“I’ll call the police,” she said.

“I don’t think you will,” he replied.

“Why is that?”

“No need. You can have the book back. I just want to talk first. I’m thinking we work together like the good old days.”

Now she saw his plan. She’d underestimated him in thinking he would try and stop her, embark on payback.

Okay, so he suspected something, and imagined he could use her. She would show him though. A partner? He wasn’t as smart as he imagined. This was her game and she’d played it alone for a long time.

Her confidence that she would soon recover her diary and resume control instantly erased her anger. Barnes had little comprehension of the book’s power; he was a fool if he thought he could beat her.

When he suggested where they were to meet, she paused before replying. For a single second her mind froze, as she puzzled what advantage he would gain by meeting at that place? Not to mention, one look at the skies told her a hell of a storm was on its way. And it was a two-hour drive.

What the devil are you thinking? she wanted to say. Instead she replied, “Of course, I know where that is.”

68

If clouds could be conjured to create the tone for a breathless thriller scene for the finale to William’s saga, these would win an Oscar for set design. Thick, gray and oppressive. Unforgiving. The heavens appeared complicit in creating light and atmosphere for the ant-sized author below who soon would face his enemy. With each crack of startling thunder, the gods shouted their displeasure, or perhaps their cheers.

Now that he’d arrived at his designated meeting spot, William worried he had presumed wrong. In fact, his presumptions were many, which meant failure was a real possibility.

First, would Orelia meet him where and when he’d stated? Or might she approach him in another way he hadn’t considered?

Second, in a leap of faith or stupidity, he made the decision that this was the best place for their rendezvous. And it was wacky, to say the least.

Third, he dismissed the idea he had lost his sanity when clearly this whole plan was crazy. Dangerous. His mental faculties could indeed be compromised, and he had dragged himself out in this weather as a cry for help.

Fourth, he now gambled that inside Orelia, she still possessed remnants of humanity, small pieces of the little girl who’d set out to use the book’s energy for good.

Why he thought any of these conjectures were correct, or the plan had any hope of working, since his experience with the paranormal was nil, came down to believing luck sat in his corner. This incredibly arrogant belief that the book wanted him to stop the misuse was his assurance. Pretty darn ridiculous.

He told himself he needed to quit personifying an imponderable power which had no explanation in science. It helped brace his courageous thinking with logic, he decided. Considering he held the proof in his hands that fate, as a tangible force existed, he was also avoiding a truth.