Chapter 11 #2
The roads out here were narrow and winding, carved through thick forest that pressed close on both sides. Ethan knew them from years of running ambulance calls. He knew every curve, every turnoff, every place where you could disappear if you needed to.
He took three more turns in quick succession, accelerating on the straightaways and using the truck’s four-wheel drive to handle the increasingly icy pavement. Behind them, the sedan struggled to keep up, fishtailing slightly on a patch of black ice.
One more turn, this one onto a gravel logging road that was barely more than a track through the trees. Ethan killed the headlights and drove by the fading daylight alone, putting a mile between them and the main road before pulling into a small clearing hidden by overgrown cedars.
He shut off the engine and waited, his heart pounding, listening for the sound of another car following.
Silence.
“Is this the scenic route?” Rosie asked after a moment.
“Very scenic,” Ethan said, forcing himself to sound normal even though adrenaline was singing through his veins. “Let’s just sit here for a minute and enjoy the view, okay?”
They waited five minutes that felt like fifty. No sedan appeared. No sounds of pursuit. Just the quiet of the woods and Rosie humming to herself while she stroked her new bunny’s ears.
Finally, Ethan started the engine again and carefully navigated back to the main road. He took a different route home, winding through back roads that added twenty minutes to the trip but ensured they weren’t followed.
By the time they pulled into his driveway, full dark had fallen, and Lydia looked like she might be sick.
“Inside,” Ethan said quietly. “I’ll get the bags. Lock the doors behind you.”
She didn’t argue. Just gathered the kids and hustled them into the house with a tight smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
Ethan waited until he heard the deadbolt click before pulling out his phone. He tried Caleb first, the former firefighter had become something of a friend over the past week, and Ethan trusted his instincts. Plus, if Tom was in the area, another set of eyes wouldn’t hurt.
The call went straight to voicemail.
Ethan frowned and tried again. Same result.
He stood in his driveway, shopping bags at his feet, and made a decision.
He needed to talk to Caleb. Needed to know if the big firefighter had noticed anything suspicious, had seen anyone asking questions around town.
But more than that, he needed backup, because the protective rage building in his chest at the thought of Tom Redding stalking Lydia made Ethan want to do something stupid.
He knocked on the door, and Lydia opened it immediately, her face tight with worry.
“I need to run into town,” Ethan said. “Talk to Caleb, maybe the sheriff. I’ll be back in an hour.”
“Ethan—”
“Lock the doors. Don’t answer the phone unless it’s my number. If anything feels wrong, you call 911 first and me second. Understand?”
Lydia nodded, her eyes huge and dark. “Be careful.”
“Always am,” Ethan said, and kissed her quickly before he could lose his nerve and stay.
The drive back to town took fifteen minutes. Lakeside Lodge sat on the edge of Willow Glen proper, a two-story motel that had seen better days but was clean and cheap. Ethan pulled into the parking lot and scanned the line of doors until he spotted Caleb’s distinctive red and chrome Ford.
The truck was here, but when Ethan knocked on the room number the desk clerk had given him, there was no answer.
He was standing in the parking lot, debating his next move, when a familiar voice spoke behind him.
“He’s not here.”
Ethan turned to find Michael Smith standing a few feet away, hands in the pockets of his denim jacket, that same gentle smile on his face.
In the fading afternoon lights of the parking lot, his features looked almost otherworldly.
Too perfect, too calm, like a painting of a person rather than the real thing.
“Michael,” Ethan said, surprised. “What are you doing here?”
“Waiting for you, it seems,” Michael said, which wasn’t really an answer. “Caleb’s at the post office. He’s picking up a truck part he ordered. I can walk with you if you’d like.”
Ethan should have been suspicious. Should have questioned how Michael knew where Caleb was, or why he was hanging around the motel parking lot waiting. But there was something about the man that defied normal logic, that made Ethan’s instincts quiet down instead of raising alarms.
“Lead the way,” Ethan said.
They walked the three blocks to the post office in comfortable silence.
Michael moved with that same unhurried grace Ethan had noticed before, like he had nowhere else to be and all the time in the world to get there.
The town was quiet this late on Black Friday, most shops already closed, holiday lights twinkling in windows.
“You’re worried about Tom,” Michael said. It wasn’t a question.
“Someone followed us today,” Ethan said, ignoring the question of how Michael knew about Tom. Asking that question would only lead to more questions that would distract him from the crisis. “From Pigeon Forge. Could be nothing, but?—”
“But you don’t believe in coincidences.” Michael nodded. “That’s wise. He’s getting bolder.”
