Waiting was boring so it was a relief when the day came. I hadn’t had any contact with the director yet, it had been a few weeks now, and I didn’t know if he would accept any excuse at this point, short of me being dead.

Trisha drove me to the new house. I stared at the minimal security: locks on the doors and windows, and a doorbell camera. This would be so easy. As soon as these people took their eyes off of me, I could get back to the camp, and hopefully the director would be understanding.

I was so close, now, just another day at most.

With this in mind, I followed Trisha to the front door and waited patiently, observing their windows for the few seconds I had. They were very standard glass panes with screens on the outside, easy to jimmy open with any flat object, and the screens could be sliced open or popped out easily.

My body felt so heavy at the thought. This wasn't a secure location to sleep in and I desperately needed more than a few minutes grabbed here and there.

The door opened, sending a cool rush of air across me as I stepped back.

Trisha reached over and gave me a reassuring pat as two adults, one male and one female stood there, staring at me with wonder in their eyes.

And then the crying started. The man rubbed at his face to hide but the woman openly threw her arms around me and sobbed uncontrollably.

Trisha waited for her to calm down before letting us in and sitting me down in their living room. The woman wouldn’t stop staring at me, and whispered to the man, “I can’t believe it.”

After Trisha had given her quite a few extensive papers and records; and explained I had something called PTSD and ‘extensive trauma’ so I likely wouldn’t act like myself for quite some time.

“It’s been eleven years,” the woman said. “I didn’t think I’d ever see her again.” Then there was more crying.

I waited. Her emotion needed to run its course.

A younger boy also came out from the hall at some point to peak at me. His expression was more confused than anything, and he didn’t say anything.

Trisha waited for a long time, and even tried to get me to talk a couple times but I felt no need to. I’d be leaving this place soon.

Once Trisha had left, the woman patted my shoulder and said, “follow me,” so I did.

She was still sniffling as we passed by the other boy, and went up some stairs. There were four doors off the hall here, and she brought me to the furthest one, opening it to reveal a sleeping room. It was decorated pink and purple with a white dresser and desk. Some shelves were mounted to a wall, children’s toys neatly lined them.

“We didn’t remove anything,” the woman explained, “only cleaned it up for when you came home.”

I nodded. There was something uncomfortable about the space. A feeling beneath rational thought that said this was a safe place. I knew better. Sure it was pink and had a soft bed and everything, but safety was only an illusion, and this place was built to fool me into relaxing. I couldn’t let my guard down.

“I’ll let you get settled,” the woman said and gently pulled the door shut behind her.

I waited until her steps went away from the door and then grabbed the dresser and lifted it, and set it down almost silent directly in front of the door so it wouldn’t be opened easily. Then I went to the window and felt along the frame, determined I needed to brace it and cleared one of the shorter shelf pieces and lifted it off the wall. I wedged it into the space between the glass pane and the frame, hearing both creak from the strain. With an experimental tug, the window didn’t budge, even when unlocked, so I relaxed, satisfied the entry points were secure.

Good enough. I dropped my bag on the bed.

If I could just sleep for a few hours… any sleep would be good. Even if there were strangers in the building, or possibly the director sending someone after me to exterminate. I just needed a few hours of proper rest and then I could find a phone, or even head back on foot.

Everything was going to be okay.