In his mind, he still saw that dirty, sexy little girl, smiling evilly at him. He could not get the image out of his head, and it made him want to keep running, to get as far away from here as quickly as possible, but both his lungs and legs were rebelling, and no matter how frightened he was, he knew he had to rest for a few moments or he wouldn’t be getting out of this neighborhood at all.

Across the street, a dog-walking couple was staring at him and frowning, curious, no doubt, as to why an old man had run like hell from an empty house in which he was not supposed to be, and he looked over at them, grimaced, and waved. They turned away, embarrassed, and kept walking.

Norton bent over, resting his hands on his knees and trying to catch his breath. The sun was now almost down, and the shadows had darkened into dusk. He did not want to be on the street when night fell, but he could not afford to push himself any more than he already had. He exhaled deeply, inhaled just as deeply, attempting to regulate and control his breathing.

Jesus, he was in bad shape.

A few minutes later, he straightened, stood. His heart continued to pound, but his breathing had calmed down, and he decided to chance it. He started walking, crossing the street and heading toward Oak Road and Main. He moved slowly, but he didn’t have to stop, and five minutes later he was on his own street in his own neighborhood.

The image of the dirty girl was still in his mind, and he started thinking that there was something familiar about her. He had not noticed it at first, but looking back on it, there’d been a spark of recognition in his initial reaction to her, a trace of the known in her appearance.

He had seen her before.

He reached his house, removed his keys from his pocket, unlocked the door, and stepped inside, flipping on the lights. He’d half expected to see Carole’s ghost again, or some other manifestation, but the house was empty and for that he was grateful.

He put down his briefcase, walked into the kitchen.

Donna.

That’s who the girl reminded him of.

The ants.

Why hadn’t he seen it immediately, the resemblance? It was so obvious now that he thought about it. The similarity between the two was frightening.

He walked over to the cupboard, took out a shot glass and a bottle of scotch.

Donna.

The memories flooded back. They’d been friends. At least it had started out that way. They’d played with toys, made up games, imagined adventures. But something had changed somewhere along the way. He remembered the two of them beating up other children, making them cry. Burying a live hamster. Skinning a dog.

The ants.