The days at work after her blowout with Wendy were strange. Lisa was gone, but Wendy hadn’t explained why, which had all the maids gossiping. She’d heard everything from Wendy and Lisa had been having a secret love affair to Lisa found new job and moved. She’d spied a few men in suits, in and out of Lisa’s office and assumed they'd been hired to look into things.

Rosie followed her schedule and stayed out of Wendy's way. Things went smoothly until the day they ran into each other in the hall. Rosie was leaving the storage room at the same time Wendy came out of her office. She'd looked surprised at first but then the anger surfaced and she’d stormed off. After that, Rosie made sure to stock everything she needed before she went home in the morning.

At the end of the week she worked her usual night shift and was riding her bike home, the roads dark but not dangerous. Rosie felt comfortable being on her own. She rounded a corner and standing in front of her was a woman, directly in the path of her bike. Middle-aged with dark hair was all she made out before the woman appeared closer, moving in the blink of an eye. Rosie swerved her bike, even dumped it on purpose to avoid the woman but it was impossible. Before she could do anything to stop it she slid directly into the woman.

When her bike passed through her, Rosie knew she was in trouble. The woman was dead, a spirit, and Rosie’s body was on a collision course with it.

There wasn't time to prepare for being under water. Her lungs burned, there was no air. She was going to die. She felt the grit of sand and pebbles forced down the back of her shirt and neck as she was pressed into the ground. Above, through a shallow layer of water she saw the tallest of trees surrounding her, sunlight filtering through them. She groped with her fingernails, clawing desperately at the hands that held her down by the neck, choking and drowning her. She was going to die. The eyes staring down at her were filled with anger and she could hear his muffled screaming. She kicked her feet, one last surge of energy but his grip never loosened and it wasn't enough. Her fingers still tried to move his hands, but she was too weak. She'd never go willingly, never let him know she gave up. So she kept grabbing at him and kicking her feet. She thrashed as long as she could until her lungs couldn’t burn anymore. Until the edges of her world became fuzzy and black. When it came, things were quieter and the water that lapped in her ears was soothing. She let it lull her into the nothingness.

* * *

Dallas Hunter loved being a cop. He was a puzzle guy, loved to solve problems and get to the bottom of mysteries. He’d never imaged he’d become a police officer. Heck, when he was a kid he was in trouble more often than not but sometimes the cards fell and you got dealt a hand you weren’t expecting. At twenty-six, he was the second youngest of all his siblings and just about the most blue collar of them all. A small town cop wasn’t exactly what his parent’s had dreamt for him but they seemed happy, nonetheless.

He’d grown up in Jacob’s Beach and wanted to make sure it stayed the same great town he knew and loved. That’s why he took his job so seriously and mentored kids that didn’t have good role models. It was why he volunteered at the rec center and coached a basketball team, to make sure every kid had the support to learn who they wanted to be.

He didn’t even mind working a night shift once or twice a week. It gave him a chance to see who was out too late and which neighborhoods needed more patrolling. He was driving on the outskirts of town by Max’s place, when he spotted something in the road ahead of him. At first, it looked like some kind of white animal but the closer he got, the more his headlights illuminated the scene.

“Oh, shit,” he muttered into the dark of his car. He grabbed his radio. "This is twenty-oh-fourteen.”

“Go ahead, fourteen,” A voice echoed back to him.

He spoke quickly. “I’m out on old highway thirteen by the Murphy Farm and I’ve got a woman down in the road. I'll be investigating. Requesting an ambulance at this time.”

“Ten four, oh-fourteen.”

He swung the door open and hurried over.

“Shit. Shit,” he swore again when he got close enough to confirm it was Wendy’s friend Rosie.

When he’d been close enough, her white hair tipped him off. He knelt and surveyed the scene. There was nothing in the road he could see that would have made her crash but her jeans look like they’d torn clean through at her calf and there was blood on her arm. He didn’t dare move her head in case she had a neck injury.

“Rosie,” he called her name, trying to get her to come back around. “Rosie. Can you hear me?”

There was blood in her hair and he tried to assess where it came from.

“Come on, Rosie,” he said loudly. “Open your eyes. It’s Dallas. Remember me?”

She shifted at the sound of his voice and let out a soft moan.

“Don’t move, okay,” he told her. “An ambulance is on its way.”

“I’m okay,” she croaked as she lifted her hand to hold her head. “Ow.”

"Yeah, ow," he agreed. "Let’s let a professional take a look." He grabbed her hand and held it. “I’m going to stay right here with you, okay. I’m not going anywhere.”

She turned to face him.

