around this time. In the weeks, the days following the date of the event that really did take place.

  The day Rush drowned, the day I couldn’t help her, the day I let her wander away from me. The day that crushed my parents, stole their dreams never to be found, the day I was in charge of my younger sister and I allowed her to swim in the ocean. All because of a pouty face and a pinky promise, something so juvenile even for me at age twelve.

  Brown eyes scrunched up in sadness, pink lips puckered in a pout. A look she made all the time, holding me under her thumb. A look I’ll never see her express.

  Rush didn’t die that day, no, she was saved, by a stranger that was later to become a hero in my eyes. I threw accountability on myself and him, even my parents for letting us go outside without them that day, I made us responsible for what happened to Rush.

  Do you know what happens to people who lose oxygen for that amount of time? Cerebral Anoxia, that’s what doctors call it, decreased oxygen in the brain. It can be as little as three minutes and brain damage is imminent. Doctor’s predicted that oxygen was nonexistent for seven minutes.

  Rush is alive, no longer the person she was or could have become. Without oxygen, brain cells die, and that’s what happened to Rush. She endured massive brain damage, she was in a coma for six weeks after that. Four of which we stayed in South Carolina, until it was safe enough for her to be flown by medical helicopter back home. When she finally awoke, two weeks after, she woke in a vegetative state. My hope for her survival dwindled, down to nothing. My parent’s eyes were full of regret, and anger toward me.

  Nothing short of a miracle, she came out of the vegetative state a week later, but she wasn’t the same. When she woke, they ran MRI’s and CT scans to monitor her brain and its healing process, she sustained brain damage because of the incident. Rush has long-term memory loss, she had to learn how to speak again and walk, she had to learn how to do everything that an eight year old should know how to do, some things she couldn’t latch on to right away. She speaks slowly, and has trouble walking still. She’ll never be allowed to live on her own, she can’t care for herself, nor does she have the possibility of ever having her own independent life.

  She lost everything, within minutes, she lost her future.

  Today is the day, fourteen years ago, Rush’s future was ripped away, because of a decision I made. The nightmare always comes back, the reality of what happened and what I could’ve done to make the outcome not be what it is. Music is my escape from life. Escape from every situation I’ve had to deal with, escape from Rush herself, from my parents. Escaping the guilt that it wasn’t me who had drowned.

  An Excerpt fromStolen; In My Blood

  By A.L. Wood

  The End.

  June 26th 2014

  Survivor.

  Sur-vive verb sər-ˈvīv

  : To remain alive: to continue to live

  : To continue to exist

  : To remain alive after the death of (someone)

  That's what they all tell me I am. Eight different psychologists, four police officers, two doctors and my mother are all convinced that I now belong in the category of a survivor. Although I strongly believe the definition is sorely lacking, its more of a stereotype for people who were lucky enough to live through unfortunate events or circumstances. The word survivor doesn't seem sufficient. It's too simple, also insipid. Sometimes, there are words that just feel right on your tongue, they describe something monumental without even trying. I roll my eyes at every single person who has sat down with me believing that they would pick my brain and know all the answers. That they could diagnose me with some easily labeled condition, they could fix me with a few pills that I could swallow every day by mouth. There is no fixing me.

  Just because I'm alive should by no means make me the definition of survivor. I'm breathing. My body is pumping blood; all of my limbs can move with functionality and limber. Sure, I'm alive after everything that has happened in the last year. However, it does not in any way mean that I survived. My body may be intact. No appendages are missing not that it wasn't threatened, but my mind is shattered. One year-ago today I was college bound and lost in a bliss of naiveté. I believed myself to be as strong as steel, I could carry the weight of the world on my shoulders without an issue. I lived in a world of make believe, where there were only kindness and caring, where every single dream, I ever had would come true.

  That’s what I remember about the shadow of myself, of who I used to be. The guileless princess who was oblivious to the ways of the world. Now, I’m a shell of my former self. Lost and broken, not only because of the events that occurred, but also because of him. If he hadn't set the plan in motion to steal me from my home, to follow another's orders, I would be alive. My mind is a sea full of turbulent waves. My thoughts are undetermined currents moving nowhere fast, and only memories that I can bring to the forefront of my mind are the ones I would wholeheartedly like to forget first.

  Abducted.

  Ab-duct verb ab-ˈdəkt, əb-; 2 also ˈab-ˌ

  : To seize and take away (as a person) by force

  : To draw or spread away (as a limb or the fingers) from a position near or parallel to the median axis of the body or from the axis of a limb

  That’s what I was one-year abducted, kidnapped, captured, snatched, or stolen, any way you look at it. That’s what I was. Fifteen days, ten hours and thirty seven minutes is how long I have been free. Free from his hold. No longer being threatened or held against my will. Not that I have fully convinced myself yet, that in the end, he was ever holding me without a choice. Had I asked would he have let me go? A question that I’ve asked myself at least once an hour since I made it home.

