A STORY OF GODLY INTERFERENCE GONE WRONGApril tenth twenty-sixteen, a day to remember? No, not for you or me, but for Katlyn Somers, a day never to be forgotten.
The old warehouse was great fun, the hiding and exploring an endless game. But the smell of smoke changed everything that day. And now the hiding becomes real.
Twelve-year-old Katlyn remained hidden as she watched the house across the street burn. As she cowered in her hidey-hole, the truth came with the tears. Her mother was inside that house. And the men in the street, the ones watching, were not there by accident. Her father had found them, and it was time to run.
Four years pass as Katlyn Somers ceases to exist; as Katlyn disappears, Madlyn Stark works to carve out a safe place in the mountains of northern Colorado.
The following two years brings a feeling of normalcy to a life never meant to be normal. But no one ever outruns their destiny.
The dreams come without warning, and when they fade, the memory lingers.
A frantic dash through an unknown forest. Not the young forest of todays world. No, this has the feel of an ancient long-ago place. Massive trees that block out the night sky with underbrush so thick that it hampers every move. The only way forward is the wandering paths of the wild creatures that traveled this way before.
The cold wind finds its way down from the snow-covered mountains, and as the cool breeze caresses dense fur, the musky scent fills the air. They have found her path once more. Her only hope it to run harder and move faster. 'Jeremiah, I'm so sorry I failed you.' The desperate cry echoes through a tired mind.
The dream leaves Madlyn in the same place as every morning of late, curled in a ball amongst the gardening supplies, naked and cold, body exhausted, mind troubled. Why is the dream so real? Why doesn't it fade like other dreams? And what of the sorrow towards this Jeremiah?
Again, as in yesterday and the day before, she forces sore muscles to unwind; driven by the need for food and warmth, Madlyn makes her way towards the house. And as in the preceding days, she stops to clean the grayish-black soil from her hands and feet.
A peculiar soil with a heavy clay mix, a mix not found in the forest around her home. The golden leaf in her hair is another puzzle, a fall leaf, not a spring leaf. Fall is long past. The questions on her mind are the same as yesterday and the day before. Where was that place? How did she get there? And who or what was chasing her?