Jack doubted that. Some primitive part of him sensed The One still out there, prowling around, looking for a new way to create a world-changing cataclysm that would usher in the age of Otherness.
And he knew beyond all reason and all doubt that someday they would meet again.
But even more disturbing was the final look Number One had given him before he'd let go of that root. Jack kept seeing those black eyes, so cold and expressionless, and yet ... a nebulous feeling that some sort of torch was being passed.
Not to me, thank you.
But like it or not, want it or not, had he come too close and seen too much, and because of that been drafted into some sort of shadow army?
The idea gave him the cold shakes.
He started as he sensed something dark moving above, blotting out the stars. He ducked into a crouch and looked up.
Nothing ... an empty sky.
He straightened and slid back into the car. No, he couldn't live like this. Had to shake it off. He'd be a paranoid basket case if he didn't.
He'd handle it ... give him a few days and he'd be back to normal. He'd go on living his life as before, taking on fix-it jobs, kibitzing with Abe, hanging at Julio's, playing with Vicky, loving Gia. Not your normal everyday life, but one firmly grounded in realitythe only reality he knew or wanted to know. He'd put the episode in Monroe behind him and never look back. This page was turned, this chapter closed.
But as he shifted into gear and drove on, Canfield's words seemed to whisper through the heater vents.
You are involved ... more deeply than you can possibly imagine ...
