Page 97 of Pretty Nightmare

But it’s always repeating.

I empty my mind and wait and soon, the fast-moving tunnel appears. It’s not triangles or squares but lines. And I’m whooshing though this tunnel at a very high rate of speed as it curves and bends. The lines are fluorescent green and yellow.

And then they stop.

I’m standing in a forest. Not a musty, woody forest, like the one surrounding Old Home. But a jungle. Like the ones that take me back to my childhood.

All the vegetation on the floor of the jungle has large, broad leaves that collect the water and funnel it down to the roots and enable the plant to catch stray bits of sunshine that barely filter through the tall canopy of trees above.

My feet are bare and the ground is soft dirt. It’s dark down here but when I look up, past the tall trunks of the kapok trees, I see that the sky beyond is blue. So not night.

Someone runs by, breathing hard and making the plants rustle. But by the time I look in that direction, all I catch is the trailing blonde hair of a little girl.

“Wait!” I call. I run after her. My legs are longer, because I’m the oldest one out here. “Wait! Sheltee!”

“Shut up!” she yells. And she doesn’t slow.

“Sheltee!” I’m catching up with her, reaching for her thin t-shirt so I can grab it and make her stop.

She looks over her shoulder with wild eyes. “Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!”

I grab a hold and pull, yanking her backwards. She falls on top of me and we land on a bush crawling with ants.

“Leave me alone! Don’t touch me!”

And then I hear them laughing behind us. Sheltee screams and I cup a hand over her mouth out of instinct.

“You shut up,” I whisper. “Or I’ll let them find you. Understand?”

She looks up at me with wide blue eyes filled with fear. But she nods.

“Get down,” I whisper. “And come over here.”

She crawls with me and we hunker down under the cover of the large, dark green leaves of a miconia shrub, the scaly leaves scratching our bare arms.

They have dogs. I can hear thenm baying off in the distance. But none of them are close.

“Just stay still,” I tell her. “We’ll be OK. I promise.”

She doesn’t nod this time. Because she doesn’t believe me.

The men are quiet as they stalk near us. But I know they’re talking with hand signals.

A pair of boots comes into view and Sheltee’s chest hitches as she tries to gasp past my palm, still cupped tightly over her mouth.

The boots keep walking. And I’m just about to breathe a sigh of relief when another pair appears. Closer this time. And they stop. Listening.

My heart is calm but Sheltee’s is beating so hard, I swear everything in this forest can hear it.

She scrambles, trying to get away, but I hold her tight as the boots turn towards us.

And then she grabs my hand over her mouth, rips it free, and screams.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN - McKAY

The hotel isn’t a hotel. It’s an elaborate Georgian Revival mansion in the Landmark District right on Forsyth Park. Owned by the Boucher estate, Adam informs me, when we pull the rental up to the front gate and a teenage boy opens the door of the car. Adam tosses the keys to him so he can park it, and we grab our bags from the back and head up the stately brick walkway towards the porch.

“You stay here a lot?”