"Wait! What?" Trying her best to smother a snicker behind her hand, Molly's usually contagious laugh was lost on Evelynn.

"Oh my God," she threw her head into her hands, "I took a drink!" Her shoulders quaked with a lamenting groan.

Evelynn's closest friend, her only friend unless Spencer qualified, attempted to compose herself with a deep breath.

"Okay," she flashed her palms at Evelynn, "You're running at night again, and when you stop to check out the marina, some guy approaches you... and you drank from his glass?"

"Yes."

Molly eyed her suspiciously. "One drink?"

"What? Yes! I mean... not even 'a drink', it was just a sip."

Sighing, Molly watched as worry snaked through Evelynn's features. Usually so confident and sure, such dismay was unusual. "And you think it was drugged?"

"Yes! It had to be!"

Molly shook her head, "I really don't think so." Standing from the kitchen island and stepping over a number of boxes, she approached the large glass doors spanning the wall facing the river. She crossed her arms as she considered the situation, and looked back at Evelynn, "It just doesn't fit."

"Why not?" Evelynn's shoulders rose in dissent. "He got all up in my space and I took the drink, then Spencer called and I left. Within a couple minutes, I was already feeling a little off and I stumbled."

"You told me that," Molly nodded.

"Right." Evelynn stood, pacing through the boxes and belongings littering the floor as she rehashed what she could remember of the night before. "I started running back here..." she pointed at Molly, "and saw that car!"

"But it was a car? It's not like you were hallucinating?"

"Do you think I could have been seeing things?" Evelynn's eyes were wide.

"Unlikely," Molly soothed.

Staring for a moment, contemplating, Evelynn nodded sharply and resumed her pacing. "But then when I got back here..."

"And you heard voices," Molly finished her sentence.

"Yes! Well, no." Evelynn sat back down on the kitchen stool. "One voice."

"Look," Molly assuaged, "I know it's freaky. A frantic call from Spencer and then finding you here, passed out outside in your driveway with a nasty cut on your head freaked me out a little bit, too. But having been drugged doesn't fit."

Evelynn glared.

"You said he was drinking it, too? So it's highly unlikely it was drugged."

Averting her eyes, Evelynn crossed her arms.

"You want an explanation, and I'm sure there is one, but being drugged just isn't it."

"What about the man I saw?" Evelynn demanded, jumping from the stool and jabbing a finger towards the front door. "The one who ran past me right towards that door?"

Finally, silence.

Molly had no retort for that. Closing her eyes, she turned again to look at the river, a sedated pause growing between them.

"People speed," she finally spoke. "They drive recklessly in the night for no good reason; to try and speculate what that driver was doing is just... ridiculous." She turned, running her tongue over her teeth as she thought about the story Evelynn had just conveyed to her. "And the voice, there are a million explanations for hearing someone talking in the night." Waving her hand towards the view on the far side of the glass for emphasis, "I've lived here my whole life, the way sound travels over the water, over the river, it isn't like living in a city or even in the woods."

Softening her gaze, Molly turned back to Evelynn, who was still standing in the entryway, hands on her hips and fire in her eyes.

"And you must have tripped... or something," Molly raised her palms towards the ceiling; "so what? You were scared and disoriented."

"But the man," Evelynn whispered.

"Yah," Molly's voice mirrored Evelynn's quiet and worry. "The man," she sighed. "I have no explanation for the man," she finally relented.

"And I passed out."

Nodding, "Yah, that, too. But it was late? You were scared and tired... and we don't really know if you passed out before or after you hit your head."

"I don't remember anything else, not until you were here, rolling me over and yelling in my face," Evelynn relaxed her arms and wiped her hands over her hair, rubbing her eyes.

Molly moved towards her, tripping over a box along the way and kicking it to the side. Taking Evelynn's hands in her own, she leveled her breathing, "It's pretty normal to be a little freaked out on your first night in a new place."

"I guess," Evelynn looked away.

Studying the apprehension on her friend's face, Molly knew Evelynn well enough to see that even if Evelynn's fears of nefarious intentions on the part of the handsome, mysterious man in the marina were unfounded, she needed more than just verbal assurance.

"Do you want me to call it in? You could probably use a stitch in your head, too." She pointed to the bandages she had plastered to Evelynn's forehead shortly after finding her laying outside.

"Could you," hope blossomed in Evelynn's abnormally timid voice.

"Sure," Molly dropped Evelynn's hands and reached for her purse, pulling out her phone, "if it will make you feel better."

Molly walked towards the back of the house, pushing open one of the oversized doors and letting herself out onto the deck, while Evelynn returned to the boxes, rummaging around for the coffee maker.

