… he was alone.

Yet the air sparked with an odd energy, the aftermath of lightning crackling, of the brush of an entity, causing the hairs to rise on his arms and the back of his neck.

He breathed a long sigh of relief, and whispered, “Oh my God, get a grip Barnes.”

The sound of his voice echoed in Orelia’s private boudoir as though the walls protected her sanctuary and railed against him, the intruder. His fear multiplied with each second, a building of hellish intensity that swarmed over him. This sanctuary didn’t like the invader and wanted him gone.

A ping-ping startled him, and he jumped.

His watch alarm broke his focus and reminded him he must leave; and in a hurry. He had five minutes according to his calculations. Those precious moments were his overtime, so he may have none if she returned quicker than his estimations. He had factored in extra seconds of confusion, when she arrived at the café to staff who had never contacted her and wouldn’t know anything about a call.

William was out the bedroom doors, along the hallway, flying down the stairs and outside in the time he imagined her face and her voice arguing with the waiters, demanding to know who had played the prank. She might even realize it was him. The sweet and sunny disposition she carried so well, morphed into the wicked Witch of the West.

You’re not in Kansas anymore William. You’re in my land now. I own you and you dared to challenge me.

He peered through the window to the gate. No Orelia coming up the drive yet. Pulling at his waistband, he shoved his prize into the front of his pants and opened the door.

The alarm which, thank God, wouldn’t go off but still made him jump. Where you going buddy? It was only a sensor noting a door had been opened.

Then he ran, his arms pumping as he bolted as if he had everything to lose, because he did.

The gate barrier stood tall but not insurmountable any longer, and he knew the footholds as if he’d trained for this. His body was up and over barely touching anything, and he even managed to throw himself in a way to land on the other side in a perfect squat.

No seconds to praise himself for his remarkable and surprisingly agile effort. He took off toward his car only three hundred yards away, parked behind dense foliage and several large trees. His sentinels, as he thought of them.

His arm extended as he neared the vehicle, his thumb clicking crazily to unlock the doors. By the time he’d reached it, his breath was gone, and his lungs strained to feed oxygen to his depleted body. His hands slammed against the car hood as he leaned over to gain balance; his legs angry at being pushed well beyond their usual pace. An angry stitch flared to the right of his stomach, and he moved his hand to press against the pain. Though he still needed a few minutes more to recover, he didn’t have time. He must get away because he now had her book.