"Harper!"

The sound of my name coming from an unknown source tears me away from my reflection. I feel as though I've been staring at myself for years in the gold bordered mirror that I'm sure once belonged to my grandmother, but as soon as I turn away, I forget what I look like completely.

Adeline sits at our elegant glass dining table that I distinctly remember being told has been passed down through five generations; it certainly looks like something a king would sit at. My sister's slender fingers, nails decorated with pink sparkled acrylic, comb through her yellow locks. From the corner of her eye, she watches me as I sit across from her. "Ready to get that car fixed up for you?" she inquires in a disinterested manner. She seems too busy staring at herself through the plastic hand mirror propped up against a stack of books on the surface of the table.

"I think so," I meekly reply. A gnawing feeling of anxiety swells inside me. I've been feeling this way for hours, but it had just felt nothing more than an annoying stomachache. Now, not even Finnegan's joyous laughter from somewhere down the hallway to my left calms me. "I just don't think I'm ready to drive yet."

"Harper!"

Adeline's glossy lips curl into an intimidating smirk as her eyes lift to meet mine. I suddenly feel so small and unimportant. "Don't worry," she assures me. "After we finish with the oil change, that baby will be more than ready for Hellhound Harper."

Ignoring the sharp pain in my head that hits me quick like a snakebite, I scan the room. I know I've been here so many times, but something seems off and I can't place my finger on it. High above us, a dazzling silver chandelier hangs beautifully. The tiny lights, clustered together by the hundreds, illuminates the array of pictures that Mom arranges differently nearly every week. The grinning faces that belong to Aunt Michelle and Uncle Robert, Finnegan and Audrey, my parents, and Adeline and myself each seem to fix their frozen stares on me. I almost expect them to start speaking until I remind myself that they're just pictures, only pictures. I tear my demanding stare from my family and turn to the monstrous window behind my sister.

The Georgia heat has called out the other children of the neighborhood. I hear the front door slam and suddenly, Finnegan's tiny body, trembling with energy, is running around with the others outside. They kick around a battered and beaten soccer ball and shove each other in fits of laughter. A motorcycle drives past and Finnegan is the first to wave his hand frantically in the air. A helmet covers the driver's head, so I can't see who they are, but everything seems to move in slow motion for a moment. They turn their visor toward the house, through the window, and directly at me. Another pain stings my head.

"Harper!"

"Maybe Daryl will be at the shop this time," Adeline chimes in teasingly as she lifts herself from the chair, though her voice sounds very far away. Somewhere during my silent interaction with the motorcyclist, I'd forgotten that she was even here. "How long has it been since you've talked to him?"

I rack my brain for an answer as I stand to my feet. "You know," I mumble, watching her twirl a set of keys around her pointer finger, "now that you mention it, I can't even remember."

o-o-o

My eyes look tired. Almost like I've never slept a day in my life. From the drivers seat, Adeline scolds me for staring in the mirror for too long, but I can't help it. Something about the way my pupils are constantly dilated intrigues me. Finally, she reaches over and flips the sun visor upward. I don't snap at her like I should. Instead, I sigh in relief. It felt as if I'd been trapped in my own gaze.

There's quite a bit of traffic today and it takes us an extremely long while to get from one stoplight to the next. I'm fine with this because part of me knows that Daryl will be at the car shop and that same part of me is nervous to all hell to see him. I try to picture him in my mind, but all that I can come up with is a set of piercing eyes that remind me of a cloudless sky during the summer. When I ask my sister about him, she ignores me and turns up the radio.

"And I wonder, when I sing along with you, if everything could ever be this real forever. If anything could ever be this good again."

"I know this song," I inform Adeline, pointing to the music panel between us. I wait for the digital screen to display the song name, but it seems to be off, even though the music continues to play all around us.

