The Line by J. D. Horn Page A

but no luck. They were probably still gathered around Ginny’s grave. The only other people in sight were a group of ghost hunters. They were shooting pictures of one of the more elaborate gravestones, desperately hoping to catch a glimpse of the supernatural yet completely oblivious to what was going on right under their noses.
    I tried to call out to them, but instead heard myself saying, “Thank you, I’d love a ride” loud enough for all the ghost hunters to hear. I took a few lunging steps forward, walking awkwardly enough to cause someone in their group to comment on my sobriety. Within moments, they lost all interest in me and went back to taking pictures of illuminated dust.
    The driver helped me into the passenger’s seat of the car, then leaned in over me. “This ain’t permanent,” he said. He passed his hand over my eyes, and my vision instantly went black. “That is only until I get you where we going. Now you gonna sit still for me and don’t make any fuss.”
    I felt my body go rigid. My adrenaline-induced sweat chilled in the car’s air-conditioning and started to trickle down my spine. He buckled me in and closed the door for me.
    “I sure am sorry about all this, Miss Taylor,” he said as he took his place behind the wheel. “I’m sure you’ll understand when I say I ain’t got no more choice about this than you do. Jilo making me take you, just like she making you come.” He shifted the car into drive and turned right.
    “What does Jilo want from me? Where are you taking me?” I asked, fear mixing with anger.
    “She won’t let me talk to you about that, miss,” he said.
    “Then tell me how I know you,” I demanded. “You look familiar.”
    “Why, you don’t know me at all,” he responded. “But I believe you have met my grandson. He’s a policeman.” Pride played in his voice, overcoming the forced circumstances that brought us together.
    “Detective Cook is your grandson?” I heard myself ask. Now that I knew, the resemblance was unmistakable. They shared the same warm skin and tea-colored eyes. Jilo must have felt pretty confident in herself to use Cook’s grandfather as a pawn in her game.
    “That’s right, miss.”
    “Can you call him? Tell him where you are taking me?”
    “Oh, miss, you know Mother Jilo is cleverer than that,” he responded. “I’d love nothing better than to help you, but she got me on a very short leash. And I can’t fight against her power any more than you can.”
    I followed as best I could the turns we made, sure that once or twice we must have looped back. Oddly, we never stopped. Not for a stop sign. Not for a light. I lost any hope of knowing where we were headed.
    We continued driving for what seemed like hours. Then I felt the asphalt give way to loose stones beneath us, and after a while we finally slowed and stopped. He opened my door, and the car was flooded with heat and the sound of cicadas.
    “Allow me,” he said, reaching in to take my hand. He helped me out of the car, and I began to listen intently for any sounds that might betray our whereabouts. I heard only the insects and the crunch of gravel beneath my feet. “We gotta walk the rest of the way from here, but it ain’t far.”
    Suddenly I knew I was going to die in this place. He had taken me out to a grave, where he would kill me and leave me, and my body would decay. I wouldn’t even see it coming. Maybe in time, Connor would track down my remains with his flaccid pendulum. But it would be way too late. I’d be as dead as Ginny was.
    “You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?” I heard my disembodied voice ask.
    “Good lord, sweet girl! No, I ain’t going to harm a hair on your pretty red head.” We continued on down the path, the gravel changing to sandy soil that began to filter into my shoes.
    “Unless she makes you,” I responded after a few more steps.
    “She can’t make me do that. I’m a bus driver. She can make me drive, ’cause that comes