Meticulous and detailed, Molly had helped her pack her former apartment; every box was neatly labeled and had been deposited into the correct room for unpacking. It didn't take long to brew a pot of coffee and assemble a meager breakfast of fruit and crackers.

Setting a roll of paper towels on the white stone counter of the island, at the same moment that Molly hung up her call, someone pounded on the door.

"Evelynn!" a voice bellowed.

Rolling her eyes, Molly resumed her sniggering.

Evelynn made her way around the island and towards the door when it suddenly burst open, slamming on the adjacent wall.

"Jesus!" Molly jumped, grasping at her heart as the figure of a man appeared before them, shoulder first.

"Spencer!" Evelynn chided, eyebrows knit together and mouth agape.

"Sorry..." Spencer shook himself off, standing tall and smoothing his shirt. "I thought it would be locked," he shrugged off his innocuous, albeit dramatic, entry.

Molly covered her mouth with her hands, laughing boisterously into Spencer's glare.

"What?" Spencer looked between them. "You!" he pointed to Evelynn, "You never showed up!" He turned towards Molly, "And you! You never called back. How do I know what you found here? If she was even here at all?" It felt like they were being chastised by a parent.

"Okay, Okay!" Evelynn flipped her hands to the sky and let them fall to her sides, "I'm sorry!" She leveled a state at the both of them, "I'll quit the night runs."

Resuming her perch on a kitchen stool, Molly cocked an eyebrow, "And drinking with strangers?"

"What?!" Spencer's voice rose in disbelief.

"It was nothing," Evelynn allayed.

Clearly not buying that explanation, Spencer helped himself to a handful of crackers.

"I don't want to know anyhow."

"Good," Molly clapped, watching as Spencer consumed the bulk of their scanty breakfast in a few bites. "She's here. She's well. You've seen her. And we have to go."

Spencer stood, throwing another cracker into his mouth, munching as he headed for the door, he paused to look at Evelynn. "Noon?"

Having stepped out of his way, Evelynn was collecting her own belongings, her purse and keys, readying herself to leave with Molly.

"I'm sorry?"

"Noon?" Spencer repeated. "Can you meet me at the office at noon? I have something to discuss with you," he nodded. "It's important."

"Sure," she agreed.

Brushing his hands on his jacket, dusting off the crumbs, "Great," Spencer acknowledged and traipsed out the door.

* * *

Having called to announce their imminent arrival at the clinic where she worked, there was neither a long wait in line nor a barrage of questions when Molly and Evelynn arrived.

"I told you so," Molly gloated.

Evelynn shook her freshly stitched head, whispering, "I don't understand this..." She studied the instant drug test in her hands. Looking up at Molly, "What does this mean?" she wondered.

"It means," Molly took the test from Evelynn's hands and threw it in the first trash can they passed as she steered Evelynn towards the back exit, "that you weren't drugged."

"This isn't good," Evelynn lamented and Molly laughed, pushing through the heavy metal door and into the bright sunshine.

"That's the first time anyone has ever said not being drugged is not a good thing." Cocking her head, she slid her sunglasses down her forehead and into place.

"Molly!" Evelynn stopped, eyes narrowed on her friend, question dripping from her features. For all of her intelligence, did Molly really not understand the significance of this? "If I wasn't drugged," Evelynn's eyes darted to the side, worried that someone could be listening to what she was about to admit, "then I'm hearing people." She paused, staring at Molly, waiting for a response. "I'm seeing people."

Molly tapped her wrist, "We need to keep moving or we'll be late to Spencer's office. And the last thing I need is to be ridiculed by your boss for keeping you after the deadline... again."

"Answer me!"

"You didn't ask a question," Molly wasn't patronizing, but she wanted to move on.

"It was obviously implied," Evelynn winced.

Molly smoothed her hands over her shirt, adjusted her sunglasses, and slipped a thumb under the strap of her purse, hanging neatly from her shoulder. "Evelynn," she placated, "you're panicking."

Evelynn swung her arms heavenward, her eyes wide. "I'm going crazy, Molly!" she planted her hands on her hips, "Of course I'm panicking."

"Are you really going crazy?" Molly cocked her head knowingly, her logical mind never wary. "We don't know that, yet, do we?" Evelynn slowly shook her head. "You haven't eliminated all other possibilities or otherwise confirmed lunacy – have you?" Gripping the arm of her sunglasses, Molly slipped them down her nose to peer directly at Evelynn, who huffed in response.

"No. I guess not."

"No, for sure not," Molly corrected, reaching forward to link arms with the distraught Evelynn. "Let's go; I'll drop you at home."