“Don’t move around,” he told her. “Just in case you have a neck or spine injury.”

Rosie looked up at him with eyes so unique and intense. There was a big patch of road rash on her cheek and her nose was bleeding like crazy.

He smiled at her, making sure he didn’t freak her out by reacting to her injuries.

“Your nose is bleeding, again. I’m going to get a complex if this keeps happening when we see each other.”

She let out a little grunt and brought her free hand to her nose and pinched.

“It happens,” she told him simply. “Can I sit up now?”

“No. We’re waiting for the ambulance.” He could see the red lights approaching. “They’re almost here. Want to tell me what happened?”

“Something in the road,” she said quietly. “Possum maybe. I’m not sure.”

An ambulance pulled up and two EMTs jumped out, ready to work.

“What do we have, Hunter?” One of them asked as he jumped out of the rig, his partner right behind him, already unloading equipment from the back.

“She crashed her bike. I found her here unconscious in the middle of the road.”

“Conscious now though.” The EMT smiled down at Rosie. “We’re gonna take good care of you, okay honey.”

“Rosie,” Dallas corrected. “Her name’s Rosie and she’s a friend of mine.”

“Hi Rosie,” the other EMT said. “I’m just putting a neck brace on.” He knelt and got to work.

“Is it possible to die of embarrassment?” Rosie asked, her eyes closed.

He looked at the EMTs and they shared a smile.

“We haven’t seen it yet,” the first one chuckled.

“Uh, boss. You might want to take a look at this.” The one who’d been putting the neck brace on was staring at Rosie.

Dallas watched him pull Rosie’s hair aside and gesture to her neck. He’d only ever seen that type of injury in a text book but he knew, without a doubt what the bloody, oozing scratches on Rosie’s neck were. They were a classic defensive wound, found most often on victims of choking, after they tried to pry the hands around their neck, off.

“What the fuck is that, Rosie,” he asked, dropping to his knees next to her. “Did someone hurt you?”

“Hunter,” one of the EMTs warned.

“What is it?” she asked, her forehead crinkled.

“Nothing, honey. Let’s get you on the backboard and see if we can’t get you cleaned up," the EMT smiled down at her then looked to Dallas. "You mind moving?" 

They got her strapped in while he went back to his cruiser. It took a moment to process the scene, her bike on the ground and the long skid mark left in her wake. Must have been one hell of a ride, he thought. It took him a few minutes to start writing his report and draw a diagram of the accident scene.

“Hunter,” The EMT trotted toward him.

“What’s up?” He met him a few steps away.

“She’s insisting on not going to the hospital. Wants to sign whatever waiver she has to.”

“Shit,” he muttered. Why were some people so goddamn stubborn? The chick was just held dead on the side of the road.

“The pretty ones are always nuts,” the medic commented.

“True,” he agreed, though he felt no interest in Rosie like that. She was beautiful sure. Nice face, amazing eyes, sexy hair, curvy body – they all made a nice package but, one look at her screamed complicated and he wasn’t interested. Plus, she was Wendy’s friend and he drew a line at one night stands he’d end up having to see all the time. Been there, done that, not worth it.

When he got to the back of the ambulance, she was sitting up and signing something attached to a clipboard.

“Let them take you to the hospital, Rosie. You might have a concussion.”

“I’m sure I do,” she told him. “Thank you. All of you. I’m so sorry and I’m so embarrassed but it's not anything I can’t fix up myself.”

“She already signed the forms. She’s free to go.”

The EMT helped her down from the ambulance and walked her to her bike. He talked to her for a minute before walking away and packing up his rig. Dallas hurried to where she was inspecting her now scratched bike.

“Let’s put it in the back of the cruiser and I’ll drive you home.”

“I’m okay,” she tried to send him a smile but couldn’t quite pull it off, the stark white bandages on her face already turning red. The ambulance doors closed and they pulled away.

“Don’t be an idiot. You’re hurt and bleeding and if you say no again, it’s just gonna piss me off. I’m putting your bike in the car and I’m bringing you home. Tell me no again and I’ll come back when my shift is done and wake you up every hour to check for a concussion.”

She watched him for a few seconds. Without asking, he picked up her bag, grabbed the bike out of her hands, and wheeled it to his cruiser. It wasn’t overly difficult to pop it in the trunk and tie it shut. He went around and opened the passenger door for her and she eased herself down slowly into the seat without a word.

She was hurting, for sure.

“Which way?” He asked when he settled in his seat.

She pointed in the direction the cruiser was already facing. He drove not more than a half mile before she directed him down a hidden, narrow dirt road.

