Evelyn Klebert

An Empath in the Woods

It helped, at least sometimes, walking the trails.

“It’s like being a bug born without its skin.”

She couldn’t help but glare at the analogy. “Really? So, I’m the bug in this scenario.”

Dr. Crispin frowned, a curious woman originally from Romania, with short, curly, very reddish-brown hair, just into her sixties. At least that was what Allie surmised. She’d mentioned she’d be retiring in a few years, which wasn’t good news.

Where exactly was Allie going to find another psychologist whose side specialty was paranormal phenomena? She doubted Health Grades would be helpful. With Crispin, she’d lucked out, a recommendation from a yoga teacher. Oh yes, she’d tried everything, from yoga to meditation, to the conventional routes of medication for depression, but nothing seemed to crack this puzzle. Her puzzle, her problems, that was.

But back to the point—

“Yes, I understand your reluctance to embrace the visual. But think about it. Our skin keeps us separate, separate from our environment, separate from one another. Without it, things are much more painful.”

She did enjoy listening to Dr. Crispin’s accent, even if she didn’t always care for what she was saying. In a peculiar way, she found it soothing to her ragged nerves. Oh yes, back to the bug with no skin. “Could be messy, I mean, having no skin and dangerous, at least for the bug.” Her voice sort of drifted off. Were they really discussing this?

She’d frowned at her, Dr. Crispin had, but then that might have been her resting face. She was actually a lovely woman, with her vibrant hair, trim figure, and just below-the-knee fitted pencil skirts.

It made Allie feel dumpy. She’d shown up at the appointment in jeans and a well-worn button-down. It wasn’t as though she didn’t have nicer clothes, but she was in a funk, a slump, worn out with all this. She hadn’t even cracked thirty yet — no excuses there, except —

“So, how is your life going, Allison?”

“Oh, other than being a bug without my skin, just dandy.” A reddish-brown eyebrow went up.

Too much sarcasm? Dr. Crispin was no-nonsense, for someone dealing with ghosts, goblins, and what was the terminology again?

“Don’t forget, Allison, you are an extreme empath!”

That was it. No meds prescribed to dull the pesky awarenesses around her that did not belong to her.

“So, living in the Village, does the isolation help?”

Deep sigh, deeper than deep, soul-wrenching, good question. That’s why Crispin got paid the big bucks, and she was scrambling to make ends meet. “I would have to say the jury is out, because there are always things to feel — and always people, people somewhere.”

*

The trails, the hiking trails around the Village, did seem to ease things, sometimes that is.

It was October, already late October, the Halloween season approaching. Her year here would be up come January. At that point, there was a decision to make, whether to spend another year virtually in isolation or back to the city, Little Rock, where at least she could see Dr. Crispin more often. That was until she retired, and one more column of support in her unstable existence just vanished.

“Bad thoughts don’t help.”

“Bad thoughts?” she’d questioned.

“Negative, negativity lowers your energy vibration. Someone like you, Allison, can’t afford that.”

Yep, she was right. She had to get hold, desperately trying to drive away these “bad thoughts.” Everything around her was beautiful. Many of the trees were changing to their lovely Autumn shades of gold, yellow, some orange, and the occasional red. But red was not one of her favorites – she’d seen it too often under other circumstances.

The fallen leaves crunched beneath her hiking shoes as she meandered down the winding pathway deeper into the woods.

She breathed in deeply. There was a scent, a curious scent of burning leaves. Foolish, everything was so dry right now, so foolish to be burning anything. She glanced around. This particular hiking trail she’d been on before. It was far away from any of the subdivisions, just woods and a creek a little further down the trail.

But she wondered if it would be dried up. It felt like it had been over a week since there had been any rain.

An unexpected dizziness swept through her so strongly that she had to stop for a moment. As she peered upward, she saw the tall trees all around her reaching toward a cloudy sky.

So strange, when she’d set out from the small parking lot near the dog park, it had been the clearest blue with a few puffy white clouds. But not like this.

Then, another substantial sweep of dizziness hit her, as if she were swirling while standing completely still. Maybe she shouldn’t look upward. Maybe just head back now, but she didn’t move, just rooted to the spot.

“A bug with no skin.”

Something was definitely amiss, not the usual form of anxiety or bouts of depression that would spring on her inexplicably.