* * *

As Molly drove along the coast, Evelynn considered the circumstances. Try as she might, she couldn't shake her unease and they made the drive in relative silence, interrupted only by the ping of Evelynn's phone.

Spencer. "Delayed. See you Monday." Short and sweet, unlike Spencer himself, the message necessitated little elaboration.

"You can drop me off at the end of the driveway," relieved of her meeting, there was no sense in hurrying now.

Molly nodded, pulling off the road in front of the elegant, gabled house. "Hey," she reached for Evelynn's hand as she turned to open the door. "You'll figure this out, I promise."

Evelynn nodded slowly, quietly shutting the door behind her.

Approaching mid-day, the sun on the adjacent lawn was intense. Squinting, she shaded her eyes, taking a moment to observe the setting in the daylight. Last night was foggy, both her mind and the air. And now, nothing appeared to be amiss.

Maybe it had all been in her imagination. No car. No voices. No man. She had taken on more responsibility in Spencer's office lately, on top of the stresses of moving. Maybe all of this was nothing at all?

"Are you lost?"

The voice was familiar and without contempt; the speaker was asking, but already knew she wasn't lost.

Slowly looking around, Evelynn spotted a man reclined on the porch at the head of the expansive lawn.

It was the man she had met last night.

With a sideward glance at her own house, she tilted her head to peer at him, "Do you live here?"

With a sharp, congenial smile, the man stood and slipped his hands into his pockets, coming to stand at the edge of the porch. "Some of the time, yes."

Evelynn blinked in confusion, "Some of the time? What about the rest of the time?"

His spirited laugh rattled through her, and she couldn't help the shy smile sneaking onto her face.

"I have a lot of time," his face fell into something more serious. "I travel frequently, but always seem to make my way back here."

She waved towards her own house, and took a few steps onto the lawn, closer to where the man stood, "I just moved in."

Studying her for a moment, he only nodded.

"I'm just renting it."

The man was statuesque. Classically handsome, he had pale blue eyes that shone with something unidentifiable; unattainable knowledge, or effortless power, lurking beneath his polished façade.

And silent. He still hadn't spoken.

With an abrupt cough, "Well," she concluded, "I have to go... I'll be late..." But as she turned to leave, he stepped off the porch, striding across the lawn.

"It would be a shame to have met you again and still failed to introduce myself," he extended his hand. "My name is Kane."

With scrupulous hesitation, she met his greeting, taking his hand in hers. "Evelynn."

"It's a pleasure, Evelynn." He dropped her hand, slipping his own back into his pockets. With a quick bow of his head in dismissal, he retired to the porch with a perfunctory wave, and Evelynn traipsed back to her own house.

Rounding the circular driveway, a comber of dizziness coasted through her. Vertiginous, but lucid, she stumbled through her front door.

Dazed, she made her way to her bedroom, resting the weight of her body against the doorframe, hoping to catch her breath.

There she stood, her mind a hectic coalescence of the oddities she had recently endured and the face of the inexplicably familiar stranger.

The hotel, the marina, the drink.

The car, the voice, the man.

Kane.

Overwhelmed, waves of adrenaline coursed through her nearly as quickly as sentience quelled her disquietude.

It wasn't drugs or drinks, she realized.

It was him.

The way he had studied her, the depth of his eyes boring into her.

She had seen it before.

But where?

Where?

And a laggardly image made its way into her mind.

Her eyes snapped open, sudden urgency quashing her previous agitation, and she bounded over the haphazard array of boxes to stand before her open closet door. Shoving aside winter coats hanging in their plastic dry cleaning bags, she grasped the handle of what she was looking for, pulling it from the obscurity of the closet where she had hidden it, and flopped it onto the bed.

Smooth, light-brown leather embossed with golden initials, the briefcase was worn, but sturdy. She had no idea whose initials they were; she had found the briefcase at an antique shop while she attended university in Maine.

Clicking open the latches, she flipped open the center buckle. Revealing the contents, she never ceased to feel the dichotomous emotions of grief and excitement every time she opened this briefcase.

For within it, she stored every shred of evidence she had gathered.

Newspaper clippings, photographs, police reports, maps.

Regardless of how obscure some of it seemed to be, she had spent years collecting documentation related to the deaths of Edward and Valarie, conspiratorial conjecture as to who had killed them.

All avenues led to the seemingly invisible person she believed was responsible.

She sought one photograph and, rifling through the myriad of them strewn within the meticulously organized compartments of the briefcase, she found it with little effort.

Grasping it warily, she dwelt her gaze upon the man in the picture, then flipped it over to read the provenance she had scrawled across the back. It had been obtained through the Georgia Transit Authority during a suspicious death investigation a little over thirty years ago. The notes indicated that the registered owner of the vehicle did not appear in any database, save for the Department of Motor Vehicles entry under which the car was registered.

