“I’ll get us a ride,” I said, and I opened the door and swung my legs out. Leaning heavily on my cane, I tried to stomp a little life back into the ache that had replaced my bones. Winnie reached over and slammed the door. I heard the lock click.

I walked away from the front of the car; far enough so oncoming traffic could see me, and within minutes, a car had stopped. It was a young couple, huddled together on the front seat. I opened the back door and threw in my pack, my cane, then followed, painfully.

“Car trouble, huh?” the boy asked.

I looked back at the Volkswagen, could barely make out the puffed outline of Winnie’s hair in the dark.

“Yes,” I said, almost blind with the ache. I shut the door behind me. “I’ll send someone for it in the morning.”

“We’re going to Texas,” the girl said, then disengaged herself from under her boyfriend’s arm and turned around on the seat to face me. Her wispy blonde hair seemed to float about her head; her features blurred in the pulsing, reddening madness of my pain. I had moved too fast—too far too fast. For a moment, I looked at her through the veil of the pain and thought . . . thought . . . “Where are you going?” she asked, and it reverberated in my mind: Where are you going? Where are you going? Where are you going? Where are you going? And then it was Her face, and it was Her voice, and the car was speeding away and I was trapped—trapped in the car with the woman who would do anything to have me, the woman who would never leave me alone—not as long as I refused Her advances.

I closed my eyes and sank to the car seat, resting my head awkwardly on my pack. In a few moments, the fire that raced through my legs died down and my head no longer spun. I opened my eyes and the girl still looked at me over the back of the seat.

“Are you sick?”

I breathed deeply. Was this the woman? Was this Her? I could no longer tell. I wasn’t safe, not anywhere. Not with the power this woman had. I had to be very careful. “Just my legs. The cold . . .”

“Oh,” she said, and nodded with understanding. “Where are you going?”

“Red Creek,” I breathed.

“Why’d you leave your friend in the car?” Our eyes met for a brief moment. I could feel her judgment, her disapproval. “Didn’t she want to come with you?”

How could I explain that Winnie’s fears had locked me out of her car? How could I explain the compulsion that overtook me, the escape route I was following? How could I explain that I had some terrible disease, or so it seemed, and my salvation lay in a little cottage in Red Creek?