What she was feeling was different. She bent over, bending her knees, sort of awkwardly crouching down to the ground. It seemed silly, but then again, she felt desperate. Dr. Crispin called it grounding, putting her palms flat on the earth.

“The earth is filled with powerful grounding energy. It seems odd, but this can help you stabilize.”

Yes, Allie agreed, it did seem odd. And if she wasn’t alone, she’d never consider it, but desperate times —

She closed her eyes, breathing in deeply, indeed feeling a stabilization of the dizziness, at least momentarily. Deep breaths, deep breaths, she coached herself. So absorbed, that was the danger, she didn’t even hear the crunching leaves behind her, but there was something — a shift, perceptible, and a heaviness accompanying it.

She opened her eyes, then slowly turned around, and a few yards away, she saw the figure — a man dressed in a windbreaker, a red one.

She straightened up, shakily standing, suddenly feeling the sweep of dizziness passing over her again. He wasn’t moving, just staring at her — tall, brown-hair, tanned skin, beard, and mustache.

“I was trying not to disturb you.” He finally spoke, kind of flat, unemotional, definitely no signature Arkansas accent, didn’t move an inch, hands in his pockets.

“Oh, I had just dropped something, trying to find it,” she murmured awkwardly.

“I thought you might be grounding yourself,” he said rather casually.

What? That was an unexpected punch. She really didn’t think this was a mainstream thing, “grounding oneself.”

“Um, oh, well,” she muttered in confusion.

“Did you find it?”

“Find it?”

“What you dropped.”

A swirl of confusion swept over her. How did she get herself into these situations? “I was grounding.”

Expressionless, “I know.”

She drew in another deep, uncomfortable, awkward breath. “Yeah, well, it’s late, I think I need to get back.”

“It’s only 10:00, 10:00 AM, here I mean.”

Was this a bizarre conversation, or was it just her? “Here? You mean instead of in China?”

A strange sort of smile drifted across his face as though he appreciated the sarcasm. “No, I meant from where I came from, it was afternoon, around three.”

Why did it feel acutely as though she was losing air out of her lungs? She really needed to shut up. “Where you came from? And where was that exactly?”

The smile was staying. Why was that? “Not far. You see, I was tracking.”

“I don’t think it’s hunting season around here.” She crossed her arms in front of her. Again, why was she still talking to him? He could very well be unhinged.

“No, no, I don’t hunt animals.”

And he was silent again, not elaborating. “Okay, well, as I said, regardless of the time. I need to get going. You have a nice day.” And then she realized it. To get back, she’d have to walk right past him, the bizarre fellow in the red jacket. And it bothered her, worried her, but there seemed no help for it. Either walk past or make a beeline through the woods, which she was not going to do.

And it was true, she did need to get back. She worked online, several jobs online, one of which was freelance editing, a stack of articles she’d been putting off.

Allie steeled herself. She bent her head down and tried to give him a wide berth as she started to pass. Then it happened, the unthinkable. At least something she didn’t see coming. His arm shot out, and he grabbed her forearm as she was passing.

Direct contact, not exactly direct because she was wearing a long-sleeved button-down, but close enough. Extreme, it felt sort of like a sizzling brand burning through her shirt. She twisted in reflex, trying to pull away, but it was like steel. He was immovable.

“Let me go,” she rasped, because it was painful. She was feeling too many things, hot acid all over her. “Christ, where have you been!” she muttered frantically.

“Ssshhh,” he said calmly. “Be still for a minute.”

She didn’t want to. She was outraged and horrified simultaneously. What the hell gave him the right?

And then she heard the words, loud and powerful in her mind. “Stop.”

That silenced her, made her stop pulling every which way to get loose. Shocking, stunning, “Quiet your mind.” Was the command on its heels.

Her vision began to blur, dizziness, such swirls of dizziness. “We need to talk,” he murmured softly, before it all tipped into a gray blanket of mist.

*

“Allie,” whispers floating around her mind. “Don’t be so emotional. There’s nothing to cry about.”

But there was, always, so much pain around her.

“Why can’t you be like everyone else?” Her father’s pleas.

It wasn’t always possible to pretend. Not always.

“Allie, wake up.”

