Molly waits by the door with the leash in her hand as Charlie talks with Doctor Alan at the reception desk. He looks like he's thinking it over but she's already halfway turned back towards the door because she knows the likely answer will be no. They talk for so long that she begins to feel anxious and she falls down onto a chair. Shiloh places his head on her lap and stares up at her. She pets his fur as Charlie walks back over.

"I think I should get a career in negotiations," he says. "I'm quite good at it."

"What are the terms?" Molly says.

"Keep you away from the exits, anything sharp, and anything that looks or smells like vegetables. I added the last one."

She smiles. "Where's the cafeteria?"

"Next floor up. It's almost closed but he's going to call them and tell them to stay open for us."

Molly looks over at Alan who is looking back at her as he talks on the phone behind the desk. "He's going to a lot of trouble just for me."

"I think he likes it. He's trusting you. That's good."

"Yeah."

"Come on," he says.

"What about the dog?"

"He said they allow therapy dogs so he can come with us."

Molly still sits there. She doesn't know what's wrong. She wants to go, she does, but there's a part of her that's afraid. She doesn't know how to talk to someone one-on-one unless it's a therapist or a child back at the foster home. Charlie makes her nervous, he's confident and fearless, he might not understand her anxiety and she doesn't want to come across as strange or boring. He doesn't pressure her; he waits patiently and she slowly begins to stand up.

Even though he's a fast walker Charlie stays by her side matching her paces. Her hands tremble as they reach the elevator and although Charlie notices, he acts as though he hasn't. They enter the elevator and stand at opposite sides with the dog in between.

"Did I mention I hate hospitals?" Charlie sighs as he presses a button.

"Did I mention I hate doctors?" Molly grins.

"I don't know how you can stand it. I couldn't think of anything worse than someone poking around in my head," Charlie says. The elevator stops and the doors open. "And you've had months of it."

Molly smiles as she walks out first. "Years."

"Years?"

The cafeteria is at the end of the hallway and there's no other people around which makes Molly relax. There's soft music playing inside and the room is empty apart from a boy and girl sitting on a table in the far corner. Charlie wanders over to a shelf filled with sandwiches and snacks while Molly stiffens when she sees the prices.

"I don't have any money," she whispers.

"It's fine, I'll get it," Charlie says. "Get whatever you want."

"You're sure?" He nods. "I'll pay you back. Thank you."

Charlie goes straight for the chicken club but Molly is indecisive. It takes her an extra minute to choose and Charlie looks through his wallet as he waits. She picks out the chicken club too and grabs a banana from the fruit bowl.

"You want a drink? I'm getting a coffee."

"Yeah, coffee would perfect."

Molly feels awkward as Charlie orders their drinks and hands over the cash to the woman behind the counter. No one's ever paid for her food before and she doesn't know how to feel about it. This is all very new to her.

Molly grabs her food and coffee and Charlie follows her over to a table on the other side of the room to the exit. She wouldn't get far anyway; Charlie would be able to stop her in seconds if she decided to run. The strange thing is, she doesn't want to run. She wants to sit. So, she does. She sits and he sits opposite her and her nerves somehow vanish.

"Don't you have better things to be doing on a Saturday night?" Molly asks him.

Charlie looks over and grins. "Are you a mind reader? I was just thinking the same thing."

"Funny."

"There'll be thousands of other Saturday nights," Charlie says. "They're not going anywhere."

"What about your girlfriend? Don't you have plans with her?"

Charlie stares at her in confusion. "How do you know that I have a girlfriend?"

"On the bridge," Molly mumbles. "You said you can relate to having relationship problems."

"I didn't think you were listening," he says.

"I always listen. It's better than talking." Molly takes a sip of her coffee and glances around the room.

"Her name is Aubrey," Charlie says as opens his sandwich packet. "She's uh. . . a handful. Relationships can be more trouble than they're worth. If you want my advice then stay single."

"Why is she a handful?"

"She can get argumentative sometimes. Blows up over nothing. We've been dating for a year and I'm still figuring her out. But it's nice to have someone, you know? Even if they drive you crazy."

Molly drops her eyes and thinks about the first and only relationship she ever had. She was twelve and the boy lived across the street. His name was Peter. They were together for a year. They did everything together. They rode bicycles around the parks, played games in the basement, broke into abandoned houses to ghost hunt. She remembers her first kiss with Peter and how nervous she was, she thought she was going to throw up. She wonders what he's doing now, how much he's changed, if he'd even remember her.

