My hair stood on end, a shiver raced down my spine, and a lump came to my throat when I…

I saw him coming over the bridge. There he was with his long black coat on and his black and brown cowboy hat. I thought he was dead! I was sure he was dead. I had gone to his funeral – not to mourn his passing as in having loved him or cared about him. No, it was to assure myself that he really was dead. Only if he was really dead could I ever ne safe again.

Despite everything he had pursued me. I had been lucky to get away and he had been lucky to get away with what he had done. All that had happened to him was a mild admonishment. But he had captured and imprisoned me. Only problem was, he made it look like I had wanted to be there. Clever, he was. Very clever. I had made that statement at the interview when they were trying to ascertain what had happened.

“Yes, and you are clever too Miss Harding,” they had said to me.

They tried desperatly to put the blame onto me, but it didn’t work. I had far too much evidence. Like the letter he gave to me telling me of his plans. I was to “disappear” and become someone else, with a new name and a new identity. There it was, in black and white, what he had intended to do.

I won in the end, but not much happened to him. Then he died. Or I thought he had. But here he was, walking across the bridge, coming towards me!


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