​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.

​Jason muttered, “It was a dark and stormy night,” as he turned onto the wet street. Jason only hoped that this evening didn’t turn into a lousy dime store novel.

She was right where she said she’d be, wearing a red parka, on the corner of Third and Main. He pulled over and got out, walking toward her.

 “Laura?” 

“Yes, You’re Jason?”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“He’s still following me!”

“Who’s following you? Where?”  Jason looked around the empty street, but there was no one in sight. Glancing around nervously, Laura pointed over her shoulder. “There”

Jason looked in the direction she indicated—nothing but blackness.

“There’s no one there.” 

“He’s there. I saw him!” Laura was near hysteria.

“Ma’am, you called me out here at this ungodly hour to tell me you think someone is following you, but there’s no one there. No Sale.” He turned to leave.

“There’s this too.” She reached into a pocket of her parka. “I found this today on my dresser.” 

He stopped in his tracks and reluctantly faced her again. 

Laura held an envelope in her hand. Jason took it.

The ripped envelop held a single sheet of white paper, with three words typed in old typeface—I’m watching you.

Handing it back to her. “You found this when and where?”

“This morning on my bedroom dresser. He’d been in my house, In my Room.” Laura’s hand holding the letter shook, and she was pale as if she was about to faint.

“I understand.” 

He tried to sound sincere, but a nagging doubt floated in the back of his mind. He hated when that happened. It never ended well. 

He thought about his next move as he looked around the street more carefully. 

“Tell you what, you leave. I’ll lag behind a bit. Then I’ll shadow you and see if anyone is following you. Give me your address. I’ll meet you there in a bit.” She handed him a paper with her name and address on it.

Jason glanced at it. She lived in the “High Rent District,” which indicated his research was correct. She could afford him. As she started to walk away, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her.

Laura pushed him away in surprise. “What?”

“That was for anyone watching. We’re lovers, planning a meet later.”  He patted her ass as she turned to leave, and she jumped slightly at his pat. Her eyes widened, and her cheeks turned visibly pink in the dim streetlight revealing her embarrassment. 

 He stifled a smile and had to admit he enjoyed the play.

As Laura disappeared down the street, Jason pretended to head back in the other direction. At the corner, he faded into the blackness and waited. 

He didn’t wait long.

An equally shadowy figure slipped out of the black and waked toward him. “Damn, she was right. There is someone following her.”

Jason grinned as he hugged her. “She bought it. Hook Line and sinker. She swears she’s being stalked.”

“She is. Now.” 

Together they followed Laura for several blocks until she reached her townhome. The woman grabbed his arm. “Well, lover boy, time for you to do what you are so good at, make her fall in love with you.”

Jason kissed the woman. “No worries, love. Within a week, I’ll convince her to sign all her assets to me.”

​I have to say, waking up lying in the middle of the road certainly changed my perspective, not to mention my day. Jumping out of a moving car, even one not going very fast, can leave you stunned. I heard an oncoming car and rolled out of the way in time to avoid becoming roadkill. I could feel the rush of wind as the car whizzed by and skidded to a halt.

The door opened, and a woman ran toward me. “Oh my God!!! I almost hit you!!” She knelt beside me. 
“Not your fault.”

“Here, let me help you..” She held my arm, and  I hated to admit it, but harder to get  I liked. 

She steered me to the passenger side, then hurried around to the driver’s side and slipped behind the wheel. “What happened to you?”  I could hear the fear in her voice.

“Best to say,  I was no longer welcomed by some dudes in the car I was riding in.”

I expected a barrage of questions and a commentary about the dangers of life today. Instead, she started the car,  got back into her lane, and kept going, mentioning the next town, some miles away. I was grateful for the silence. I didn’t want to answer the questions I knew were floating around in her mind.

I leaned back in the seat and closed my eyes, pretending to be asleep. In town, I thanked her and tried to give her some money. She refused and instead shoved her business card with her number into my hand. 

I disappeared as quickly as I could down a back street, and dug my phone from my pocket, and tapped a well-used number. As I waited for him to answer, I looked at her business card—Karen Cox, Investigator United States Treasury.

“Yeah?’ 