"Do you ever think about it?" Charlie asks her suddenly. "Relationships?"

She shakes her head. "Not in a long time. Even if I did, I moved too much for it to be possible. The FBI were constantly relocating me."

"FBI?" he says.

"Yeah, the uh. . . the man that killed my family, the FBI have known of him for years. He killed two families before mine, left no one alive."

"And they think because you survived that he'd come after you?"

"I didn't survive," she says quietly. "I wasn't there. They think he made a mistake, that he thought I would be. But I was at school, rehearsing for this production. They put me into protective custody after my grandparents died. They said that killers like him. . . they become obsessed with completing their. . ." Molly can't say the words, she gulps it down and shies away.

"Jesus," he mutters. "Does that mean that Molly isn't your name? Did they give you a new identity or...?"

"No," she says. "They wanted to but I refused. He already took my life, I wasn't prepared to give him my name too."

Molly clenches her jaw and reaches for the dog. He senses it and sits up so she can stroke the fur. She takes deep breaths. She's never been able to talk about this so openly, she doesn't understand it yet.

"Are you worried he's coming for you or something?"

Molly wipes underneath her eyes. "The murders in Salt Lake City, you heard about them?" Charlie nods. "It's him, I know it is."

"There are lots of screwed up sickos in the world," Charlie says. "But if this was the same sicko then wouldn't the FBI be relocating you again?"

"I don't want to run or hide anymore," Molly says softly. "I just want to be in control."

"We all do."

He doesn't understand what she means and that's probably for the best. How could she explain it anyway? That being in control of her death is important. That taking her own life is the only choice she has because otherwise he will take it. There's no name for that, no diagnosis, it merely exists in her mind.

"You're lucky you get to miss school," Charlie mumbles as he bites into his sandwich. "I can't stand the place."

"Me neither," Molly says. "I thought seniors were supposed to be more mature but they're as childish as the freshmen at my last school."

"Where was your last school?"

"Georgia," she says.

Charlie's eyes widen in surprise. "That's. . . that's a long way from here."

"Two thousand, four hundred and fifty-three miles," Molly says. "It was a different world to this."

"Where do you want to live?"

Molly looks up and meets his prying, brown eyes. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you've been relocated around the country for years. But if you had the choice then where would you choose to live?"

"No one's ever asked me that before," she whispers. She blinks for a few moments and looks at her coffee cup. "I've never really thought about it."

"Think about it now. We've got time."

She smiles and starts playing with the end of her hair as she daydreams for a moment. "Well, I loved Georgia. But. . . Florida is my home. It will always be my home. I haven't been back there but I'd like to."

"Florida? Really?" Charlie chuckles for a moment and shakes his head. "I should have known."

"Well where would you live?"

"Wyoming."

"Why?"

"Because it has the least amount of people," he says.

Molly laughs. It doesn't just startle her but it startles Charlie too. She hasn't laughed in a while and it feels. . . good. New. She can relate to his desire to be around less people, less noise, less everything.

"Favourite animal?" Charlie says.

"Really?" Molly mutters. Charlie nods. "Elephant. Favourite sport?"

"Boxing. Winter or summer?"

"Fall," Molly says. "Most embarrassing memory?"

Charlie stares at the ceiling as he laughs to himself. "When I was ten I had a crush on this girl in my class. In our school there were no locks on the lockers so every week I'd write her a poem, sign my name and leave it in her locker. About five weeks went by and she still wouldn't even look at me. One day I asked her if she liked my poems and she didn't have a clue what I was talking about. I left the poems in the locker of someone called Jason and on that very day I found a note from him in my locker. It said, 'thanks but I'm into girls.'"

Molly chuckles heavily. "Yeah, you should have made sure you got the right locker first, amateur mistake."

"Lesson learned," Charlie says. "I did eventually ask the girl out though and she dumped me for Jason after three days. It was brutal."

"How traumatizing for you," Molly says while smiling. "I'm pleased there's no lasting damage."

"I haven't thought about that humiliating time of my life in a long time so thanks for that." His phone suddenly begins vibrating in his pocket and he takes it out slowly. He sighs when he looks at it and he swipes the screen. "Ah. Crap."

