While the photo was noticeably low quality, I was able to recognize it instantly. It was the outside of my house.
Run, damn it. Run. I couldn’t. She smiled, still. “It’s not so bad.”
My head had bumped into a grate – more so like a cage rather than just a grate. And inside the cage, in a small dirt and concrete cell, sat a woman.
The service I offered was simple. You wanted a guy beaten up, I was your guy. I caught the guy at just the right time, picked a fight with him, and won. Always won.
She told me what they were wearing and how deep they’d have to dig, too.
“I don’t know what he is going to do to you, but I can’t say you don’t deserve and I don’t think anyone is going to judge either of us when they find out what you did to him and why you made him run away.”
I felt the spirit in the room, and my eyes darted around, finally landing on a young man — he was the spitting image of Emma. They’re twins, I thought, dreading the strong connection they had established since birth.
His teeth chattered each time he opened his mouth attempting to speak. “T-T-Tha-That’s no-n-not m-m-me up th-th-th-ere. It-t-it’s going-g t-t-to kill y-y-you.”
Soaked from head-to-toe, I jumped up onto my feet, stood up in the knee-deep water, and looked out to the deeper water where the blue orb, looking much bigger than it had from up on the course, rested on top of the waves about 10 yards away from me.
She didn’t have the attentive gaze of someone checking up on us. No, there was something more aggressive about it. Something almost predatory.