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Between the absurdity of his story and the prickling at my nape, I suspected it was more dangerous than he let on. Was this normal? Was Mordecai reckless by nature? I had no idea. I barely knew the guy. Was his role back home one of high-stakes risks? Was he a trained professional?

Who was this man and why did I get the feeling he was not like anyone I’d ever met before?

A sinking dread filled my belly. I’d sent him out there. I’d helped him discover probable locations. Why didn’t I ask more questions? Insist he reach out to the authorities. Why did I so readily go along with everything he said? Why didn’t I demand to help?

Visions of Mordecai suffering violence at the hands of criminals made me wince. Armed guards. Civilian guards. Would they hurt him? Kill him? Had I unintentionally sent him into danger?

I thought of my dad and the selfish phone call that inevitably ended his life. That night could have played out a thousand different ways if I’d made different choices. He would still be alive, and I wouldn’t be rotting in a cesspool of guilt and shame.

You’re not to blame, my mother frequently said.

But I was. It was my stupidity that put him in danger.

And I’d done it again.

“Fuck.”

I barreled out the door and tumbled into the Jeep, stuffing my keys in the ignition before I’d buckled my seatbelt. The tires kicked up gravel as I threw it in reverse and performed an erratic turn, skidding a donut and missing the edge of the fountain by less than a foot.

When did Mordecai leave? How long had he been gone?

Was he on foot? Did he call a cab?

Why didn’t I wake up when he left me alone in bed? I was a light sleeper by nature, yet I had dropped like a stone in a lake and didn’t resurface for fucking hours. I never napped that long or that hard, and I’d never woken up with such a hazy, disoriented mind.

Since I was on the east side of the Sydenham, I aimed for the pedestrian trail off 5th Street that would take me to Mill Dam. Even as I drove, the entire scenario of kidnapped uncles and dangerous extractions seemed so utterly unreal that by the time I made it to my destination, I was convinced the whole thing was a dream.

Including Mordecai.

I must have caught a flu or had a fever. I was bedridden. Hallucinating. It would explain the constant haze and bizarre episodes I couldn’t quite remember. It would explain Mordecai’s eccentricities.

Yet my ass pleasantly ached, reminding me that I’d been fucked to within an inch of my life only a few hours ago.

I parked on the side of the road and got out, glancing at the overcast sky, absent of stars and moon. Enough light pollution from streetlights, houses, and distant businesses left the city swathed in a dim yellow glow.

I looked around for Mordecai. It was a quiet neighborhood, and no one was about. A few houses showed signs of occupancy. Families went about their nightly rituals. Nothing unusual.

Mordecai had mentioned that wherever his uncle was being held, it would be well protected. So, logically, anyone I came across might be dangerous.

Or they might be the average Joe out for an evening stroll. Who knew?

Innocent people walked this path all the time. It was part of a scenic nature trail. My presence wouldn’t be any more or less suspicious than anyone else’s.

I followed the trail between the trees, the ground carpeted in fall leaves, wet from the recent rain. Rushing water from the flowing dam sounded in the distance. When the path opened at the Sydenham, I stalled.

A heavy mist lay on the water, thick and impenetrable. It spilled over the banks and curled along the bases of the nearby trees. It rose as high as the bridge, licking tendrils across the footpath. Downriver, the mist seemed to dissipate. It was like a giant cloud had fallen from the sky over one particular area.

In all my years in Owen Sound, I’d never seen fog this dense or localized. It moved like smoke, hindering my view as I scanned the other side of the river. The access point to the concrete dam’s facility was on the far side of the bridge. Was Mordecai there? Did he find what he was looking for? Was he in danger?

I wanted to shout his name but feared drawing attention to myself. No one seemed to be around, but that didn’t mean I was alone.

Moving slowly, I crossed the bridge, peering over the edge on occasion to admire the misty veil hanging over the water. The quality of the vapor seemed wrong somehow, but I couldn’t pinpoint why.

On the far side, I scanned what I could of the trees and bank, seeking anyone who might be lurking in the area, but mostly hoping to find Mordecai.

Not a soul in sight. Silence, but for the rushing water and rustle of wind in the drying leaves that clung to the branches overhead.

Nerves on edge, I left the path and descended the slope to the concrete structure that was part of the dam. The solid steel door was locked. No sign of tampering. I pressed my ear to its cold surface and strained to hear if anyone was inside. Nothing but the whine of mechanical gears and the hum of electricity.