F O U R - Follow Me

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Josslyn yells for Edwin as she tosses and turns in bed. Her reoccurring nightmare is a continuous vivid replay of bloody children and their horrific ear piercing cries. Their pain and fear is so palpable, so real, she feels the shivers run down her spine even even while she dreams.

She awakens, panting hard and sweating profusely. Her throat is parched and she gasps to balloon what seems like her own shriveled lungs. She grips her chest in the failing attempt to slow her heartbeat.

"Edwin," her voice is raspy, her body is trembling.

"I'm right here, Josslyn," he replies from beside her expansive floor to ceiling window. He's watched her suffer through these horrific night terrors two thousand times over and yet, each time still feels like the first time. Edwin silently curses. He'd do anything to comfort his wife, yet he can't even bring her a glass of water. Invisibilty is a chronic disability that makes him feel powerless. He just sits there, barred behind an impenetrable force as he helplessly watches his wife endure torture night after night after night.

He looks down at his hands, his worthless, useless hands. His mysterious existence is as pathetic as his hands. He's more ghost than invisible. He can barely grip onto anything and everything that moves, glides right through him. That is, unless by some stroke of luck, he somehow penetrates enough space with just the right velocity and inertia. That's the only reason he's been able to hurl a glass full of water and manifest in the slightest degree without fog or mist to bond him into physical form. He, more or less, walks the fine line between life and death.

But how did he bond without mist or fog outside the restaurant last week? And can he hone the ability to do so at his own choosing? How exhilarating would it be to finally harness the power of invisibility?

"Oh my God, Wyatt!" Josslyn gasps. She'd forgotten that she had dragged the poor man through mountain and forest just that morning. He'd probably dubbed her psycho of the century. She slaps her forehead in exasperated humiliation.

"Edwin?" She listens for his voice.

Edwin is silent. She doesn't see his disapproving scowl. Wyatt. He clenches his jaw. That guy reeks of trouble. Luckily he's not overly concerned because loyalty is his wife's greatest asset. It's his own jealousy that needs reining in, but after waiting seven lifetimes to be with her, he feels damn entitled to be possessive.

Josslyn glances around the empty room.

"Edwin? Where are you?"

"Beside the window, honey."

Josslyn slowly climbs off the futon, drinks a cup of water then she saunters naked toward Edwin, blushing crimson red. She knows he loves the lines of her hourglass, the way her cleavage dips deep to accentuate her round voluptuous breasts. Heck, he's unable to touch her, but her husband is free to ogle without fee or charge.

Indeed, Edwin is ogling, biting his bottom lip white with arousal. His wife is always playing a cruel game of sensual pleasure with him, and he loves the damn chase.

Josslyn plops down beside the wooden chair and marvels at the picturesque unfolding of sun rising behind a wall of mountains. She smiles, throws her head back and soaks in the warm rays. "It rains and rains and rains then rewards with the most specular sunrise."

Edwin smiles. He's lived long enough to witness near one thousand sunrises; Josslyn is the most spectacular of them all.

"I know you're really upset about moving to Oregon but please trust me." Edwin stares down at her, "trust that I have our best interest at heart. I'm not worth existing if I can't exist to touch you."

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