“Down here,” she pointed.

He took another turn at her direction and then another. All of them dirt roads and all of them dark and spooky as hell.

“This one,” she pointed to a small mailbox with a shiny, reflective star attached to.

He turned in the driveway and was surprised to find it was near a quarter mile long. When he pulled into the small clearing he saw an old camper, with some string lights and a few chairs outside.

“This is the middle of nowhere,” he complained as they got out. “What the hell are you doing living way out here by yourself?”

She shrugged as she took the bike from him after he lifted it out of the trunk.

“I don’t mind it. It’s quiet,” she told him as if it were to most simple thing in the world. She limped her bike to the side of the camper and propped it up.

"Let's get you inside and cleaned up."

She waved him off. "I'll take care of it. Ice and ibuprofen."

He let out a humorless laugh. "Let me at least see you in, Rosie. Give me some peace of mind after thinking you were dead in the middle of the goddamn road."

* * *

It's wasn't a bad idea, she thought as she struggled to stay standing. In case she died or something, which seemed highly possible. She didn't feel like she was bleeding internally or like her neck was broken but she definitely felt like she'd been hit by a bus or possibly wrecked her bike and oh yeah, experienced a horrifically violent death.

She pushed the incident from her mind and swore to deal with it later. For now, she just had to survive the night.

"Whatever," she told him.

She remembered his aura, even if it was barely a wisp now. He had no bad energies running through him, nothing that screamed serial killer. She felt safe enough with him in the camper for a few minutes so she took her keys out and unlocked the trailer.

The first step hurt like a bitch and she made some kind of wounded animal noise.

"You okay?" Dallas asked.

"Just hurts," she forced out. "I'm good."

The camper felt even smaller with another person in it. It was meant for the kitchen table to turn into a bed but at some point her landlord had just built the table in permanently. The bathroom was in the middle of the trailer and that was where she needed to get too. She needed a washcloth and some meds.

"You got any ice in here?" He asked pointing to her tiny fridge/freezer combo.

"A couple frozen water bottles." She shut herself in the bathroom, peeled off the seeping bandages and saw her face in the mirror. Her right cheek was covered in road rash and there was a huge gash on her forehead. The bloody nose had stained her face with streaks of blood.

"Holy mother-of-pearl," she muttered.

 She set to cleaning herself up and washed the blood out of her hair and off her face. The scratches on her neck stood out and she studiously avoided thinking about them while cleaning and re-bandaging everything else. After she stripped her shirt off, she found her forearm oozing with blood. After that was her pants which was a struggle, the small room combined with the pounding in her head didn't make a great combination.

After a particularly loud bang, Dallas knocked on the door. "You okay."

"Yeah," she said through gritted teeth. "There's a pair of sweatpants on the shelf right behind you. They're gray. Can you toss them on the floor by the door? I'll grab them when I'm done cleaning up."

"Sure you don't need a hand. I swear, I won't look. Totally professional."

She cracked a smile, even if he couldn't see it. "Thanks friend. I'm all set."

She pulled her ruined jeans off and winced. Her calf was raw, like pulp and full of sand. She washed it out as best she could and wrapped a hand towel around it. She'd have to go to a drugstore and get bandages tomorrow. She thought about it for a second and decided maybe the day after would be better.

She pulled the sweatpants through the crack of the door, put them on, and stepped out to find Dallas sitting on the edge of the tiny built in couch.

"It doesn't look much better," he told her.

"Thanks." She shook out a few ibuprofen and swallowed them, then pressed a frozen water bottle on her cheek. She pressed another to her neck.

"Want to tell me who the hell strangled you?" He asked, his face neutral.

He was a cop, she shouldn’t have been surprised he wouldn't hesitate to ask.

"It's not what you think," she answered.

"That's it?" His laugh had no trace of humor as he stood from the couch. "That's the best you've got?"

She limped away, toward the back of the camper where the bed fit from wall to wall. She gingerly sat and wiggled to the head of the bed, wedged between the corner of two walls, Dallas right behind her.

“Yeah,” she sighed. “It’s all I’ve got right now. Thanks for seeing me home. It was a nice thing to do for someone you’ve only met once.”

“Yeah, well, you’re a friend of Wendy’s, so that’s good enough for me.”

She didn't tell him Wendy hated her guts.

The room fell silent for a few seconds. "Thanks," she said again, hoping he'd get the hint.

"Oh, you think I'm leaving," he said. "Yeah, no. I'll be here waking you up every hour on the hour."

She wanted to argue but she didn't have the energy. "Suit yourself," she said, closing her eyes.