She opened her eyes and felt a chill instantly travel down her spine. And on top of that, she smelled smoke. Still dizzy and with a headache, she gingerly sat up and looked around. It was a room, a den, big rustic, larger than the one at her house, with a huge stone fireplace that was lit. “You can use the throw on the chair,” a disembodied voice, though familiar masculine tones, floated in. She glanced around. Beside her was indeed a wooden rocking chair with a beige woven blanket draped over it. She snatched it quickly. It was cold, much colder than it had been when she left her house.

And then the man in question made an appearance, the one from the woods, the one who’d grabbed her arm and now evidently had— “You know this is kidnapping,” she voiced aloud, not sure if she should have thought that through more, given her unexplored predicament. But she did tend to be on the impulsive side.

“I made us some coffee, a teaspoon of sugar, and some milk, right?” He asked, bringing in two steaming mugs from around a corner, probably the kitchen, but who the hell knew.

She pulled the throw tightly around her that she’d wrapped up in seconds before. “I don’t know if I want any.”

He stopped in front of the sofa, then abruptly took a sip out of one mug and then the other. “See, not drugged.”

“But now I have to drink after you,” she spat out.

He nodded, unconcerned. “Okay, I’ll go wash it down the sink.”

“No,” dang it. “I’ll take it.” She loved coffee, one of her few indulgences. She took it out of his hands, carefully, not wanting any direct physical contact. But taking the mug, she could feel an agitation passing into her fingertips, though not nearly as pronounced as when he’d grabbed her arm.

“I took a shower.”

She looked up at him blankly. “Good for you.”

Frowning, “To get rid of some of the gunk.”

What a bizarre thing to say to a stranger, but then again, what about this wasn’t bizarre? “Okay, not sure why I need to know that.”

He frowned, “Energy, Allie, negative energy. That’s what upset you when I took your arm.”

“Took my arm? You mean when you grabbed my arm, and I couldn’t get away.”

“Yep, I can see why it would seem that way to you.”

“Look, it didn’t just seem that way—” then abruptly another disturbing thought filtered in. She straightened up further on the sofa. “Wait a minute, when did you have time to take a shower? How long have I been out?”

He sort of mumbled. “You didn’t make the trip well.”

Recoiling a bit, in fact backing up as much as physically possible into the corner of this rather large, overstuffed green sofa. “Trip? What trip? Did you put me in a car? Did you drug me?”

“No, this place is in the woods, the Village, just on a different plateau.”

“Plateau? What gibberish is that?”

He frowned again, taking a sip out of his coffee mug. “Drink some. I put cinnamon in it. It’s soothing.”

She shouldn’t just to spite him, but she did, take a huge sip, and it was good, strong with a fleeting taste of cinnamon. Well, her kidnapper makes a good cup of coffee. Wasn’t that good news. “Look, whoever you are.”

“My name is Ryland Gray.”

“Okay, fine, Mr. Gray, I don’t know who you are, but I really need to go home. I’m not like everyone else. I have complicated, um, medical issues.”

“Yes, Miss Beckett. I am aware.” Beckett, Beckett, she hadn’t given him her name. Oh God, how did he know— “You really need to calm down, Allie.”

She swallowed on a dry throat, even though she’d just had a mouthful of coffee. “How, how do you know my name?”

And then he looked down into his mug, “Yep.” No elaboration.

“You won’t find the answers in there,” she snapped.

And then he looked up again. He had brown eyes, sort of brownish green and suddenly they didn’t seem quite as hard and cold as they were a moment before. “It’s complicated.”

She swung her legs around, putting her feet solidly on the wooden floor. At least she was still wearing her hiking shoes. “Am I free to go?” She asked with feigned courage.

“Sure,” he mumbled. “Be my guest.”

Standing up while still feeling wobbly, she braced herself. She would simply walk out the front door, find her way back to the trail and her car, and put this insanity behind her.

He stepped back a bit, out of her way, and she noted for the first time he was wearing one of those heavy flannel button-downs, red and black like some kind of lumbar jack over jeans. Red, too much red, she detested that color.

As quickly as she could manage, she stalked across the den to the front door, turning a rather large bolt and then flinging it open. And then she just stood there on the threshold after a gasp. Distantly, she could hear him moving just behind her, “Yeah, it happened while you were asleep. We’re about two months ahead of you.”

“Ahead?” she whispered in shock because everywhere she looked outside was covered in a layer of freshly fallen snow.

“But the good news is it melts pretty quickly here. By the morning, we can get out again.”

