The night air chilled my skin. I turned my head and looked into Randall Oakes dead eyes. Eyes that really hadn’t known life to begin with.
It was over.
Finally…
Twenty Eight
My name is Chance Monroe. I’m a hedge witch, and I am bound to the land of Northern Virginia. Eight years ago, I was attacked in the parking lot of my school and left for dead. A part of me did die that night, but only a part. The rest went on with life, and when my grandmother passed away, I took up the mantle of her work. A scant few weeks ago, the man responsible for that attack returned.
But the specter of Randall Oakes re-established Jack Harker’s presence in my life. I had no idea what I expected. The curious events of the weeks that followed and those two very strange meetings with Victor Callanport left me with more questions than answers.
Randall Oakes was finally dead. Colleen Masters was listed as officially missing. Jack told me there would be an ongoing investigation into her whereabouts, though unofficially the Bureau seemed to believe she was Oakes’ last victim. Callanport was named the head of Project Aegis. Jack recovered, thankfully, and so did Billy.
I can’t explain what happened in the woods that night. I’ve thought about it several times since, and once or twice, I’ve thought about telling someone about it. But the question would be who? Was the world really ready to accept the possibility that something could be so hyper-stimulated within the brain it caused an organic change to the body and psyche at the same moment?
I sure as hell wasn’t.
All these years, somewhere inside me, I knew Randall Oakes and Colleen Masters were one and the same. I knew by some gut instinct, a woman’s intuition, or maybe it was just the simple case of prey recognizing a predator. I’d known, but I’d never been able to acknowledge it consciously. Now I had. I’d faced that fear head on and without remorse, I’d ended it.
Sydney’s vision of Oakes putting me into the Earth came true. Only it wasn’t Oakes who put me there. It was my abilities and by my choice.
Technically, they called it self-defense, and there would be no prosecution. Case closed. I even got an official letter from the director thanking me for my assistance and apologizing for the pain and suffering I went through.
A letter. Isn’t that spiffy?
The case completely screwed up my nice little life. Turned it completely on its ear and introduced me back into a world I left behind. The victim’s world. Did that count as pain and suffering? I stared down a demon from my past that haunted my nightmares and ended what might have been a promising career in law enforcement. I faced it and I won.
Did that count? I don’t know if I can answer that question yet.
Jaime called. He took a bullet, a grazing shot, but he was alive. Jack and I went to lunch at Billy’s house a week ago. I met his family. They’re great people. Betty’s going to California to visit her daughter, and my rent was paid for the month.
I turned down Callanport’s offer of a job, and I’m back to work sorting out garden fairies, gnomes, elves and the occasional imp. Tomorrow, Jack and I are going out to dinner. He insists on calling it a date. It’s a working title.
I find myself staring more and more at the portrait of Wisdom on the wall. When I’m alone, I couldn’t help thinking about what happened in the woods. I couldn’t explain it. I didn’t know how it all came down to those few seconds when I made a decision between life and death. I should feel bad about it, or something. Yet, I felt nothing save maybe a sense of relief and closure. Oakes needed to die. Maybe Colleen Masters did too, but I’d never know.
I guess that was the problem. I didn’t know and I don’t think I ever would. That’s the trick of this world. We can’t always explain it.
Oh, well, I don’t have to explain it. I just had to live in it. I think I could do that.
Which reminds me, I still need a new pair of boots.
About The Author
Heather Long lives in Texas with her family and their menagerie of animals. As a child, Heather skipped picture books and enjoyed the Harlequin romance novels by Penny Jordan and Nora Roberts that her grandmother read to her. Heather believes that laughter is as important to life as breathing and that the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy and Santa Claus are very real. In the meanwhile, she is hard at work on her next novel.
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