Thanks to everyone who has taken the time to review, follow, or favorite my other stories. This one will be somewhat shorter. I'm anticipating fewer than thirty chapters, but I hope you still enjoy it all the same. The problem with fanfic is that the chapters are obviously not posted all together, which can lead to confusion while readers wait for the next chapter. So if you're confused by anything in the story, you're welcome to ask questions, but know that they will probably be answered in future chapters. In no way is this a mystery, but different timelines are scattered throughout the story, and that might be initially confusing.

This first chapter is a bit short, but the rest will be longer. Obviously, I'd really love to know what you think. Thank you, and enjoy!

"Can't sleep, either?"

The sudden noise startled her, and she jumped, swiveling around on the bench, pressing a hand over her now rapidly-pounding heart. Then she saw who it was and managed to shrug a little, turning back to look at the green lawn and trees and flower bushes, trying to get her heart to stop racing. The night was clear with an occasional breeze. It was dark, though; she couldn't see the moon anywhere.

He sat down next to her, and she glanced over again. He had some stubble, and his hair stuck out oddly on one side. It made her smile a little.

"I saw you from my window," he said, pointing back to the house. "I thought you were a ghost for a second!" He laughed softly, his voice still just barely losing the hoarseness and scratchiness, and she smiled again.

They sat in silence for a long while. Another breeze swept through, causing her to shiver and draw the small blanket closer around her shoulders. She felt self-conscious in her faded pajamas; she wasn't wearing a bra, and she kept the blanket securely over herself to cover the fact.

"Are you okay? It's kind of cold. Do you want to go inside?"

She shook her head. "Fine."

Another few minutes of silence followed. She wondered if he was unsure of what to say. They hadn't spent a lot of time alone together since it had happened. She didn't know what to say, either. Now it felt as if every conversation she knew she was going to have needed some sort of mental preparation, and she had come out here to be alone and to think. She hadn't anticipated his coming, so she wasn't ready and couldn't think of anything to say.

"Did you like dinner?" he then asked. "It's my aunt's specialty."

She nodded. "Fine."

A pause. "Good. I'll tell her." He cleared his throat, something he had been doing often for the past while.

They sat there for another minute, and then the sprinkling system came on. It didn't reach them, luckily. She didn't feel ready to go back inside. The sound of the rhythmic sprinklers was slightly soothing. It reminded her of summers as a little girl, happier times in sunshine and warmth. She watched the rotation of the sprinkler. It covered a large area of the lawn. Tomorrow the gardener would come and mow the lawn again, and then he would clean up the flowerbeds and the little garden and tend to all the other things that needed to be done. The gardener's name was Mark. She had helped him a couple times with different things. He was nice.

"I keep having these nightmares," Raoul said, his voice low and gravelly. She looked up at him quickly, staring. He didn't look at her, but his brow was furrowed and his mouth turned downward. He continued: "They're horrible. It's like...I'm thinking about it when I'm awake, and even when I'm asleep I'm thinking about it. Will we ever be able to forget?"

A breeze blew some hair into her face, and she pushed it back. "It hasn't even been two weeks," she said quietly. "It's...it'll take some time, probably."

"Yeah. That's what Dr. Vasudev keeps saying. I guess I need to keep remembering that." He looked down at her, then. "But I mean...I can't even imagine what you're going through."

She looked away just as quickly. "I'm fine."

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see his hand raise ever-so-slightly. It hovered over her leg, an obvious sign of hesitation. Then he took it back, not once touching her.

"You keep saying that," he said. "Are you sure you mean it?"

"I'm sure. I'm fine. I wasn't the one who almost died, anyway…"

Raoul shrugged after another moment, as if he was brushing it all off. "You went through a lot worse than me." He cleared his throat again.

She wasn't going to argue about who had had the more traumatic experience. Instead she stood, keeping the blanket around her. The grass was warm against her bare feet.

"I'm tired now. I'm going to sleep."

He stood as well, running a hand through his hair. That made it stick out even more, and he looked around them a few times before nodding and following her back to the house.

