Molly woke up slowly and painfully, her mind dragged upward through muddy water to the surface of consciousness. She felt so tired, unbelievably tired. It was the pain that woke her up. Every piece of her hurt. She was afraid to open her eyes, remembering flashes of a foreign fear, afraid to face what she would see. She was covered in a thin sheen of sweat, nestled between a thick blanket, a thick soft pad underneath her, and a very warm room. She pulled the blanket up over her head and stayed there until the air was stuffy and hot. Sweat stung cuts she could feel all over her body, particularly her hands and feet. She stayed there as long as she could, until the suffocation finally forced her to peek at her surroundings.

Midday sunlight poured in through windows onto bare hardwood floors. A few of them were missing glass panes, and a pleasant cool breeze blew through them, cooling Molly's damp body--and bringing her attention to it. To her great alarm, she saw that she had been completely naked under that blanket! Naked how?! She definitely didn't remember undressing here. Come to think of it, she didn't remember laying down on a cushion or putting on a blanket either. She attempted to shake the cobwebs from her mind and make sense of things, but her consciousness felt weak and fumbling. A few memories came in inconsistent waves. Running. An endless nightmare of running. Wind, rain, lightning. It felt more like a bad dream than real, and left her feeling confused. She rubbed her temples and wiped a hand down her face. A memory flash of vomit mixing oddly with fine ash in a tin bucket. She glanced around behind her and found the bucket, sitting next to a large fireplace. She remembered the wave of relief that had overcome her when she saw and felt the warmth of that fireplace. The roaring fire that had been there was down to dormant embers now.

The fire... that had had someone sitting next to it when she came in. There had been someone here when she came in. She was only remembering flashes. A man's voice, saying something that her brain didn't register. Motion in the room. Hands on her. Not... hurting her. Handling her though? She suddenly felt very exposed. She pulled the blanket up to her neck, and found a hood in her hands. It wasn't a blanket, but a large, thick cloak. "Hello?" She called. She heard nothing in response but the light call of songbirds outside. "Is anyone there?" She sat very still and listened. Not a single stir. She waited a few minutes, still listening, just in case. The silence was broken by her stomach growling loudly. She was absolutely starving. And her mouth was so uncomfortably dry. She hesitantly looked around the room, hoping for literally any creature comforts at this point. It made her uncomfortable how very, very small she felt.

With a mix of eagerness, curiosity, and anxiety, she noticed a stack of folded fabric over by the door, with a small bundle perched on top. She tried to stand and her ankle buckled with a flash of pain. She fell to her knees, hard. A couple of hot tears welled and dropped as she now crawled instead, naked, breath shaky, over to the bundle and sat next to it. The tears came from some combination of pain, shame, and fear. She wiped them hastily away, salt stinging hand scrapes, and reached for the bundle.

Fresh tears of relief fell as she unwrapped what she saw was a tea towel, and saw the fresh-looking bread and cheese inside. There was also a small metal tin that she set aside. She didn't stop to think about the origins or the safety of partaking, she immediately devoured the food. She felt like an animal: naked, hunched, eating large bites straight off the loaf. She didn't care. Tears were still leaking out of her eyes as she ate, her mind swimming in a heady cocktail of relief, pain, and stress. She stopped halfway through the hunk of bread as her blood sugar stabilized and her brain started to come back online a little. She should save a little of the bread for later... She really had no idea what type of situation she was in. The dryness in her mouth also slowed her down. It felt like she had been sucking cotton balls. She looked around again, hoping against hope she could find a water source within reach. Halfway across the room on a chair was a small sack, and next to it, a canteen. Please have water, please have water.

Again crawling across the floor, the sun-soaked wood warm under her hands and knees, she moved over to the large canteen and picked it up. Sheer joy flooded her as she felt its heavy weight! She unscrewed the lid and drank and drank, revelling in the feeling of the water moving through her and settling in her stomach. She drank with abandon, not able to stop herself. She drank until her stomach hurt, only then did she lower the canteen. She felt a little nauseous, but also better.

As one bodily need was met, another rose to her attention and took it's place. Her head was pounding as if hit with a hammer. Stings and aches were also manifesting themselves all over her body. She crawled back to her precious food to wrap it back in the tea towel for later. As she did, she noticed the metal tin she had set aside. Maybe it held a clue to... anything? She opened it, and a strong herbal smell hit her. The tin box was filled with a thick, semi-translucent shiny paste. Maybe a spread that had been meant to go on the bread? She tapped her pinky into it and hesitantly touched it to her tongue. Nope, no, there was no way that was for eating. It tasted disgusting.