"You have to go," Molly says.

Charlie looks at her softly. "Yeah. I said I'd go round to Aubrey's tonight and I can't cancel again."

"It's fine," Molly whispers.

"Just give me one minute."

Charlie sips his coffee as he holds the phone in his restrained hand. He's texting her back and even though it seems like a private moment Molly uses the silence to observe him. She's processing him like any scientist would if they found an alien lurking in their back yard.

He's incredibly attractive; with his glossy, light hair and muddy, brown eyes and his thick arms that flex every time he breathes. She isn't surprised that he has a girlfriend but everything else surprises her. She's never met anyone like Charlie before, she can't figure him out. On the bridge he seemed so different, he seemed like the sort of person she'd normally run and hide from. But tonight she has seen another side, a kinder side, a funnier side. He has a certain aura that makes people want to talk to him, to confess their secrets, to show him their darkest parts of themselves. His girlfriend is lucky to have someone like that.

"You ready?" he says as he tucks his phone back into his pocket beneath the table. "You've hardly eaten."

"I'll take it back with me." Molly grabs the sandwich and the banana as she stands up. She holds the leash in the other hand and she walks with the dog across the cafeteria as Charlie stays close behind them.

"To say this is a mental health building it's really quiet," Charlie mutters as they wait for the elevator. "I guess everyone's in bed."

"Not everyone that's suffering from a mental health illness is loud or crazy," Molly says. "Most of them like being in the silence."

"Sure."

They enter the elevator and Molly once again stands as far from him as she can. The enclosed space is doing something strange to her. She stares at his hand that dangles by his leg and she wonders what it would feel like to take it, to hold it. To hold any hand.

"Will I see you again?" Molly asks quietly.

"I don't know," he says. "I've got a busy few days. I won't really have time to come back."

He doesn't want to come back, she can sense it in his words, in his stiff and agile demeanour. He hates hospitals and if he has no real reason for being here then why would he choose to come back? Why would anyone?

"Will I see you again?" Charlie asks her.

Molly grins. "Save me a seat in French."

"Okay," he says. He takes a deep breath and smiles to himself. "Okay."

The doors open and they slowly walk back to the reception area. Doctor Alan is there, waiting for them, and Molly doesn't know how to say goodbye. They face each other for a few seconds and then Charlie reaches into the back pocket of his jeans and he opens his wallet. He passes her a piece of paper with a cell phone number scribbled across it.

"If you need anything then call me," he says.

"Why do you keep a piece of paper with your number on it in your wallet?" Molly chuckles.

"You never know when it might come in handy." Charlie smiles and then reaches down to pet the dog. "Take care of her, okay?" His eyes meet hers one last time and Molly's heart accelerates. "And take care of yourself."

"I will," Molly says. "Thank you, Charlie."

"Bye."

Molly watches him leave and a wave of coldness comes over her. He doesn't look back, it's as though he can't wait to get out of there. She turns and walks back to the unit door; Alan is observing her as she approaches.

"How'd it go?" he asks.

"How was it supposed to go?"

"You got me." He smiles as he enters the code and opens the door. "It went good then."

"I guess. I'm tired, I'm going to go to bed."

"Don't forget to let Shiloh outside for a few minutes."

Molly sighs and turns around, flashing the doctor a fake smile. She carries on walking down the hallway and escapes through a far exit door that leads into an enclosed garden. She lets Shiloh off his leash and waits underneath the spotlight as he circles the small garden. The air is warm and she stares up at the stars.

"So, you're one of the special ones that gets a dog," a voice says suddenly. Molly flinches for a moment, she thought she was alone but a girl sits on the other end of the steps. "They said I was too unstable for that kind of therapy."

Curious, Molly walks towards her. The girl is reading a book and her head is down, her thick, dark hair is pushed over the side of her head so Molly can't see her face.

"How long you in here for?" the girl asks.

"Just a few days," Molly says. "Unless they decide I need to stay longer."

"It's rare," the girl says. "California's mental health system is diabolical. They don't actually care about people like you and me, they just want us to get over it."

"Doctor Ranch seems to care," Molly says.

"Yeah, he's the only good thing about this hospital. He breaks rules, possibly even laws, to get results. But the rest? They'd happily let you go home tomorrow just to get rid of you."

