Background This is the 3rd in a series with our ghostly detective, Eleanor. I hope as she works side by side with Det. Donatelli and FBI Agent Garth Woodman, you will enjoy the twists and turns as they unfold.                       "Oh God, Lydia, where are you? Answer the phone." With trembling hands, Margaret redialed her best friend's number, but the call went to voicemail again. At the beep, she sobbed into the phone, "Lydia, he's going to kill me. I've got to hide. Tell Detective Donatelli —" She gasped as a light appeared in the fog behind her. "To find Eleanor." The line went dead. The signal was lost in the heavy fog. She'd taken the back roads, praying they would conceal her, but the isolation amplified her fear. The morning fog was thick and hung close to the ground. Margaret gripped the wheel, crushing the note with her white knuckles. Fear owned her — from her tear-stained eyes, the sickly taste in her mouth, her dry lips, to the wild pounding against her chest. Running — it had been her first thought, but she knew she wouldn't escape. Even in prison, he would find her. Her heart raced as she replayed the words on the note in her mind — "Death Awaits You." She didn't need a signature to know who had sent it. Only one person was capable of such cruelty — the man she'd loved, only to learn how deep his betrayal ran. Tears blurred her vision. "Why, John?" she cried, her voice cracking. "Was everything a lie?" In her mind, she felt him — his touch, his lips on hers. His overwhelming presence, which once made her feel so secure, now twisted her insides with dread. Then came the memory of Megan's disappearance, her little girl gone without a trace. The panic, the desperation, the hours spent searching, pleading for John's help. But he had vanished when she needed him most. Nothing, not even the years that passed or the bars that separated them, had lessened the agony. John's betrayal had shattered her world once. And now, it seemed, he was determined to destroy what was left. Margaret pressed harder on the gas pedal, her body shaking with fear and fury. There would be no turning back. She had to find Eleanor — before John found her. As if he'd heard her, his face floated in the roadway as she stared through the windshield. She blinked, but he was still there. A scream — her scream — echoed throughout the car. She blinked again, but there he was — laughing — taunting her. John Doyle — ex-judge, ex-lover, criminal extraordinaire. He'd vowed revenge against anyone who had helped destroy his career and put him behind bars. Today, that promise began with her. To John Doyle, being convicted of kidnapping, human trafficking, and art theft meant nothing. He'd maintained what counted — power, wealth, and friends in high places, even from behind the concrete walls of Joliet State Prison. She knew he was coming from the moment she'd opened the envelope. She'd wasted no time. She'd tossed clothes in an overnight bag, grabbed cash from the safe, and jumped in her car. She didn't know where she was going but knew she had to get as far away as possible. However, a thought nagged at her — she was positive nowhere would be far enough. Her eyes shifted from the windshield to the rearview mirror. She sighed, relieved no one was behind her. She hoped her decision to stay off the main highway and take the back roads would keep her under his radar. Yet, seconds later, a light glowed in the darkness. Her eyes moved from the mirror to the road and then returned. The ghostly light plowed through the fog, emerging as two headlights speeding toward her, closing the gap between it and Margaret's car. "No, it can't be." Her breath caught as her heart slammed against her chest. "Calm down, Margaret. It's just someone else on the road." But she knew she was wrong. The dark-colored SUV behind her barreled forward. Tears blurred her vision. She knew he was coming, and she couldn't escape. She peered into the gray mist, praying for an approaching car, a light in a farmhouse, or a barn. The driver swerved and nudged the bumper, rocking Margaret's car as it lurched forward. The tires left the road, and she pulled on the wheel, struggling to return the vehicle to the road. "Please, stop!" She choked on her words, knowing they were meaningless. The driver had a mission — to end her life. The SUV slammed her bumper again. Shaking violently, Margaret gripped the wheel tighter, yanking it to the left as she fought to keep the car straight. "Please —" Tears spilled down her cheeks. She desperately pleaded, "Someone — help me." The driver maneuvered his vehicle alongside Margaret's car. Her head snapped toward it, fear gripping her, as she saw him laughing, enjoying the moment as if it were a game. His vehicle swerved sharply into her car. The sound of crunching metal against metal echoed, sending chills down her spine. Her car fish-tailed wildly. She yanked the wheel again, but the car spun out of control this time. Gravel sprayed as the front wheels left the road, sending the vehicle careening into the ditch, through the wooden fence, and down the steep embankment. "Eleanor!" she screamed. "Help me!" A vision of her sister flashed before her eyes as if to comfort her. The front of the car shot upward and then slammed into the tree with a violent crunch. The sound was deafening — metal crumpling, glass shattering, and then the airbag exploded into her face, stealing her breath before darkness enveloped her. Outside, flames flickered from the crumpled engine, and the smell of gasoline hung in the air. The other driver pulled to the side of the road, admiring his handy work — his mission accomplished. ***** An autumn chill — a gentle breeze — drifted across the room as Eleanor prepared for John Doyle's parole hearing. In the dim morning light, her body faded, shimmered, and materialized again. She gazed into the mirror, checking her hair, when suddenly something gripped her — a vision so real that it was as if she were in the passenger seat of Margaret's car. An electrical current — a sharp, piercing jolt — ricocheted through her being, flooding her thoughts. The sound of screeching tires, a car being forced off the road, the cruel laughter of the unknown driver, and the brutal thud washed over her. Margaret's fear coursed through Eleanor's body. Her sister's twisted body flashed before her eyes as she cried in agony. Eleanor screamed in vain, "Margaret." ***** In an instant, Eleanor was no longer in her bedroom but at the scene of the violent crash. Her shimmering body appeared from the edge of the flames, flickering like a candle in the wind before fully materializing. Panic clawed at her throat as she screamed her sister's name. "Margaret." Disbelief — pain — and anger surged through her body. The mangled vehicle lay against the tree, flames spitting and sputtering around the hood. Black smoke billowed into the sky, curling like long gnarled tendrils. Inside the car, Margaret's lifeless body slumped against the airbag, sprinkled with shattered glass. The acrid scent of burning rubber filled her nostrils, but all she could think of was her sister — trapped, scared, and alone. Eleanor whispered, "Hold on, Margaret. I'm here!"   Yet, her ghostly instincts told her she might be too late.

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