“It’s her. She bought it, even gave me her business card. Not very good at this. I let her think I was running from the mob. She has the money. The case is on her back seat.” I listened to my contact. “Yeah, it’s ours. My tag’s still on it. She’s at the dinner on Main Street getting a bite. Time to close this case.”

I walked into the dinner and flashed my bag. “Ms. Karen Cox, I’m Agent Randal Reed. of the Secret Service. You’re under arrest for possession of counterfeit money, with intent to distribute.” 

As I heard my fellow agents enter the diner behind me, I opened the case sitting at her feet and found it full of brand-new bogus bills, stolen from a vault at the Treasury department and marked and banded by the Secret Service. 

I smiled, satisfied. My fellow officers who were tracking her never believed I could get her to stop by lying across the road. A huge risk for her, but she did and allowed me to verify she had the goods and arrest her. I won the bet. Tonight, my drinks were free.

​Roger stood at the foot of the stairs dreading the next step. She was up there. Waiting. 

He slowly climbed the stairs, pausing on the landing to look out the large half-round window before continuing, anything to delay the inevitable. He paused again at the top of the stairs, scanning the portraits of his ancestors that lined the hall, illuminated by brass sconces. He always felt his elders gazed disapprovingly upon all who dared to dwell in their former glory. 

He proceeded down the hall, conscious of his shoes sinking into the thick carpet, as he headed for the carved mahogany door at the end of the hall.

He knocked and waited to enter until a female voice beckoned him in.

She sat behind a large oak desk framed by two computer monitors, a keyboard, and a large portrait of his grandfather above and behind her. She looked at home in the large office. 

Roger walked up the desk without so much as a glance around the ornate room. He didn't need to look. It had been his office until recently.

“Helen...”

“Roger.  Don’t start. The board voted that you're out.”  Helen stood and handed a paper to him.

 Roger read the final votes and minutes of the last board meeting. Tossing it on the desk, he pulled a of document from inside his jacket.

“This undoes that.” 

Snatching the papers from his hand, Helen read through them. Her face screwed up into a variety of shapes in the span of a couple of minutes. The glare she shot Roger was enough to kill.

“So you want to try to blackmail me?”

“No—only reminding you that you have a lot to lose too. If you force this, I’ll make sure the world knows how you arranged for our father’s death while you were on the other side of the world. I know the man you hired will talk if pushed. The Feds would love to get their hands on him.”

“You wouldn’t..?”

“No, I wouldn’t, but I can make it happen. Here’s the deal. You tell the board of directors that you’ve reconsidered, and after much discussion with me, we’ve come to a mutual understanding, and I will return as chairman of the board. We’ll continue to run the businesses together as we have right along. You will continue in your usual roles. However, you'll get a pay increase of, say, ten percent, which  should make having to work with me a little easier.”

 Helen glared at him, then at the papers he’d shown her. “All right. It's a deal, but we don’t talk or see each other outside of the office.”

“Oh, and I want my office back.” Roger turned and left the room.

He had no idea how his father died. He suspected that she might have had a hand in it but had no actual proof—until now. Pulling the tiny digital recorder from his pocket and played the file back. She had all but admitted to having their father killed. 

He smiled, time to put the memory card in his safe deposit box. Proof was his.

​The stone figures appeared overnight, looming over the farmland like sentinels. The farmer whose field the figures appeared in sent word to the nearest village that someone invaded his land. Word of the appearance of the stone figures spread quickly, and villagers from the surrounding countryside arrived to see the statues. 

Afraid, the elders of the villagers vowed to stay with the statures deeming them gods. Eza Clayman, an inspector with the Galactic Security Force, materialized along the edge of a field, watching the scene unfold. 

He waited. Predictably, the natives settled down for the night, and Clayman made his way to the statues of being careful not to wake anyone. It would be difficult to explain what he was doing here and harder yet to explain to the people that someone stole the statues they  now worshiped from a nearby planet. As a non-technological person, the Primary Protectorate Act prevented contact.