What was it then? She couldn't help but feel like these supplies were left here for her. Someone knew she was here. Had she been taken? Was that the reason for the gaps in her memory of how she got here? A stack of supplies by the door that just so happened to be what she needed? She was already pretty much positive that the stack of fabric that had been under her food was clothing, thank God. But with no one else around, it wasn't making sense. If she was kidnapped, her kidnapper wasn't doing a very good job. She wasn't restrained, there was no lock on the door, and even the windows weren't secure with their missing panes. But how was she here? She looked out the windows at the dense greenery outside. Had she gotten on a plane?! There certainly weren't forests like this anywhere near Phoenix that she knew of. An airport wouldn't let a drugged kidnapped girl through security. Her mind was swimming. She was starting to seriously consider the possibility that she was having a mental breakdown. She remembered getting home from work, taking a shower... and then there was a disjointed gap in her memory directly into running through a storm. Maybe this wasn't really happening and it was a really, really powerful hallucination?

Molly could have spiraled about her predicament endlessly, but her body was buffetted with a wave of exhaustion. The fatigue was just too loud and she was just too tired. Her hands and feet were throbbing now, stinging and itching. She wished she had her cute first aid kit with the rose-print band aids... Her eyes snapped to the tin. Was it some kind of ointment? It had to be! Right? She couldn't think of any other possibility. She knew her mind was compromised right now, but it made sense to her. She dipped her index finger in it lightly and spread the paste onto a smarting cut on her palm, gently. It had an oily texture, and to her surprise, within seconds her pain significantly reduced! She prayed this had antibacterial properties as well as pain-relieving ones as she hurriedly spread it all over her with abandon. The worst of her injuries were on her hands and feet, but there were plenty of scrapes, scratches, and cuts climbing her arms and legs as well. She fingered her forehead until she found the length of the cut that had split the skin there and carefully spread ointment over it.

Her body's needs finally felt quieter now, relieved and greasy. Now she only felt tired and achy. Her headache still felt relentless, and she was overcome by a desperate need to lay down. Her knees and hands left oily prints in the dry wood floors as she crawled back to her pallet on the floor and pulled a stranger's cloak back over again her as a blanket. A faraway voice in her mind shouted, as if from a great distance, that she shouldn't sleep here, that there were still too many unanswered questions. Too many mysteries to feel safe enough to let go of consciousness in this strange place. But that voice was too far away, and she had nothing left in her to drudge up the will to listen. A full belly and sun-warmed skin dragged her inescapably back under the water of her consciousness, now crisp and clean, into a sleep that felt so, so comforting and right.

When Molly awoke again, it was dark. The light of a full moon through the windowpanes was the only illumination, but it was plenty. As Molly's senses slowly came back online, she could hear frogs, crickets, and the hoot of owls outside. With a groan, she raised herself up onto her elbows, wincing. Her head still pounded and felt very tender, as if a migraine threatened. She was somewhat glad for the low light in that regard. Part of her wanted to keep sleeping, to continue her escape. Unfortunately, her mind was coming back online now that she had had rest, food, water and first aid, and she could no longer pretend that something wasn't massively amiss.

But first, she needed clothes.

She foolishly, instinctively tried to stand up, and cursed when her ankle flared again and buckled her back to the ground. "Dammit stupid piece of..." she mumbled unintelligibly to no one but herself. On the ground, she looked for a solution. We aren't going to keep doing this, and we aren't going to keep crawling on the damn floor. She inspected the bed roll and the cloak, looking for something to use to wrap the ankle. She guessed it was likely sprained and needed support. She would feel guilty ripping up the cloak. She tore a long strip of fabric off the end of the end of the layered bed roll. It had more elasticity anyway. She wrapped her ankle tightly, the way she had learned long, long ago in her early days of pre-med school. That felt very, very far away now.

She tested it by gingerly standing and limping over to the bundle still by the door. It didn't feel great but it held. She knelt and separated the fabrics. Let's see what we're working with. She shook out two dresses, a rust-colored cloak, and some simple leather booties. She rechecked everything and bemoaned the lack of underwear. Beggars can't be choosers, I guess. The night was getting cold. She looked at her dress options: A simple cream colored one with elbow length blousy sleeves and some stitching detail, and an olive green one with short sleeves and a waist tie. She slipped the cream one over her head. It felt a little bit tight, but it felt great to finally be covered. 

