Never Say Spy by Diane Henders Page B

open space with everything I had.
    As panic receded, I realized Kane was standing silent and motionless a few yards away.  My breath caught in my throat, but he made no move toward me.  I wrestled for control and focused again on the view.
    A couple of yards from my feet, the shoulder of the mountain fell away in a breathtaking sheer drop.  Almost a thousand feet lower, the lake glittered blue, reflecting the vivid sky.  A wispy cloud drifted below us, dissipating quickly in the autumn sun.
    “Where are we?” Kane asked, his voice quiet and conversational.
    “Mount Indefatigable.  Kananaskis Country,” I quavered.  “In the fall, about twenty years ago.  This bench isn’t there now.  Here now.  Whatever.”
    “Why don’t you come away from the edge?”  The same low-key, non-threatening tones.
    “This is where the original bench was.  And I don’t think I can stand up just yet.”
    “Is it all right if we go somewhere else?”
    “No.”
    “All right.”  He lowered himself to the ground, propping his arms behind him and stretching out his legs.
    We sat in silence for a while.
    Finally, Kane spoke again.  “What did I see, back in the forest?” he asked mildly.
    “Dream.  Memory.  Some of each.”
    I studied my scuffed running shoes.  The bloodstain was back.
    “Which was which?”
    A gust of wind tossed my hair and tangled it in the needles of the spruce tree that leaned over the bench.  I concentrated on freeing it, avoiding the question.
    “I think I understand why you told Hellhound to ride safe.”
    I chanced a look in Kane’s direction.  He was still sitting relaxed on the ground, watching me.
    “What happened?” he asked quietly.
    I sighed.  “The biker pulled out to pass me.  Not a lot of room, but he could have made it.  Drunk driver pulled out from behind an oncoming car.  The biker tried to cut back in and overcorrected.  High-sided.  Landed right on top of the fencepost.”
    I fell silent.  The fresh bloodstain spread slowly across the toe of my shoe, glistening brilliant crimson.  I suppressed a shudder.
    “Were you injured?”
    “Minor stuff by comparison.  Pinned by a compound fracture in my left leg, traction for six weeks.  Some soft-tissue injuries.”
    “What happened to the drunk?”
    “Those assholes never get hurt.  And this was before they toughened up the drunk driving laws.  Nobody died, so...” I looked up in time to see his look of incredulity.  “Yeah, the biker survived.  That poor bastard was conscious the whole time.”  A shudder rocked my body.  Raw-throated cries of agony echoed through the mountains, getting louder...
    I breathed, concentrating on the lake, and the sound faded away.
    “And the cage?” he asked.
    “Just a dream.  Thanks for yelling at me, by the way.  I forgot I could change things here.  I usually just have to wake up screaming.”
    “Do you dream it that often?”
    “Not since I divorced my first husband,” I said lightly.  I glanced over.  He wasn’t smiling.  I sighed again.  “I only have that dream when I feel trapped or helpless in some part of my life.  I’m claustrophobic, so it’s just my subconscious mind’s way of expressing anxiety.”
    “What are you feeling anxious about?”
    “Gee, I don’t know, where should I start?  Carjackers, gunmen, home invasions, and now you want to put me in jail.”  My voice wavered on the last word, and faint bars appeared around me again.  I took a deep, steadying breath and looked out over the valley.
    “I don’t even know what I did,” I added.
    “And yet, here we are,” Kane said.
    I glared at him.  “Would you stop being so goddamn cryptic?”
    He gazed at me, silent.
    I knotted my fists in my hair and tugged a couple of handfuls.  “Why am I even talking to you?  I’m crazy, and this is a delusion.  You’re only going to tell me what I already know myself, because you’re a figment of my deranged mind.  I don’t know why you