​The attic room sat empty except for the newspaper—today’s newspaper. Picking up the dust-laden newspaper, he found that he had read it right. It was indeed today’s date. 

Not only was it today’s newspaper, but it was also the evening edition. A paper that wouldn’t come out until several hours from now. An experienced news reporter, he knew the rigors involved in putting out two papers daily. The final deadline for the afternoon paper was two hours away.

He was acting on a tip that a vital witness was ready to talk to the press and tell their side of the story. His instructions were to meet them in the arctic room of the rooming house on the wrong side of town. But no one was there, only layers of dust upon layers of dust—nothing except the newspaper.

 Shutting the door behind him, Sam Small headed for the front desk. The clerk who had been sleeping when he came in was still dead to the world. Sam leaned against the counter and hit the small bell sitting near the sign-in book. It chimed twice. No movement.

Ignoring the old man sleeping, he turned the sign-in book around so he could read it. He scanned the names, and one name jumped out at him. Shit! Glancing at his watch, he realized he still had time to get there. 

Traffic heading into Dealey Plaza was tied up, but as a lifelong resident of Dallas, he knew an alternate route into the area. He parked off the Plaza, used an offside entrance to the book depository, and ran up the stairs. 

 He could feel his heart racing and his pulse quicken as he hit the seventh-floor landing. His breathing became labored as he panted heavily, pausing at the top of the landing to catch his breath. Leaning against the doorframe, he checked his watch. 12: 27.

The roar of the crowd outside told him he was early but was he in time? It seemed like forever as he found his way through the maze of boxes and other warehouse stuff scattered on the floor. Finally, he made it to the northeast corner of the Texas School Book Depository. In the shadows of the boxes was a figure kneeling and looking out the open window.

“NOOOO!” Sam shouted, and Lee Harvey Oswald turned and fired at him. 

As Sam Small’s world turned black, the President’s motorcade went through Dealey Plaza to the roar of the crowds.

​The morning Samantha’s red bike appeared, ten years after she vanished, changed everything. The last time he’d seen the bike, she was planning to visit the campus library. She never arrived.

He walked down the steps and stared at the red bike leaning against the wrought iron fence. The sight of her bike bought back a flood of memories but also raised new questions—frightening questions.

Sam was his wife. They were still in college and living in his parents’ brownstone when she disappeared. The police suspected he had something to do with her disappearance but released him after hours of questioning checking his alibi.

It had taken him years to get past her disappearance, and in many ways, he never did. When his parents died, he could have sold the house, but he felt connected as if he couldn’t leave. Years later, as people continued to wonder what happened to Samantha, he chose not to discuss it. She was gone.

 He debated what to do. The bike was hers. He recognized the bike chain covered in pink fabric and the scratch on the fender, which happened when she took a turn too fast and fell. He needed to think about what his next move was. Until he decided, he rolled the bike to the backyard, hiding it in the shed where he stored junk.

As he backed out of the drive, heading to work, fear crept over him. He never expected to see the bike again. It wasn’t possible, but it was back, and a cold shiver crept over him. The bike had returned.

~~~

That night as he lay in bed, unable to sleep, images of Samantha as he last saw her swirled in his memories. Trying to fight the fear, he froze when he heard a noise outside the bedroom window. He rose slowly and walked to the window pulling back the drapes. He stifled a scream and nearly passed out as he saw who was staring back at him—Samantha, wearing the same yellow cotton dress she wore that day, the bike beside her.

Sam smiled and motioned for him to come to her. His legs were wooden, he tried to resist, but she was drawing him to her. The air was cool, and he shivered as he stood in front of her.

“Raymond, I’m home,” she whispered. She wrapped her arms around him and kissed him. “I was hoping you were still here. But then you couldn’t leave the scene of the crime, could you?

“How are you here?”

“Ahh—that is the question, isn’t it? How could I be here? I’m dead. It took me a while to find my way back, but I did. And now, you are going to pay for killing me.”

“Samantha, it was an accident. I didn’t mean to hit you that hard.”

“No, it wasn’t. You were jealous. You thought I was cheating on you. I wasn’t.”

“Don’t lie to me. You were.”

Her beautiful face became skeletal, and as her bony mouth opened, Raymond screamed.

An early morning jogger found Raymond’s body on the sidewalk at the foot of the steps. The bike was gone.