  At some point along the way during my abduction I stopped fighting. Maybe it was because I lost hope that I would ever escape their clutch. The flame on the torch of hope I carried went out. Eventually, I just gave in; to every single demand. I caved because at some point I became wanted, and I was needed by someone other than my mother. I felt like I finally found a reason for just being. I’m still unsure of how everything ended up happening the way it did.

  Was this what he had planned for? Did he know that this would happen? Did he know that in the end, I would break? That not having him would leave me empty inside, that I wouldn't be able to sleep without his body lying next to mine? Did he know that I would mourn the loss of him?

  All questions that I would never have a chance at getting the answer to. Questions I'm not sure I deserve to be answered.

  My mother has been towing me around to different doctors’ offices. Saying that they can repair me, that I can be healed. What she doesn't know, what I won’t ever tell her is that I can’t be mended. There is no recovery for me. I’m undeserving of a cure. I’m not the same person I was when she last saw me. A lot of shit can happen to a pers
on in a year, horrible shit, things that I will never repeat to another soul.

  I was Aura.

  No longer do I have an identity, I a nameless murder.

  An Excerpt fromBroken; In My Blood

  By A.L. Wood

  Mission: Freedom.

  July 3rd 2013

  Today is the day I set my plan in motion. No one else around here plans on seeing reason, that what is happening is vicious and nauseating. On top of being immoral and just wrong. Everyone is on my father’s payroll and simply goes along with whatever he says. I plan on changing that though.

  My father wants a daughter to take over his empire, all right. I’ll do what he wants, but what he won’t know is that I plan on changing what it is that he’s is doing here. I’m going to free every woman he has locked in that warehouse and any others that come along.

  What I have to do though, is get on his good side. Convince him and Cruz that I am in on this one hundred percent. It’s going to kill me, and I am praying to any and all Gods above that I can make it through this unscathed. I’ve been awake most of the night thinking on how I might be able to do this. All I know is that I will have to do whatever he asks of me to be able to fully convince him of my sincerity. He’ll see through lies, he will see through me if I second guess any of his actions.

  A loud bang goes off outside of my room, causing me to jump up out of bed. What in the fuck was that? My door swings open and I come face to face with my father’s right hand man, Cruz. Normally, under very different circumstances I would be attracted to him. Hell, I was attracted to him when he was just a customer in Irene’s Deli. Now I can’t think of him without thinking about him kidnapping me, about him tying me up or him helping my father sell women.

  Repulsion ripples through me, causing me to gag. I quickly place my hand over my mouth, an attempt to stop what I ate previously that night form coming up. I have to find a way to be stronger. To overcome this. If I were to retch every time my father mentions what he does, or if for some reason I have to reenter that warehouse for anything other than rescuing those women and I end up vomiting then my father will know that I’m only being traitorous and thwarting his end goal.

  “Are you going to be sick?” Cruz asks while placing his hand on my lower back.

  I pull myself out of his grip. “I’m just fine. Do you have a reason to be here?”

  “No need to be so rude. I saw your face pale, you looked like you were going to be sick. Not that it matters now as you seem to be fine. He wants to see you.”

  An Excerpt fromSavior; In My Blood

  By A.L. Wood

  The End.

  June 26th 2014

  Aura cannot find out that I’m alive, if she does it won’t bode well for her. She wouldn’t be safe like she is now, her mother wouldn’t be safe. Many people would be out to get her, not just our government but lots of horrendous people, clients, of her fathers. Previous clients. They would kill her without hesitation and I am the only living link to her, if she’s with me, they get her. It’s better for me to keep them off track, for the previous clients to follow me across the world and back, believing I know where she is in hiding.

  Although she isn’t in hiding but in plain sight, just irrevocably changed. Changed because of my actions, Guillermo’s actions, his selfish wants. She isn’t the Aura that I kidnapped a year ago, the same innocent soul I met then. She’s grown harsh to the world and with good reason. No matter how much I tried to keep her safe, to keep her naïve and protect her, in the end I couldn’t accomplish the impossible. I broke her down, tarnished her heart and ripped her soul apart. I’m undeserving to be forgiven, not by her, her mother of even God. When judgment day comes down upon me, it’s something I would gladly repent for throughout eternity. Ultimately, that’s exactly what I deserve.

  About The Author

  A.L. Wood resides in Glens Falls, NY with her husband and daughter. When she’s not writing she’s reading and spending time with her family and friends.

  A.L. Wood can be found on Facebook and twitter, both links are below if you are interested in keeping up with any new releases.

  https://www.facebook.com/ALWood

  https://twitter.com/ALWoodAuthor

  http://www.amazon.com/A.L.-Wood/e/B00I1LRZ9O/ref=sr_tc_2_0?qid=1409857177&sr=8-2-ent