She rolls her eyes and lets out a sharp scoff. "You don't even like this kind of music," she reminds me, a hint of disgust apparent in her voice. Deep down, I know she's right, but this particular song lights a fire inside me. I resist the urge to turn it up and sing it at the top of my lungs.

I cast my attention back out the window. We're stopped behind another motorcycle. The driver stares forward, waiting for the traffic light to turn green. I lean forward slightly, trying to see their reflection through their tiny side window, but the vest they're wearing catches my attention before I can make out any notable features of their face. Dual angel wings decorate the faded black leather, which is caked with dirt and cracked in random spots. My eyes lock on the driver's head as they turn to look at something to their right. I follow their stare and meet the eyes of an African-American woman, sporting beautiful dreadlocks and a gentle smile, standing on the side of the road. Yet again, a pain flashes inside my skull.

"Harper!"

"What?" I ask Adeline, rubbing the spot where the pain has already disappeared. She seems lost in her own world, as well; her mouth is hanging open slightly and her eyes have a strange sort of glaze lingering over them. The light finally turns green and she presses the gas pedal with her foot, leaving the woman far behind us.

"I didn't say anything," she deadpans. I decide to drop the matter of accusing her that she did say my name. It sounded just like her, but then again, it seemed so far away that it couldn't have come from the car.

"The only thing I'll ever ask of you. You've got to promise not to stop when I say when," the song plays, finally coming to an end. While I'm grateful that its over because apparently I don't like it, the silence leaves an awful feeling of dread and emptiness inside me. I feel as though I'm forgetting to do something important because I can't remember what it is.

After what feels like years, Adeline finally pulls into a car shop. The yard is littered with different sizes of tires, engines, and rusted metal doors. I can immediately smell the grease and gasoline as she comes to a stop and I step outside the car. In front of me is a large, rundown wooden building complete with beer bottles littered inside the cracked windows, a motorcycle parked near the entrance, and an overhead sign that reads "Dixon Autos." I approach the small set of stairs leading to the porch. A circular plastic table stood between two lawn chairs. Near the legs, a tin coffee can has been knocked over, spewing cigarette ashes about.

"Well, if it ain't my two favorite pretty ladies," a gruff voice from behind me says. I turn and watch Merle, whose name pops into my head the second I see his face, approach my sister. She grins widely and wraps her arms around his neck in a tight hug that he returns without hesitation. "What can I do fer ya today?"

"Harper!"

Whoever is calling my name is inside the building, so I take this moment that Merle and Adeline are too busy talking about the oil change to slip into the building, cringing as the door squeaks shut behind me. My eyes immediately water as an intense smell of something rotting fills my nose. I lift the collar of my shirt over my face and press on further into the room. There isn't much light even though windows are scattered about graciously. Cigarette smoke lingers about like a heavy fog. Somewhere near the back, past all the clutter of stacks of papers, beer cans, and broken car parts, a shuffling noise catches my attention.

Stepping over all the trash as carefully as I can, I make my way toward the sound. I only get a few feet further before something stops me. Or rather, someone.

"Harper."

My body whips around, seemingly acting on its own, sending one final surge of pain through my head. The eyes I pictures before are suddenly matched with a face, a body, and a voice. Daryl stands in front of me, the light from the window behind him creating a shadow that swallows me whole. I expect him to look angry for some reason, but he only watches me with a curious glint in his eyes. "Daryl?" I say, but nothing comes from my mouth.

"What are ya doin' here?" he questions me as if he's surprised to see me. Maybe he is, I'm not sure. After all, I can't even remember the last time I spoke to the guy.

I lift my shoulders in a small shrug. "Oil change, I guess," I reply. My mouth is only forming the words, not releasing them, but he understands me perfectly.

His eyes lift from my face and lock onto the shuffling noise that happens again. It sounds as if a box has been knocked over. I start to turn away from Daryl to inspect whatever is going on back there, but once again, the sound of his voice stops me short. "Don't go," he whispers.

"What?" I mouth because I'm not sure if I even heard him right.

