For a moment, standing in her lakefront home, with the sound of rain around her, she felt a jolt of loneliness. Ilse moved down the hall, toward the porch, standing with one foot inside the glass enclosure, and one back in the hall.

She peered out at the distant lake, at the mist curling above the water and the steady stream of raindrops disturbing the surface. The dark body of water beneath the evening sky, surrounded by old pines, reminded her of her youth back in the Black Forest.

An oddly familiar and disturbing setting. Ilse knew all too well she’d manifested a present setting where she couldn’t escape her past.

Did she want to escape though?

Or remember?

A flash of scissors. An angry bellow in the room.

She still couldn’t recall what had happened next. She reached up, rubbing at her maimed ear, tracing a finger along the scar over her cheek. Physical evidence helped fill in some of the blanks. But most of her memories…

Gone. Vanished like mist over the lake.

The loneliness settled on her shoulders just like the mist, low and thick and barely tangible. Perhaps she should call Mitchell. Maybe one of her friends from the gym? Her jujitsu instructor was usually up for sparring. Then again, she’d started to suspect he was simply hitting on her.

She sighed softly. Who could she call? She had colleagues, but not too many friends. Mentors, but not family.

Just then, Ilse’s phone buzzed. She looked down, reaching into her pocket and pulling out the small TracFone. A dumb phone. No internet, no video—not even a camera. Text and voice only. Discardable, untraceable. The sort of phone drug dealers often used; pay as you go.

She lifted the device, realizing she’d been sent a voicemail.

Ilse raised the phone and listened, frowning. It was Samantha.

“Dr Beck!” the voice crackled over the speaker. “I…I think I’m being followed. I—please! I need help. He’s here. Oh God! He’s… Wait… No. No, sorry. It was just the mailman. Sorry, Dr. Beck.” Some heavy breathing, soft crackling, and the sound of thumping feet. And then, “Sorry. I’ll see you tomorrow, Dr. Beck.” A click, and then static.

Ilse sighed, lowering her phone, closing the flip lid and pushing it back in her sweatpants pocket.

The paranoia was far more deep-seated than she’d previously thought…

Unless it wasn’t paranoia at all. Ilse frowned. What if Samantha was telling the truth? What if someone really was after her?

CHAPTER FOUR

Erica held her umbrella over her head, hunched over. She gave the front left tire of her old Camry a kick for good measure, muttering darkly beneath her breath as the rain continued to patter along the old road at the base of the mountain. The reaching pines and old trees shivered in delight beneath the droplets, the leaves shuddering and chortling on contact.

Erica glanced up and down the dark, worn, solitary road, and staring against the deluge for any indication of the tow truck.