She stood there transfixed. It was so cold, but she was numb. “Have I lost my mind?”

“No, Allie Beckett. You’ve just traveled a bit.”

*

She wandered aimlessly around the den of Ryland Gray’s house in the woods, though exactly which woods and where was a pesky detail her mind couldn’t seem to grasp just at the moment.

Had he somehow driven her — without her being aware, while she was unconscious — so far away from her Village rental that wherever they were now, it was actually snowing.

“No,” he said emphatically.

She glanced across the room. Way across, because he was on one side, looking out a front window whose blinds he had opened, and she was way on the other side, staring out a sliding glass door that led onto a screen porch. She stared back at him. He wasn’t even looking at her. “No, what?” She asked with irritation.

At that, he turned around, still holding a coffee cup in his hand. He couldn’t possibly be sipping on that first cup of coffee still. “This is my second,” he said out of the blue.

And then she got it. Allie might be slow to the race, but she did get there, well, eventually. “Are you—I mean are you really—”

“Reading your thoughts? Yeah, kind of. That’s how I knew how you wanted your coffee, teaspoon of sugar and all that.” He stated rather matter-of-factly.

Oh God, that was right. She hadn’t even thought of that. “Wait a minute. I wasn’t thinking about how I wanted my coffee fixed.”

He frowned. Ryland Gray had a strange frown that kind of looked less like he was disappointed and more like the world was confounding. And he was a bit ticked off by it. At least, that was her take. “Yep, got me there, Allie Beckett. Just when I was starting to think you might not be too sharp, you get me in the side with a pocketknife.”

“What the hell kind of analogy is that?”

“A serviceable one.”

“The coffee, Mr. Gray.”

Eyebrow went up a bit. They were kind of heavy dark eyebrows. Evidently, this face had a bit more malleability than she’d previously suspected. “You want another cup?”

“I want to know how you knew how I take my coffee,” she nearly hissed back at him.

“Don’t get so testy, Allie. It’s best to be more laid back here. Things can be reactive.”

She put her hands on her hips. She really felt like spitting at him, but spitting at a kidnapper might not be the best avenue to take just now. “I don’t know what that means. I don’t know what nonsense you’re babbling about. Are you on some kind of meds?”

That frown again, definitely the resting face. “It’s more permeable.”

She let her hands drop from her hips, waiting for elaboration. But as she’d expected, none was forthcoming. “Oh well, thanks. That explains a lot.”

“So,” he said slowly. And it was a challenge to say such a short one-syllable word slowly. “You want some breakfast?”

Oh, God, this man was going to drive her bananas. “No, Mr. Gray, what I want is to go home.”

He nodded, “Yeah, Miss Beckett. But as I explained, we’re snowed in until tomorrow.”

Hands instinctively flew back onto her hips. “Did you explain that? I don’t remember you explaining shit to me about anything!”

Now there was a flicker of a smile. What the hell was wrong with this guy? “I think I told you not to be so upset, Allie,” he said with a frustrating calmness.

“That’s not explaining,” she mumbled, because it suddenly felt as though she was losing breath, and on top of that, she was dizzy. “I feel funny.”

At some point, he’d moved, moved quickly across the den, and grabbed her arm. She thought to pull away, but everything was spinning, colors spinning everywhere. “Take some deep breaths,” he said with authority.

“I-I can’t. I can’t get my breath.”

“You’re acclimating. It will pass. That’s why I wanted you to stay calm.”

“Acclimating? What does that even mean?” She could barely get the words out. It was such a swirl, a swirl of colors all around her, then other things, things pulsating and writhing almost.

He took her other arm with his hand and began to shake her a bit. “Don’t go there, Allie. Stay focused.”

Vaguely, she wondered what he’d done with his coffee cup, then she could see it in her mind. So odd, like a freeze frame backup. She saw him on the other side of the room, talking to her just moments before. But it was different because now she could feel what he was feeling. He was talking to her, but also looking outside, and also seeing masses of colors slashing across the room. And he was elsewhere, inside her memories, standing next to her in her apartment, examining things, and in Dr. Crispin’s office, sitting there listening closely to their private sessions.

“What the hell is this?” she whispered as she felt him scoop under her legs and lift her in his arms. Contact, so much contact. Usually, she couldn’t bear it. But it was different, so different even from the first time he’d touched her.