The house was breathless and silent, all occupants safely and soundly asleep. Raoul followed her to her room. It annoyed her a little, but she was silent about it.

"Well...hope you can sleep now," he said, giving her a weak smile. "Are you coming to breakfast tomorrow? I can keep something warm until you wake up if you want to sleep in."

"I'll get up." She didn't want to be any extra trouble. "See you then."

"Yeah. See you in a couple hours." He gave an awkward step forward as if he was going to hug her, and then he paused and stepped backward again and cleared his throat one more time. "Yep. Goodnight." Then he left.

The room was dark, the only noise coming from the ceiling fan as it whirred on quietly. The summer evening seemed to have settled in the house. It was hotter inside than it had been outside, and she draped the blanket over a chair before climbing back into the large, soft bed. It was too hot for the thick comforter, so she lay atop of it, staring at the wall. Tomorrow she had to go to breakfast, because she had promised. And she knew if she didn't go, Raoul would worry over her and say that she had skipped too many breakfasts, and that she needed to eat. She rolled her eyes, huffing a little. She did eat. She had always had a good appetite. She didn't like skipping meals...She just didn't like eating with his family.

Shutting her eyes, she tried to sleep. It was the quietest part of the night—just after late-night party-goers had gone home and right before early risers got up to exercise or go to work. It felt as if the whole world was still, yet she was lying there awake, her mind buzzing, her body exhausted. And against her will, without wanting to do so, she wondered for the thousandth time, What was he doing now?

An old beer bottle was smashed against the back of his head.

His vision swam, and he fell to his hands and knees, the rough, dirty pavement digging into the points of contact. If the idiots wanted to kill him, he would not stop them. Not now. However, to his annoyance, it seemed they mostly wished to vent their suppressed frustrations in a most violent way. He could feel blood oozing down his skull and onto his neck. A heavy boot kicked his rib cage, sending him toppling to the ground. He had already given them money. They had cornered him and had demanded his wallet. Laughing, he had pulled it out and had willingly handed over all the cash he had on him: four hundred dollars. The amount should have more than satisfied any common petty gang of mindless thieves. However, they appeared to be in a rather foul mood that evening and were more interested in the physical aspect of mugging a freak in a mask.

Ah, well. What was that old saying? Misery loves company.

Yet he was already unbelievably miserable. Nothing they could do to him could worsen his mood. Not even a knife to the back or a bullet in the gut. No pain could compare to…

There were three of them, and each took a turn. One favored his steel-toed boots. Another had a set of brass knuckles. And the third didn't seem to know what he liked best; he simply did as much damage as he could in any way possible. By the time they were finished, he was fairly certain that he had severely-bruised ribs, lips split in several places, two broken fingers, a twisted ankle, and a laceration on his side. Had he had a nose, it would have been broken as well.

Small mercies, then.

He lay there for a while, simply breathing. Blood was dripping out of his mouth, and he realized that in addition to getting his lip split, he had accidentally bitten his tongue. It was throbbing, blood dribbling down his chin as he drooled like an infant. His handgun was pressing painfully against his hip, and he could feel the weight of his lasso in his pocket. The idiots hadn't thought to search him before leaving. They hadn't even bothered to take his two-thousand dollar leather wallet. It was lying in front of him. He gave a small sigh. If only they had asked—he would have given them more. That was the sort of...thing he was now, apparently. A thing that gave instead of took.

In the distance, a police siren was wailing. Perhaps coming for him...He didn't move. The siren faded. The night was muggy, full of pollution and stifled summer warmth. It clung to the streets and alleyways, smothering him. He was having trouble breathing. The mask was choking him, resting at an odd angle against his mouth.

He swallowed a mouthful of blood and saliva and then coughed on it, which caused his ribs to remind him that they were damaged. Against his will, he gave a small, pathetic groan. Pathetic. That's what he was now. There was no denial in him about it. Everything about him was pathetic: what he had done, what he was doing, undoubtedly what he was going to do next...and who he was was pathetic. They were right all along. Disgusting. Pathetic.

