Chapter Thirteen
Recognition has barely dawned when I find myself sprinting down the alley behind the strip mall.
I rush by Hill O’ Beans’ dumpster—the spot where, three short months ago, I began this bizarre psychic journey. I only hear one set of footsteps behind me, so I cast a quick glance backward. It’s the Asian guy. He’s built more like a wrestler than a runner, so there’s a good chance I can keep ahead of him. But if I’m going to lose him, I need to do it quickly.
On my left is a concrete-block wall, too high to scale. Fifty yards ahead of me, the alley ends in an L-junction, which means I’ll have to turn right.
Shit. If there’s only one guy chasing me, it means the other three are probably using their cars to cut off my escape. If I take the turn, I’ll likely run right into th
