I am lost. With the blindfold, I can’t tell how long we’ve been driving, but my legs ache. I’m folded in on myself in the middle seat. Every time I accidently brush against the man on either side of me, I curl my arms in closer to my body. I clutch my hands together to keep them from trembling.
I squeeze my eyes shut to keep from crying.
The ride is silent. No chatter. No radio. Perhaps it’s the quiet that makes the otherworldly buzzing against my ear more pronounced. The presence has been along for the ride this entire time, but I’ve only just now felt it. Perhaps because it wants me to.
Perhaps because it’s Prescott’s naughty sprite Frederick.
It caresses one cheek and then the other, a ghostly version of a kiss. Each time it lands, it sucks up a tear. It feels like an apology.
“Fre