Molly sits down on the step. "What's your name?"

"Lauren. What's yours?"

"Molly."

"You sound young," she says. "If you're about to start therapy then I warn you it isn't a pleasant experience."

"This isn't my first time," Molly says. "I've been in therapy for years."

Lauren finally swings her hair to the back of her head and looks up. Her face is still slightly hidden underneath the thick strands but her eyes are as blue as the daylight sky. She studies Molly closely and then smiles as she looks away.

"The trauma kind or just the messed-up kind?" Lauren says.

"Both."

"Me, too. I have obsessive compulsive disorder and my anxieties make me more susceptible to depression. Well, that's what the doctors tell me."

"And the trauma?" Molly whispers.

"I was raped," she says. "Five years ago by someone I knew. I reported it, gave evidence that almost destroyed me and he still walked free. I guess I've been in and out of hospitals ever since. What about you?"

Molly glances away as she rubs her fingers. "My family were murdered when I was thirteen. I've been jumping around foster homes ever since."

"Oh. Damn. Sorry." Lauren bites on her lip and leans closer. "So you can relate to feeling destroyed."

Molly nods.

"How many doctors have told you it'd get better in time?" Lauren laughs. "And look where we are. Trauma is the worse kind of depression because there is no cure for it, there is no escaping it. It's right at the back of your mind rolling around on a god damn loop, everything else you see or hear is just a distraction."

Finally, Molly has met someone that understands, that gets it. The feelings that are inside of her, that can't be explained, Lauren feels them too. Maybe thousands of people all over the world feel them, maybe millions. Molly suddenly doesn't feel so alone anymore.

"Some distractions are nice," Molly says as Shiloh runs back to her. He lays next to her and she runs her fingers through his fur.

"And some are lies," Lauren says. "The human mind is too complex to be fully understood. But it's not a condition and it's not a diagnosis, the bottom line is; something bad happened to us and we can't catch up with it."

"Do you think we ever will?"

Lauren shrugs and looks up at the sky. She doesn't have an answer to that and neither does Molly. She doesn't believe there is an answer. Trauma is powerful, it leaves you stranded in a room with only one exit and the exit can never be reached until you're ready to open it. Molly always thought the exit was death but when she thinks of Charlie; his smile, his warmth, she wonders if another path could be taken. She wonders if—against all odds—she could look forward to tomorrow.

+ + +

The day has been long and for Molly the scariest part has now arrived; evening. She has been resting most of the day and still she hasn't slept since early this morning. How could she?

She turns her face to glimpse the dark night sky through the hospital window, her fingers grazing along the painful bruises on her wrists. He held on to her so hard that he almost broke them, but she understands that he did it for what he believed was the right reasons. The bruises will heal, her body will do that all on its own which is one of life's greatest jokes.

Molly is tired. She is exhausted. She sees a reflection of her pale and fragile complexion in the glass and it doesn't startle her. That isn't her true face, it is just a temporary manifestation, like a trick. Her skin is dry and musty, her eyes are droopy and almost inactive. Her hair, unwashed and neglected, falls down her cheekbones in strands of grease and knots. She once had radiant honey blonde hair, the same color as her mother, with streaks of gold in the sunlight. Her eyes were a bright brown, wondrous and adventurous. Now her eyes are a deeper shade, sadder, lonelier, tainted with the absolute limit of a human's tears.

She may be open to confessions and truths but her reality is still the same. Everything is always dark. She searches for the light every night, her eyes scanning across the furthest reaches of the universe for it. She may see stars but she never finds that light. She isn't even sure what the light is or what it will mean when it's discovered but every night she looks all the same.

Is it her family's faces? Is it her lost laughter? Is it the sound of a bird tweeting with the dawn of a new day? Is it all of humanity standing together at the edge of nothing with their hands entwined and their eyes closed, waiting for their something new to save them?

Molly imagines finding that light and a shiver courses through her. To be free from ever searching, to be free from ever not knowing, it is the one thing she is certain about. But just like every other night, she fails.

She turns away from the window and she lays on her back, sucking in her last breath. She knows this won't kill her but it is the only thing that can make her sleep. As her lungs sting from lack of oxygen and her eyes roll to the back of her head, Molly enters an unconscious state of dreaming; where her family are always waiting for her.