“Poor lady,” dad says, after I get home sometime later and tell him what happened. “Good thing you went down there. Who knows what would have happened otherwise.”
“It wasn’t that bad. The paramedics patched her up in ten minutes,” I reply, my mind still on the picture of Professor Ravenswell. He really looked just like he does in my dreams.
Dad’s not convinced by my answer, and rambles on about the dangers of elderly people living on their own with no home help.
Outside the kitchen window, the dogs are playing near mum’s studio. My eyes drift over to the woods, and suddenly, there’s the blur, lurking just past the trees. It’s directly in line with me.
I get up slowly, nodding as dad carries on talking about how fortunate Mrs. Wrenshaw is, not to have suffered a more serious injury.
“I
