Donna Owens was having a breakdown. Despite her calm facade, or perhaps because of it, her mental state was in what felt like purgatory. Those who were closest to her noticed a few of the symptoms and had repeatedly asked and begged her to go get some help. They didn't realize that she was already seeing someone for the stress of both her personal and professional life. The bags under her eyes were to the point that she couldn't hide them with makeup anymore.

Her beeper went off and she pulled it off her belt to check the number. Another scene to report, the news crews had already arrived and needed the police spokesperson there for an interview. Damn the media anyway. Why did people have such a morbid fascination with crime and crime scenes? She knew the answer to that from her psychology classes, but she wished that more people would realize that it wasn't entertainment, for Pete's sake.

She pulled a bottle of ibuprofen from her handbag and opened it, popping two of them and washing it down with a cold cup of coffee. She gagged once, and then recovered. Swallowing pills was something she hated and never did unless it was absolutely necessary. As she left her desk and headed down to the parking garage, she called

the dispatcher on the way down to find out who the lead officer was that she needed to speak with. Not only did the dispatcher tell her the cop's name, she also informed her that it was a burned body found in a car out in the northwest industrial section of the city.

Hopefully by the time she got there, the body would have been removed and on it's way to the morgue. She got in the car and drove out to the address that dispatch had given her. The familiar yellow crime scene tape kept everyone back from the car, which was currently being loaded onto a flat bed tow truck to be taken to the evidence garage where it would be processed.

Donna pulled down the sun visor and checked her makeup in the mirror. She pulled a compact out of her bag and dabbed powder on her nose, taking the shine off. Tossing it back in the bag, she climbed out of the car and walked toward the area that the officers had congregated. The lead cop gave her a brief statement and after repeating it back, she walked toward the closest news van. With the bright light from the camera shining in her eyes, she read the statement and answered the few questions as she could. She thanked the reporters and turned to leave. She couldn't take much more of this.

A vacation would be good, Donna thought to herself as she walked back to her car. Maybe Hawaii or Jamaica, someplace with a beach and tropical drinks with little umbrellas in them.

Sitting in the driver's seat, she picked up her planner. She had an appointment with her therapist this evening, and then she was supposed to meet Eric for a late dinner. She hoped that her stomach wouldn't be in knots by the time she left the therapist's office, Eric would give her a hard time if she didn't eat. She started up the car and headed back toward the business district of Twenty-First Avenue.

Her heart was pounding and her stomach was in knots. Another anxiety attack was starting, she could feel it. She stepped on the gas a little more, hoping to get home before it was full blown and she thought she was having a heart attack.

She pulled into her driveway. Distracted, she pushed open the car door and got out, heading up to the front door of her house. As she was fumbling with her keys, she heard another car door slam. If she had been paying attention, she would have realized that it was her own car door, but she was almost to the point of crying from the attack she was having. She dropped the keys and with a sob, bent over to pick them up. That's when she was shoved hard into the front door.

Collapsing to the ground, she curled up into a fetal position. She heard the jingle of her keys being picked up and then the sound of her front door opening. She opened her eyes just a bit and she could see and tall man standing over her, dressed all in black. His face was bare, but there were strange marks on it, black lines like Indian war paint or something. Her eyelids closed tightly, she felt herself being lifted roughly and dragged into the house.

"Oh god, help me!" she cried silently. She was dropped heavily to the floor, knocking the air out of her. Donna coughed and gasped, trying to catch her breath back. A sharp blow to her head stunned her. Vaguely she felt her clothes being removed and something placed over her head. She moaned and tried to move her arms. Another blow to the head knocked her out cold.

The man lifted her up and took her into the bedroom. He did many things to her that she would never remember or even know about. She would never realize how lucky she had been that she was one left alive.