The night was getting colder. The cottage wasn't exactly insulated, bare stone walls and missing glass pains and all. Feeling more competent now with clothes on, Molly decided to take stock. She gathered what supplies she knew she had: What had been in the bundle by the door, and the sack from the chair. Taking a bite of the bread as she did so, she laid out what she had on the round wooden table next to the chair. Half her bread and cheese in the tea towel. A tin of healing ointment; which reminded her--she checked over her body. Her cuts and scratches were not nearly as bad as they should have been at this stage. She opened and sniffed the ointment. Whatever it was made of, it was very potent stuff. Putting it back, she continued. Next she laid out the shoes, and the folded cloak and extra dress. Then the large metal canteen, which she took a swig of. It still had some water left in it. Next it was time to open the sack. 

Molly felt keenly aware that she was rifling through someone else's possessions. The feeling that they may have been intentionally left for her did little to assuage her nerves. She pushed her anxiety to the side. I'm doing what I have to do. She took a steeling breath and pulled open the leather drawstring. The first thing she pulled out was a knife. The handle was buttery smooth from what must have been years of use. The blade was scratched thin with repeated sharpening. Whatever came next, the knife would be a comfort to have. She set it next to the canteen. Next out of the sack was a curious tin box, dented and nondescript. Opening it, she found a rough stone, a curved piece of a heavier metal than the box, and a handful of strips of some kind of papery cloth. She touched each item, took them out, examined them. Unsure, she replaced the lid and placed the box next to the knife.

Next, a relievingly straightforward coil of rope. It went on the table too. Crinkling as she pulled it out, next from the bag came a paper packet wrapped in twine. Untying and unrolling just enough to peek at the contents, Molly couldn't help a smile of relief at the sight of multiple layers of what looked like meat jerky, some sort of dried vegetable... maybe okra? And something akin to fruit leather. None of it looked appetizing, but really it was time that was wrapped up in this paper. Time to survive, time to figure out what was really going on. The bag felt very light now, and she checked it one more time to make sure it was empty. It wasn't. She pulled out a small stone rectangle that fit in her palm. It, like the knife, felt worn smooth with handling. It was clearly stone, but felt lighter than it should have been for it's size. A leather cord was looped through a hole drilled on one side. Molly turned it over in her hand. The light colored semi-transparent stone had an unfamiliar symbol carved into it. She stared at it for a long moment before setting it next to the other items. 

Taking in her stockpile of supplies, she felt like she had gained more questions than answers. But at least there were some answers, some hope. She chose to keep her spirits up by keeping her focus on what she did know for now. She had done all this by the light of the full moon coming in the windowpanes, which was quite bright tonight. But the temperature was continuing to drop, and she was really starting to need a fire. There were a few logs next to the fireplace, and she put two in, looking around the hearth for any matches, a lighter, something to light with. She did take a moment to look longingly at her mud-stiffened pajamas--her pajamas she has put on right before she had lit candles and repeated a tiktok... Molly forcefully put a wall there in her mind for now. She would definitely figure all that out--and why her pajamas were hanging over the fireplace--later, but in a survival situation, only the disciplined survived. And right now, the disciplined needed fire.

After thinking for a moment, and finding no fire-lighting tools near the hearth, she limped back over to the table. Looking over her hoard, she got an idea of what the tin box might be for. She carried it back over to the fireplace and knelt down gingerly. She placed one of the cloth paper strips on her fire log and took out the metal and stone. She didn't feel confident in what she was doing at all, but she swiped them together like matches. A spark shot out and landed directly on the cloth paper, which took fire immediately and began consuming the bark of the log where they touched. She froze for a second, blinking in surprise. She felt very skeptical over how easy it had been, but the fire remained steady. She sat back happily as the fire spread over the logs, momentarily closing her eyes and enjoying the feeling of the fire's warmth on her skin. Gaining confidence, Molly readied herself to solve the next problem.

Molly needed to pee. 

When Molly had relieved herself in the grass outside the cottage--afraid to wander too far--her lack of undergarments under the dress had been a convenience. Outside, the cool air had caressed her, the frogs and crickets had sounded like a most beautiful orchestra, while the moon painted everything silver. It looked and sounded like a fairytale. A fairytale where she was completely alone, afraid, and injured. A pretty pathetic fairytale, she thought. Back inside, Molly huddled near the fireplace, wrapped herself in a stranger's cloak, ate a stranger's food and drank a stranger's water, and wondered, not for the first time, how far back in time she would have to go in order to stop this all from happening.