Driving to the address on the note, parking in the unfamiliar driveway, walking up to the unadorned front porch…he felt like he was dreaming. None of it was real.

The control he held over his own actions and movements was limited. He felt like a passenger in the back seat of his own mind, screaming at the driver to turn left, stop, pull over, slow down…but the driver can’t hear him over the radio and the wind and the fear.

He wanted to leave…but he knew he wouldn’t. Couldn’t.

And then she was there, his name on her lips.

“Jim.”