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straight edge. Drew
Nelson reclined in his chair and ran his hands through his short
hair before resting his head back against his interlaced
fingers.
    Writing longhand was old school, but
something about the soft rasp of lead across paper spoke to him on
a visceral level. Made him feel like he’d been destined to be a
part of this business. With his most recent editorial now ready to
be typed into the computer for the Friday edition, satisfaction
offered a brief respite to the tension knotting his shoulders.
    Returning to Lindeman’s Crossing had
definitely felt like coming home, but not long after arriving in
town, he’d started to feel a bit unsettled. As if he had something
to prove but no idea exactly what .
    More recently, he’d experienced flash-photo
visions of weird things. Gold in the river. Ink stained hands.
Deceitful smile of a dark-haired beauty. His dreams had become
stranger than usual, not to mention the times he suspected someone
was watching him. Not in a malevolent way, but just a sense that
there was a nearby presence interested in him . He never saw
anyone, yet when walking along the street to get a cup of coffee,
he’d feel the hair on the back of his neck prickle.
    And then there was that episode outside the
office. He’d swear on his mother’s grave he saw a shadow of a man
on the sidewalk even when no one was around and the position of the
sun made the notion impossible.
    One blink and it’d been gone. Despite trying
to convince himself his imagination had been working overtime, he
couldn’t forget that image. Even now, he found himself glancing
toward the window.
    No sun today. Instead, thunder rumbled
overhead, heralding the arrival of the weather man’s predicted
storms. With a sigh, he sat forward in his chair and brought his
arms down from behind his head.
    A reach for the pencil was arrested by a
shot of pain through the muscles in his left forearm. The sting
subsided, leaving a tingle radiating through his entire arm.
    “ Damn ,” he muttered, wondering if
he’d pinched a nerve somehow.
    A boom of thunder rattled the window panes
behind him and he spun in his seat as see his assistant editor
burst in from the sidewalk.
    “Oh my God, I just made it,” Lisa exclaimed
in a breathless rush. A few droplets of water scattered into the
air as she shook her long blond hair away from her face.
    Rain pelted the pavement outside and drummed
on the hoods of the parked cars until the closing door muted the
sounds. Rubbing at the remaining discomfort in his arm with a
grimace, Drew transferred his gaze from the torrent of rain outside
to the two cups of coffee in Lisa’s hands. Already the
mouth-watering aroma had reached his nose.
    “What are you doing here?”
    “Jake took the kids to a baseball game in
Denver, so I’ve got most of the day to myself.”
    “And you came to work? You feeling
okay?”
    “I’m only staying for a minute.” She set one
of the to-go cups on his desk. Her gaze dropped to his hand.
“What’s the matter with your arm?”
    Out of nowhere, the image of a beautiful
smile and wide green eyes blindsided him. He blinked, clenched his
jaw, and gave his head a tight shake.
    “Drew?”
    “Huh? Oh, nothing.” He reached for the
coffee and toasted her with a forced smile, doing his best not to
crumple the cup between his fingers. “Thanks. I’ll get the java
tomorrow.”
    “Tall white chocolate mocha, please.”
    He laughed and took a drink of his black
brew in hopes of regaining his equilibrium.
    “Listen, I stopped by to get your opinion on
something. Olivia gave me these pictures at church this morning and
asked if we’d do a piece about the cemetery walking tour the
historical society does each month.”
    She tossed a few eight by ten black and
white photos on his desk and Drew pulled them closer. He spotted
his dad right away, and Mr. Edwards next to Olivia’s husband George
as they stood beneath the massive red oak tree that shaded the
grounds.