Reed couldn’t tell just exactly what had happened to Thelma, because his understanding of it wasn’t complete. The trees were normal. The road was black, perforated with yellow dashes. But the feeling was there.

It seized him once before, in fifth grade. His diorama of the solar system was marvelous, with its perfectly painted Styrofoam balls, and concise, informative labels. But on the steps of Walker Elementary, he felt a presence, guiding him on to a wrong path. Unsure of its nature, he entered the building, to be trampled by a gang of sweaty-faced teens, looking for mayhem and alcohol.

And here, it had returned, needling him, just at the edge of his vision. It breathed with him, and offered him a cigarette. He could change gears, jiggle the steering wheel, attempt to throw it off, but he couldn’t stop. Reed couldn’t let it catch up to him, not after all these years.

Thelma looked up. “Reed? Is everything okay?”

“We took a wrong turn.” His words came out thick and effort-laden. “And we can’t go back.”

With that, he buried his face into the steering wheel, giving into memory and fear.

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