In the hazy yellow stage light the woman sang and swayed to Tyler’s sweet piano chords. The mysteries she held were hidden like the skin under the long blue dress, and behind the curtain of golden hair. The audience watched in wonderment. Their eyes were locked on her lips as they brushed the microphone. He could see the traces of red lipstick. She finished the song and bowed gracefully to the crowd. She walked slowly off the stage and then faster out the door out the building out the alley. The chords resumed while she sat on the curb in the city. Clinking, casual sounds drifted past like the ringing notes from the piano. Then it was quiet. The door swung shut and two feet appeared on the curb next to hers. Tyler sat down and wrapped his arms around her to ward of the panic creeping closer to the shaking girl.
“He was there,” She broke down, kept repeating herself. “He was there.” Like the slipping skipping needle of an old record player. “I can’t get away,” she cried to the otherwise empty streets.

The girl thought she could disappear like she did before. It felt so long ago. She wanted to be found the first time, when she had a family she could remember. She remembers that she was 15 and beautiful. She remembers the way his face cracked when he smiled to bring her out of her house; she screamed and cried before giving in to him. She was his blue-eyed girl. She remembers remembering her family. Now the memories are supplemented with scenes from TV and books. A collage of what her family might have been like fills the void. She knows her hair is naturally blonde and her eyes are brown. She used different names on their fliers to hide her history.
Tyler stood up and hailed a cab. He told the driver where to go and handed him the money. The woman stepped in and the door closed. The cab drove away and Tyler walked back in.
“Where is she going?” the grubby barman asked.
“Relax. You will get your money’s worth. Her part of the act is over.” He played the rest of the set and sang the songs himself. The audience was no longer captivated and the chatter set the muddy canvas for the music. Tyler collected his pay and drove home.

The same old cabby waited in the street outside their apartment. “I like your girl; she keeps the meter running for a long time.”

When Tyler got inside, her bags were packed and her beautiful dress was now a crumpled bundle of blue fabric in the trash can. “I can’t do this anymore, I need to leave you, it’s not fair.” The hopelessness in her voice pushed through the mental barricade he constructed for these occasions. It never stood all these battles, but she had never left yet. He always convinced her that it would be okay. The bags would be unpacked and she would sit with him, collapsed and defeated until the sobbing subsided and air passed through her lungs regularly. Sleep would visit eventually and the next day was never important or busy.
She held her jaw square and planted her foot with every step she took toward the door. “Goodbye. Thank you, for everything. I’m sorry I put you through it.”
“Can’t you just tell me who this creep is? I will protect you from him, he won’t get you. I promise.”
“You say that now, but you don’t know where I've been. He paralyzes you. The way he talks, he reaches into you and holds your soul between his thumb and his forefinger and dangles you there in nothing. You are either going to fall into the abyss or be destroyed in a single movement of his hand.”
“Just settle down, put your stuff down. You can’t go like this. We can figure something out. Relax.” He stands between her and the door. Her resolve was different this time. It sat in his throat like an ice cube that doesn't melt fast enough.
She repeated herself again. No tears, no cracking tones, just the tolling sound of martyrdom. “I need to go, Tyler. I know you can’t protect me anymore.” When she put down her bags, Tyler thought he gained some ground. She reached into one of the bags and removed a small book, with ripped binding and damaged corners. The cover did not sit right, as if the pages had been turned too many times. When she handed it to him, it felt worn and foreign in his hands. He shouldn't be holding it, it’s not Tyler’s story.
“Newspaper headlines? That’s all that’s in here.” She began talking without answering his question.

“Woman Murdered, Suspect Arrested.”
She recited the titles like the vocal exercises Tyler heard her sing before practice.
“Convicted Murderer is Loose. Young Girls Nabbed from Homes.”
The words sounded cold and empty and the breaks in between them felt more expressive as the slow tears rolled down her face.
“Sisters Found Dead in Desert. Escaped Convict Captured.”
They hung uneasily in the air.
“Other Girls Still Missing. Murderer Sentenced to Death.”
She stopped herself to take a breath and maintain the little composure she still held. “You can’t protect me anymore. I know he is only in my mind. I know he is only in my mind. I just can’t get him out!” Her once solid voice filled with fractures of vulnerability.

“Where are you going?”

“I don’t know.” The resolute woman that stood there earlier was gone now. The girl that was left sunk into the floor.

“So maybe can’t protect you, but I want to help you. Just, please, don’t leave.”
Tyler helped her to the couch, and carried the bags away to be unpacked again. The wrinkled dress was collected as well. He listened to her breathing softly and unevenly in the other room. Her presence lightened the new weight on his conscience. Tyler stayed by her for the night and knew that what he said had to be true. She needed help, and he would find someway to do that. He would make the phone calls in the morning when sleep silenced her thoughts and she would be safe without him at her side.