He inspected the stone artifacts and confirmed that they were the lost statues stolen from Allma. He contacted his ship to send a cargo carrier to begin loading the figures. As the tractor beam latched onto the last statue, an elder woke up and, seeing Clayman began to scream. His translator quickly interpreted what the native said. He had called him a god. That was unfortunate. 

 He attempted to calm the native down. But it only made him angry. He pulled his photon pistol set to stun and was about to quiet the elder when he heard a voice behind him. It was Lakeman, his green-skinned quarry. The elder fainted at the sight of the new creature who had materialized out of nowhere. Clayman pulled a small device from his belt and fired a restraining field around Lakeman.

His antennae waving wildly, Lakeman laughed. “You are good Clayman, not sure how you tracked me, but you got here before I could get back for my loot. They were too heavy for the little cruiser. Had to get a bigger ship.” 

“By now, my crew already has your ship in a tractor beam. You are not going anywhere.”

 “You got me, but you just violated the protectorate agreement. They’ve seen the statues and you. If you disappear without correcting this, you alter their timeline. You’re stuck here. You can’t leave.”

Clayman glanced at the last statute and sighed. As much as he hated it, Linkman was right. If he’d only been a little faster getting them and not awakened the elder, he’d be back on his ship with the one criminal he wanted more than any. As it was, he now stuck on this god-forsaken planet with an ugly stature only the people who built it could love.

He spoke into this com and told his crew to leave the last statue and transport Lakeman onboard. Then asked them to report his transgression to the High Command.

As Lakeman disappeared, he turned to look toward the gathered elders, now on their knees before him. Great, going to be a long wait before the First Contact team arrived and got him out of this mess. A very long wait.

​​Ray fled to his favorite coastal village to hide, but he won’t escape from me this time. He’d gotten away, but a little bird named Rita whispered in my ear and told me where I might find him.

And find him, I would. The coastal village was home to a long line of nefarious characters, and Ray was only the latest.

I head for the café that Carlos owned. While he ran a respectable cafe in the front, what went on in the back rooms was less than upstanding. I found Carlos sitting behind his favorite table in the far corner of the room. 

 I slid my revolver from its holster as I sat down across from him. He barely nodded at my arrival. “Ray and Laura ?”  

I ignored the shot of whiskey that appeared in front of me. I was an old regular, and the bartender knew my poison of choice. 

“Haven’t seen them in months.” Carlos was very good at looking innocent. He looked at my revolver now pointed at him. “You plan on using that?”

“Only if you’re stupid.”

Carlos grinned from ear to ear. “Then I shall attempt not to be stupid.” 

“Rita.” I prompted.

“Haven’t seen her in ages either.”

I knew better but didn’t question him. “What was your cut of the bank job?”

His eyes widened as he tried to look surprised. “My cut?”

“We both know very little goes on around here, without you knowing about it or having a cut of it.” I took a drink of whiskey.

“That was an unfortunate incident, which I had nothing to do with.” 

“Ray killed a guard and a bystander, and Laura was seen there too.”   

Carlos sipped his whisky. “So was another man, I hear.”

“Red is dead.”  I let it lay there as I also sipped my whiskey.

His eyebrows raised. “He tried to outdraw a leveled gun?”

“One too many times.” We both knew of Red’s obsession with his draw and speed. He was fast and pretty good, but it was known not to try to draw on a leveled gun. Red had managed to do it a couple of times, but he’d been lucky, and the other guy missed or misfired. “He’d thought he could do it against a shotgun.” 

 “Ray?” I reminded Carlos.

Carlos leaned back in his chair and shrugged. A movement from the curtain in the door behind him caught my attention.

“You looking for me?”  Ray appeared out of the back room, and my hand went to the revolver on the table. Ray grinned as Laura came out to stand next to him.

“Yeah, I’m looking for both of you.”

“Figured Rita would let you know where we came to hide.”

“That she did. Did you think you could escape me?”

“Nah, wasn’t trying to escape you. Just trying to hide from the honest lawmen.”

“What makes you think I’m not honest?”

Ray laughed. “Because you’re the one who shot the guard, not me.”

I moved my hand back from my revolver. “That was me, wasn’t it?”

Ray nodded and sat across from me. “You want your cut?”

“Why, yes, I do.”