Kelsey woke with a start back in the dilapidated brownstone on Twelfth Street. What was Grant trying to tell her? The vivid dream had left her skin clammy; the taste of cranberries lingered on her tongue.
Dragging herself out of bed for something caffeinated, she padded across her 4th floor studio apartment wondering why this dream disturbed her more than the others – now 10, in as many days.
A knock diverted her from the coffee. “Who’s there?” she asked. No answer. Tying her robe’s sash tightly, she opened the door. Her empty mug exploded when it hit the concrete. “Jim!”
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