A car drove past on the connecting street, swiftly and loudly, its speakers blaring. In the far distance, something screamed. A dog was barking repeatedly. It all intermingled, pressing in on him, causing his head to ache ferociously. Silence. That's what he wanted. Eternal silence. No more...no more music. No more screams. No more tears. No more begging and pleading. No more pathetic words, promises...

A while later, he heard footsteps and the soft conversation of a man and a woman.

"...and that was just so rude, what he did."

"I know, babe, but he's my best friend." The man's voice was trying to be soothing.

"I know that, but that doesn't make it okay." A pause. "Ugh. They really need to do something about the homeless people here. Look at that guy sleeping in the gutter. Gross."

"Do you think he's okay?" The voices drew a bit closer. He felt too indifferent to move or try to hide. If they came up and poked him with long sticks, he would not bat an eye. If they threw garbage or even rotten fruit, he would not have moved. Even if they took away his mask, he felt no desire to shift any part of himself.

"Is he dead?" the woman asked. A pause, and then: "No—I think he's breathing. Let's...let's go. The police will find him in the morning. It's creepy here."

"Should we call an ambulance or something?" the man said. "What if he's sick?"

"I think he's just sleeping. C'mon, let's go. This is creepy. I don't like it. I want to go home."

A few seconds of silence, and then the footsteps drew farther away and faded into nothing.

He vaguely wondered if he would care enough to get up by sunrise. It was still another hour or two away. What would happen? People would likely ignore him for the first few hours. The police would probably be called after a while. They would then find a hideous monster lying on the street, and he would be exposed, locked up, taken to some facility for the freaks of the world, locked in a cage forever to have his mind rot.

And she would see it all.

She would watch from the safety of some quaint apartment, her eyes glued to her quaint television set. It would be mentioned on the news and then reported that he had been transferred to some clinic, unable to escape and let his horridness spread over the world again. And she would breathe a sigh of relief and turn to him for reassurance.

Maybe he should simply lie there, then, and let it all come to pass. It would help her sleep easier, be more comfortable, after all.

But he was a coward. Pathetic. When the faint wisps of a pink summer sunrise crept over the tall buildings, he dragged himself up, grabbed his wallet, and slunk away, limping ridiculously, dried blood down his front and on his chin. His ribs were merciless, and he sucked in a deep breath as he followed the shadows. The cut on his side, which had clotted somewhat as he had remained motionless, reopened and began to drench his shirt again. It had been years since he had been injured like this. It had been years since he had allowed himself to be injured like this. Perhaps it was a good reminder, and it was certainly a good distraction. He needed to nurse his physical injuries now. Everything else could be ignored for the time being. The words in his head, that ache in his worthless, rotten heart...

His latest hovel was some run-down, disgusting old motel. It stank of urine, tobacco, and alcohol, and he locked the door securely behind him, ensuring the curtains were drawn and the window latched. He had been here two days. Tomorrow he would have to find another place. It was not wise to settle or remain anywhere long.

He put his gun and lasso down on the lumpy, unused bed and went to the sink, removing the mask and spitting out the extra blood and saliva that had gathered during his short walk. The action hurt his tongue, and he winced. More blood gathered and dripped out of the corner of his mouth. Was he to sit there, then, and let the blood drip out into the drain? Or should he simply lie down and swallow it all?

Life was offering him many pretty options.

Using his good hand, he rummaged around his small bag and pulled out the few meager medical supplies he had brought. Then he wrapped his broken fingers and tended to the cut on his side. His ankle and ribs would have to heal on their own.

The room was warm, the sun slipping in through the thin curtains and making the small room stifling. He lay down on the disgusting bed, absentmindedly pressing the collar of his shirt to his mouth to stem the bleeding from his lip and tongue.

Two more days. It was an unconscious, unformed yet decided plan in his mind. Two more days.

Still time. To see her. Once more.

He laughed suddenly. And then he cried.