The Convict

A New Nightmare

I don't know if I was more happy or more pissed. I was certainly a mixture of both. I knew Dakota wasn't a ghost when I saw her. A few things gave it away. Firstly, the way she was dressed. If she were a ghost she would have been dressed in the last thing I saw her in, not cheap gas station sweats.

The second thing that gave her away was her physical appearance. She looked awful. Half of her face was severely swollen. She was limping, she still had ash in her partially singed-off hair. I could only tell it was her by her eyes, once I looked into those blue eyes I knew instantly who I was looking at.

At that moment I knew I had an entirely new problem, if Dakota wasn't a ghost, then she was alive. And if she's alive, then she's actually in my house. And if she was in my house then she was running from prison, and I now had a new problem.

A New Nightmare

I pretended to sleep. Too scared of what was haunting me this time. Who. So I waited, my hunch growing stronger and stronger as I held my breath but still heard two sets of breathing, I know Cali is a fat cat but she doesn't breathe that loudly.

Then the sound, the slow shuffling under the bed.

I quickly close my eyes, pretending to sleep.

I listen as someone gets up and leaves the room, softly shutting the door behind them. I open my eyes then, and quickly get out of bed, following to see who the hell is in my house. But somehow, I just know who. I just feel it. But I need to see it with my own eyes.

I open the door softly and see the stranger in sweats. They limp slowly toward the garage. I shut the door behind me and turned on the lights.

They flinch, caught off guard. Then they quickly turn to face me. Even though I knew, my mind still didn't believe it. They said she was dead, but she's not dead if she's standing right in front of me.

All at once I want to kiss her and slap her.

"D-Dakota?" my voice cracks.

She looks at me sheepishly, bowing her head in shame, before limping over to me like a hurt little puppy.

"Hey Mel," she says softly, taking the beanie off her head, and revealing her burnt and messed up hair.

I reach out my hand to feel her face, my fingers trembling before they make contact with the warm swollen flesh on her cheek. She leans into my touch.

She is real.

I just pull her into my arms and hug her.

"I don't know what the fuck you are doing here, but I am glad you are alive. You stupid idiot, you scared me." I sob, burying my head into her shoulder.

I feel her sag in my arms, probably relieved I'm not screaming and throwing her back in prison. At least not yet.

She wraps her arms around me and I feel her shake, sobbing softly into me.

"You can't be here, Dakota what are you doing?" I pull back and hold her at shoulder length.

"I'm sorry, I panicked. I don't know. I don't know what I'm doing. I was going to leave, I'm sorry." She sobs.

"Jesus Dakota, the world thinks you're dead." I shake her.

"I know." She sniffles.

"You have to go back, you are going to be in so much trouble!" I hiss.

She looks down in disappointment.

My heart hurts for her.

I know I shouldn't, but I have to help her.