“It’s all right, Allie. I’m trying to help,” he murmured. And then a drape of gray passed over her as she lost consciousness again.

*

“You might have prepared her a little better.”

“I didn’t think she’d fight it so much.”

“That’s why you picked her because she’s a fighter.”

Her eyes opened slowly to the dim light of her bedside table. They hurt, her eyes, but she forced them to take in her surroundings. A white corner desk, an ash-wood tall dresser against the wall, and a bed surrounded by her light, fluffy, pastel-colored pillows. She drew in a deep breath that permeated throughout her. But not dizzying. She straightened up and glanced behind her. Yes, it was her ironwork sleigh bed. She was home, home, and profoundly, profoundly confused.

All a dream? Is that what he was trying to sell her? She glanced around, somewhat gratefully but equally confounded.

So, Mr. Ryland Gray was playing games with her.

She pulled her white faux fur bed pillow against her chest. It did feel good to be with her things, stability. And she could just let it be, let it be, and forget the insanity of the other stuff. It was like a gift, a parting gift, whatever he was after, whatever he wanted from her, just didn’t work out.

She leaned back in the bed drowsily. Sure, path of least resistance. Sure, maybe, then she closed her eyes, feeling entirely too exhausted to figure any of this out.

*

When she did finally get out of bed and checked the clock by her nightstand, it was early morning, just shy of seven, a little later than she usually got up. But when she looked at her cellphone, she was stunned. Allie had found something utterly disturbing. She’d lost a day. She remembered clearly that it was Friday morning when she was walking the forest trail by the dog park. But this morning was Sunday. An entire day had just slipped away.

Her head was throbbing painfully, so she was determined to not deal with this until after coffee and something to eat. And then she noticed she was wearing the same clothes, blue jeans, and a sweater she’d been wearing when —

She shut her mind down emphatically. No, no, she would not deal with any of this insanity, coffee, food, then a shower. Exerting great control over her mind, the one that was literally bursting forth with fearsome questions and uncontrollable emotions, she began to move. She wouldn’t backslide. Dr. Crispin had taught her how to maintain a degree of control. No matter what was happening, she wouldn’t allow herself to slide back into that dark time again.

*

Late morning, shuffling with distraction through the largely empty aisles of the only grocery right outside the gates of the Village, and by right outside, she meant a good six or seven miles away from her home. That was the rub of living in the secluded Village. It was indeed secluded and took a bit of time and driving to get anywhere.

It was a fact of life that one had to be a good planner here. It wasn’t like you could just pop over to the grocery for something you’d forgotten. She yawned. A piece of toast, coffee, and a hot shower had not cleared the cobwebs. She usually did her shopping early Saturday morning, way before the crowds dribbled in. Sundays were more dicey. The churchgoing group liked to hit the store early before the 10:00 a.m. service. And oddly enough, while no groceries, the large expanse of the Village, over 26,000 acres of the Ouachita Mountains, at least that was what the travel brochures purported, was dotted with so very many houses of Worship — every denomination to pick from, and some she’d never heard of.

But Allie wasn’t a churchgoer. She’d had enough of that, a mother who’d brought her highly emotional child to a congregation that seemed only too happy to pray over her for exactly what she wasn’t sure, except that maybe her well-meaning mother thought she was possessed by some aberrant evil of some capacity.

Another yawn, yes, this was going to be tough going, shopping the specials and buying for the week. Maybe she should have waited, waited, and done this tomorrow. But how she hated her inflexible schedule being interrupted, particularly after all those odd dreams.

Quite assuredly, the pieces did not fit together, not one bit, but the alternative seemed to be more than she could deal with just now. She pulled the grey hoodie that she’d pulled on over her black sweater more tightly about her as she moved her icy basket down the largely empty aisles. It was so cool this morning, a sudden chill in the air that had seemed to creep out of nowhere.

And then, abruptly, she stopped, stopped driving her basket past the pasta shelves. She had planned to make her grandmother’s spaghetti sauce and portion it for four days, because after all, she was just one person. But then it happened again, like a stabbing pain darting up her spine, a pain that wasn’t exactly a pain.

“It’s an awareness.”

“What does that mean?”

“You have to accept the fact that you’re like a radar for things other people can’t feel.”

“What kind of things?”

“Unfortunately, with you, I would suspect difficult things.” Dr. Crispin had explained with the expected detachment of a professional.