“You sound certain it was him.”
“Who else would it be?” Michael’s blue-gray eyes met Ethan’s, and there was something ancient in that gaze. Something that saw more than it should. “Tom Redding is a man consumed by possession. He’ll keep coming until he’s stopped.”
“The sheriff’s investigating?—”
“The sheriff is doing his job. But some things require more than legal intervention.” Michael paused at the corner, looking at something Ethan couldn’t see. “You’re a good man, Ethan Cole.”
Before Ethan could respond to that unsettling observation, they’d arrived at the post office. Through the window, Ethan could see Caleb signing for a package, his broad shoulders hunched against the cold.
“Thank you,” Ethan said, turning to Michael. “For showing me the way. And for—” He stopped, remembering what Caleb had said. “You were there, weren’t you? At the fire. You saved Caleb.”
Michael’s smile deepened. “I arrived right on time. That’s all that matters.”
“How did you get them out?” The question had been bothering Ethan since the night of the fire. “Caleb said the stairs had collapsed. The house was fully involved. There was no way?—”
“There’s always a way,” Michael said gently. “When the need is great enough, doors open that shouldn’t exist. You know this, Ethan. You’ve seen it yourself. The soldier who survives when he shouldn’t. The patient who lives despite the odds.”
It should have sounded insane. But standing in the cold November night with this strange, gentle man, Ethan found himself believing it.
“You’re not just some guy handing out food boxes, are you?” Ethan said quietly.
“I’m exactly what I need to be,” Michael replied. “And right now, I need to be someone who helps. So let me help. Invite me to dinner. You, Lydia, the children. Caleb too. You’ll need all the support you can get in the days ahead.”
Before Ethan could agree or refuse, Michael was walking away, disappearing around the corner, like he’d never been there at all.
The post office door opened, and Caleb emerged, package tucked under one arm. He spotted Ethan and his eyebrows rose.
“Cole. What are you doing here?”
“Looking for you. Your phone’s off.”
“Battery died.” Caleb patted his pocket. “What’s wrong?”
Ethan filled him in quickly about the car following them, losing it in the backroads, the creeping certainty that Tom was circling closer. Caleb’s expression grew darker with each detail.
“You should tell the sheriff,” he said.
“I did. But tonight—” Ethan hesitated. “Come to dinner. You and Michael. We have Thanksgiving leftovers, and the kids would love to see you.”
“Michael?” Caleb’s frown deepened. “How do you know he’s—” He stopped, shook his head. “Never mind. That guy has a way of showing up. Yeah, I’ll come. Give me an hour to drop this part off and grab a shower.”
“Bring a real Christmas tree if you can find one,” Ethan said on impulse. “We’re decorating tonight.”
Caleb’s lips twitched in good humor. “You’re really doing this. The whole family thing.”
“Trying to,” Ethan admitted. “Probably screwing it up, but trying.”
“You’re not screwing it up,” Caleb said, and there was something wistful in his voice. “Trust me. This … what you’ve got going … it’s good. Hold onto it.”
An hour and fifteen minutes later, Caleb’s Ford pulled into the driveway with a six-foot Douglas fir tied to the roof. Ethan met him outside to help wrestle it down, and that’s when he noticed the second figure climbing out of the passenger side.
Michael, of course. Because apparently, he just appeared when needed.
“I brought a tree,” Caleb announced, unnecessarily.
“And a plus-one,” Ethan added, but he was smiling.
They hauled the tree inside to squeals of delight from Rosie and Eli, who had apparently been watching out the window for arrivals. Lydia emerged from the kitchen with flour on her cheek and a smile that made Ethan’s heart stutter.
“You brought a tree,” she said, wonder in her voice.
“Seemed like the thing to do,” Caleb said, looking uncomfortable with the attention.
Dinner was chaotic and perfect. Lydia’s pot roast with vegetables, homemade biscuits that were still warm from the oven, and an apple crisp for dessert that had everyone fighting over seconds.
The kids were on their best behavior but couldn’t stop whispering to each other, their eyes constantly drifting to Michael.
“What are they plotting?” Caleb asked Ethan while Lydia was getting more coffee.
“No idea,” Ethan admitted. “But they keep staring at Michael like he’s … I don’t know. Famous or something.”
Rosie finally couldn’t contain herself any longer. She climbed down from her chair and marched up to Michael with the fearless certainty of a six-year-old on a mission.
“Are you an angel?” she asked.