The ghost of a man who had never even existed.

Despite the graininess of the photograph, devoid of particularized features, she scrutinized the man behind the wheel.

She set the photograph on the papers within the briefcase, shutting it gently and affixing the latches. For a moment, she sat with her hand upon the cover, contemplating the implications of her conclusion.

Undoubtedly, it was him. This man, Kane.

The weight of the insinuation engirdled her judgment. She wiped her hands down her face, pausing to press fatigue from her eyes. With a calming breath, she grabbed a clean set of clothes from her dresser and walked to the bathroom. Switching the shower on, the small tiled room quickly began to fill with steam, and when she stepped in, she flicked the dial to nearly the hottest setting.

The scalding water did little to distract her mind from the influx of information. Closing her eyes, letting the water stream over her face, she could clearly recall the look on Kane's face as he stepped up to her in the marina.

Fascination.

Intrigue.

Longing.

He had stared at her like he was waiting for her to speak his name, to show a sign that she knew him.

And when she didn't, there was no disappointment in his features; if anything, there had been a smugness of knowing. He hoped she would recognize him, but had no expectation that she would.

And why would she?

Sucking in a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, Evelynn leaned her hands against the wall to steady herself. She gasped deep gulps of the hot, steamy air, when the crack of a closing door resounded through the house.

Slamming the water off, she all but leapt from the glass enclosure and wrapped herself in a towel. Chest hurtling in time with her heart, she stood perfectly still, listening.

Save for the quiet clang of the buoy in the river, she could hear no other significant sound. Quickly, she dried herself and pulled on her clothes, but when she reached for the bathroom doorknob, she stopped short.

"Shhhh," someone whispered. A woman's voice. "Don't wake her."

Repressing an innate urgency, a man responded, "Who left it here?"

"I... I don't know."

Evelynn pulled open the door just enough to see into her bedroom.

It was mid-day, but dark.

Not the darkness of drawn drapes, but the darkness of night.

Her breath hitched as lightning ricocheted through her head and she squeezed her eyes shut.

Now she knew she had really lost it.

Opening her eyes, nothing had changed.

There, beside what looked like her own bed, was a nightstand she could hardly recall, and upon it, a picture she hadn't seen in over a decade. Framed in gold, it was a photograph of herself, green eyes piercing the lens, held upon Valarie's back while they galloped along the beach. The pain in her mind morphed into an ache in her chest.

Pulling the door open a little more, she stepped into the room, and, there, perched on the edge of the bed, was Valarie. Pacing before her, blocking the exit to the hallway, was Edward.

Hand running through his hair and down his neck as he had always done when deep in thought, Valarie watched him with wide eyes.

"I was here all day, Edward," she shook her head, "No one else was here."

"Then where did that," he jammed a pointed finger at the briefcase, Evelynn's briefcase, laying open on the bed, "come from?!"

Evelynn looked back and forth between their hazy forms as Valarie glanced at the briefcase, scooting sideways on the bed to move away from it. "I have no idea," she whispered.

"Look at this!" Edward was nearly shouting as he dove for the contents, picking up a picture of himself, "This is me!" Bringing it close to his face he scowled, shoving it towards Valarie. "And this," he picked up another, his voice filled with as much wonderment as concern, "it's... this is just like my own case file. Only, half of it is missing," he flipped through more of the papers, pausing her and there to scan what he had found, "and evidence has been added that I've never seen before." He picked up a newspaper article recounting the accident, "Shocking Crash, One Year Later". "This is dated..." he scanned the page, narrowing his eyes on the words before him then raising his head to look at Valarie, "one year... from tomorrow."

Studying the face of the woman who had comforted her so many times before, Evelynn watched as tears welled in Valarie's eyes, the urge to embrace her quelled only by her amorphous visage.

Edward cupped Valarie's cheek. "I have to go."

"Why?" Valarie strained.

Shaking his head, Edward shoved the photographs and papers back into the briefcase, "I want to reference the rest of my research." He set the latches. "I don't know where this briefcase came from," lifting the briefcase from the bed, he tucked it under his arm, "but it just might contain the answers I've been looking for." He bent to Valarie and kissed her quickly. "Please lock the door and don't let anyone inside." She nodded, biting her cheek to keep from crying. "I promise I'll be back soon."

Rushing from the room, Valarie slipped through the door a few moments later.

As surreptitiously as they had appeared, they were gone. In life, so as in death.

Evelynn stood, aghast.

Gaping at the empty bed, she knelt on the floor to look under it, then stood and spun around.

It was well and truly gone.

Edward had taken her briefcase.