He juts his chin toward the direction of the noise and shakes his head so slightly that I'm wondering if he's even doing it at all. "Don't leave again," he pleads.

Something inside me begins to tear. I know I have to, absolutely have to see what is going on in the back of the room, but I can't find it in me to leave Daryl's side. Its as if his shadow that I'm standing in is gluing my feet to the floor. "What's back there?" I demand to know, lifting a trembling finger behind me.

Daryl doesn't answer my question. Instead, he turns his back to me and my eyes settle on the winged vest. I can't remember where I saw it last. "C'mon," I hear him say. "We'll start over." My foot lifts to run after him.

"Harper!"

I'm frozen again. The voice, calling my name desperately, is right behind me, breathing in my ear. Daryl watches, his hand extended toward me, waiting for me to decide if I'll turn around or if I'll join him. The heavy breathing at my back turns into a low, guttural groan that strikes an odd sort of painful fear into my heart. I can't put my finger on the last time I've been this terrified.

"Harper, please," Daryl mumbles, "don't leave me again."

The invisible chains that have been binding my body suddenly disappear. I turn my head and lock eyes with this creature behind me. Letting out a horrified yelp, I stumble back and trip onto my butt. My body lands hard against the concrete floor, but I'm too focused on this...thing twitching in front of me to realize that I could've very well shattered my shoulder.

Whatever this is was once a young woman. Something about her is so familiar that I feel like I could tell her life story if I had to. By her height, she must've been in her mid-twenties. Frayed wavy blonde hair falls down her back like a golden waterfall ravaged by radioactive water. Her clothes, ripped and worn, are nothing but a simple jacket and yoga pants. The skin on her face has decayed to the point of showing the yellow and brown bones that lie underneath. Most of her teeth are missing and her right eye has a glossed over white color. The left is a soft cerulean. She growls viciously and leans over, her bloodied and blackened nails ripping for me. I let out an ear-piercing scream, but just before she touches me, an arrow slides through her skull. She falls limp beside me.

Trying to ignore the growing pain in my arm, I shuffle over to look back at Daryl. His back is facing me and he's heading for the door to join Merle and Adeline.

"Daryl, where are you going?" I ask, my voice coming out as a panicked screech. "Daryl?!"

He doesn't acknowledge me at all. His hand grips for the rusted doorknob.

"Daryl, please don't go!"

No response.

"DARYL! DON'T LEAVE ME! PLEASE!"

And he's gone.

o-o-o

"She's awake..."

"Beth, go get Dawn!"

"No! We can't tell her yet!"

My eyes crack open slowly. Everything about me is a blurred picture of differently colors and shapes. In a second, my hand is grabbing for my arm. A searing ache is spreading throughout my body and I pathetically try to hit away whatever is causing it. A set of hands hold down my wrists to the bed I'm lying on.

"Harper, stop! We're giving you something for the pain!"

I know the voice all too well. Beth, standing at my side with a syringe full of clear liquid in her hand, watches me in waiting, her own breathing escaping her nose in short bursts. She looks as scared as I feel. I turn my head toward the young African-American boy holding me in place. His dark eyes are locked on Beth as if questioning her motives. "Okay, okay," I breathe, allowing my body to relax as best I can.

Beth presses the needle to my arm and pushes the liquid into my bloodstream. In only a few seconds, the pain has disappeared. I let out a long sigh of relief and glance around the room. Different machines are placed around haphazardly, each of them hooked to my body with cords. The boy reaches over and locks the door just behind him while Beth takes a seat on one of the ripped stools. Gently, she wraps both her hands around my left one and forces an apologetic smile.

"I'm sure you have a few questions," she offers.

"A couple, I think," I answer.

Nodding her head slowly, she tells me, "I guess I'll start with the obvious. Harper, you've been in a coma for three months, we're at the Grady Memorial Hospital in Atlanta, and yes, Daryl is still alive."