Her eyes rose slowly, canvassing the aisles. She was situated at this point about in the middle. Forward, there was no one, and as she quickly glanced behind, she noted nothing there as well. She took in a quick breath. Well, either it would pass or, if it was too intense, she’d simply abandon the shopping cart and get out of there. Otherwise, as she’d found in the past, it could turn quite detrimental to her.

Allie steadied herself, drawing in a deep breath, closing her eyes, and attempting to center as she’d practiced during her sessions with Dr. Crispin. Once she felt steadier and had regained her mastery, she slowly opened her eyes and immediately saw a figure standing at the front of the aisle. It was jarring because, besides being positioned in the middle of what would be her exit and staring her down, there was the face. It was an old man with a bony, gaunt face — not one that looked naturally aged, but instead with pale, crinkled skin tightly stretched across his skull. His eyes were wide and unblinking, giving him a zombie-like expression, as if he’d walked out of The Walking Dead. Instinctively, she stepped back, then felt a decisive stab in her heart region.

“Remember to see what is actually there, Allie. Not representative.”

“Representative? What does that mean?”

“Your brain and your eyes adjust to what you feel is the truth.”

“Could you be more opaque?”

And then Dr. Crispin had frowned in her disgruntled/disapproving manner. “Tell your mind to see what everyone else sees.”

Okay, okay, fine, Dr. Crispin, she mentally acknowledged. Centering herself, she sent out a pure, crisp thought to her mind. See what everyone sees.

It was blurry for a moment, as though her eyes were actively refocusing, and then she began to see the change. The old man’s face sort of melted, molding into something else. It took her breath, for a moment, such a sharp, radical difference. Not only had the features softened, but they were no longer a man but instead a woman, a tall, statuesque blond, maybe early twenties, very pretty in a beachy sort of way. The woman was now smiling back at her in such a welcoming way. But Allie couldn’t help but feel a lurch in her stomach, a lurch of nausea as the pain in her heart area only deepened. She was losing energy, clearly a drainer, but something else, something worse, somehow.

Without a thought, she flipped the direction of her basket around in the aisle, quickly moving toward the opposite end of the store. Once she was out of that thing’s sight, she ditched the cart and rapidly headed out the front door.

Her breathing was shallow, panicked. It was so strong, the feeling of darkness, much more potent than she usually felt. When she reached the door of her yellow jeep that she’d beeped open with her keys only seconds before, she was startled. In her panic, she hadn’t noticed anyone approaching, and she actually jumped as a hand closed over her own. Her eyes jolted up, staring into a familiar bearded face, one she’d decided was a dream even though the pieces didn’t add up.

“What are—” she started, not at all sure how to finish that question.

“Get in the car,” Ryland Gray said with steel in his voice. “We need to talk.”

*

They were sitting in the front of her banana yellow Jeep in the parking lot of the Piggly Wiggly, she in the driver’s seat and her uninvited guest, one Ryland Gray, who it was clear was no figment of her imagination, in the passenger seat. And oh yeah, he was saying nothing.

“Look, what is—”

“Sssshhh,” he snapped impatiently.

“Hey, you were the one who said—”

“Be quiet, Allie. Don’t you understand, be quiet around here?”

“Around here?”

And then he gave her a glaring look that did indeed silence her. She tapped her fingers on the steering wheel, wondering if she should make a run for it because this guy was clearly a bit nuts.

“Look,” he snapped out. “Is that It?”

Her eyes rose back to the front entrance of the grocery where that Woman Thing, whatever it was, had just exited the store. “Is that what?” she whispered.

“It’s a shell.”

Her eyes widened. “A what? A shell?”

He nodded slowly, his eyes fixed on the figure that had stopped a few rows over beside a bright red sports car. “Yep,” he said slowly. “Good work, Allie. You’re clearly raw at this, but excellent nonetheless.”

Her eyes watched dubiously as the woman/thing/shell, as he called it, climbed in and started her car. “Excellent at what?”

“Being a diviner.”

“A diviner, don’t they predict the future?” She muttered in confusion.

“No, not that kind. Like the stick that finds water, a divining rod.”

Now that image took a moment to soak in. “You’re comparing me to a stick.”

“Start the car,” he said abruptly.

“Why?”

“Because we’re going to follow it.”

Copyright © 2025 by Evelyn Klebert