Part Thirty Four

You Will Find Your Way

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Part Thirty Four of You Will Find Your Way
Oh look, Dallas is hallucinating.

Dallas must be dreaming.

But she must not be dreaming, because when she blinks, the vision of Mathias—holy shit that might be him—doesn’t go away.

For a second, they lock eyes.

And then everything stops.

What the hell?

“Dallas?”

The world restarts, and a couple passes arm-in-arm in front of Mathias the same second that Dallas tears her gaze away. She looks back to Luke in time to see him wave a hand to get her attention—so that was probably not the first time he tried to.

Whoops.

“You all right?”

Dallas blink some of the dryness from her eyes and nods, but when she looks back out the window again, Mathias—or the vision of him, anyway—is no longer standing in front of the little second-hand dress boutique that’s crammed between a paint-your-own pottery shop and a Starbucks.

She’s hallucinating, that’s got to be what this is.

The stress of everything is getting to her.

“Uh, yeah,” she plays with the stem of her wine glass, swirls it around a bit.

Maybe she should think about cutting back a little.

“Dallas?”

Luke is clearly concerned, and his shoulders go stiff before he twists around in his seat and looks off in the direction she’s been staring. Obviously he doesn’t find anything amiss—not like he’d see her hallucination even if the vision of Mathias was still standing here.

He twists back around, “What did you see?”

Try as she might, when she opens her mouth to answer, nothing comes, so Dallas resolutely shakes her head and takes another vicious stab at a cheesy noodle.

It should taste good, but for whatever reason, it just tastes like ashes on her tongue.

“Come on,” Luke leans a little closer, pitches his voice toward the realm of concern. “You know I know what that look means. Seen it way too many times from my old shipmates, and they’ve seen it on my face too.”

There’s not much she can do to get out of the conversation, so Dallas glares back out the window, “I thought I saw someone,” is what she finally settles on. “But it’s not possible. Clearly I’m just stressed to the edge of sanity with everything that’s going on.”

“Don’t be reasonable. I know something’s been going on since the day I saw you in Giselle’s office? How did you end up like that anyway?”

Well, let me start with what happened the other night when I nearly got my spine ripped out with a thing that should not be on this world.

Oh, so now the words want to spill right off her tongue.

Dallas swallows them back, “You can’t want to help with this,” she says instead. “There’s a significant difference between knowing what happened to me that night twelve years ago and wanting to get involved with what may or may not be going on right now.”

He tilts his head, “Or you can tell me and let me make my own decisions.”

Something crashes in the restaurant’s kitchen, nearly startling Dallas out of her skin, and it hits her dead on that they’re having this hushed argument in public.

In the middle of a restaurant.

She sighs, pinches the bridge of her nose before she grabs her wine glass and tosses what’s left of it back like a shot, “You sure you want to get involved?” She asks, swallowing back at the lump in her throat. “I don’t know half of what’s going on, but I’m pretty sure there’s no backing out.”

“I’ve seen war, Dallas. I can handle my.”

Probably.

But also, probably not.

“Not this kind of war,” she says, pointed, but Luke just shrugs and she resists the urge to finish off what’s in his glass. “Fine. Get the check? We really shouldn’t be talking about this in here.”

Luke shifts to one side and grabs his wallet from his back pocket, pulls out a handful of bills and drops them on the table between their plates, “There. Let’s go.”

You Will Find Your Way continues with Part Thirty Five

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-Kathryn, the Fake Redhead

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Author: TheFakeRedhead

A life-long college sports fan and forever bitter about the country's east coast biases, Kathryn, the Fake Redhead, graduated from the University of Arizona with a BA in Creative Writing, emphasis in poetry because she felt the fiction studies emphasis was too pretentious. She is currently helping other writers hone their craft while she pursues her dreams of becoming a published novelist.

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