Escape from St. David’s: Prolog

Breathe.

Where am I? I can’t catch my breath.

I’m OK. I’m not hurt; I don’t think.

It’s pitch dark. I can’t see a thing.

Take stock: my shoulder hurts, my hand is numb. My head, pounding.

OK, breathe.

I can’t see you guys. Chase, Dean, you guys OK?

She tried to yell to her friends, but she could not speak.

Really, I know better than to take that corner so fast. I’m sure I jacked up the car. What is that sound? Who is talking? She tried to speak again. Dean?

Nothing.

“Is she OK? Let me through. You’re going to scare her. Let’s back up a bit and let her have some space.”

“Why are you hovering over her? She’s fine. They are always fine, damn kids.”

Finally, Wylder could speak.

“Would you all please talk quieter? I am fine. Where am I? Who are you?”

“You are at St. David’s. Do you remember anything?”

“I can’t see you.” “Sweetheart, what is your name?”

“Wylder. My name is Wylder. Where am I? Where are my friends?”

“I am Patty, and you are at St. David’s. Your friends are fine, just rest and then I will answer all your questions.”

“Patty, leave the girl alone. You don’t need to baby her,” a gruff voice said.

Patty whispered, “She can’t be more than eighteen.”

“Who is that?” asked Wylder.

“That’s my husband, Guy,” Patty replied.

“Patty, we have things to do,” said Guy

“We don’t have anything that urgent, and I am sitting with Wylder. I’ll be along before you know it.”

He grumbled, “Fine. What kind of name is Wylder, anyway? Don’t people use normal names anymore like Susan, or Tammy?”

“Don’t mind him,” Patty said to Wylder. “He doesn’t mean anything by it. He’s a dear once you get to know him.”

Grumpy Guy, Wylder thought.

“Well, I have to go for a few minutes. Will you be OK?” Patty asked, a little worried.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” said Wylder. “I’ll come back to check on you in a bit. Wylder, welcome to St. David’s. I think you’re going to like it here.”

“Thanks, I’ll take a nap and get rid of this headache before I drive home.” “OK, honey, you take a nap.”

*****

I can’t sleep.

Where is my phone?

What time is it?

Dad’s probably home.

He’ll know how to share this lovely news with Mom.

They are going to kill me.

Where am I anyway?

Did she say, ‘St. David’s?’

There isn’t a St. David’s anywhere around here. Except . . . Nah, no. Not Saint David’s.

What the actual fuck?

Stay tuned for more chapters of Escape from St. David’s

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I am a storyteller. I travel the world teaching and speaking. My motto: Be good. Do better. Read more. Each book I write benefits a charity.

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Deb Albers

Deb Albers

I am a storyteller. I travel the world teaching and speaking. My motto: Be good. Do better. Read more. Each book I write benefits a charity.