As sudden pain shot through his ribs and one of his wrists grave keeper Rush jerked awake. He tumbled out of bed and landed on his knees with a teeth-rattling jolt.

Disoriented, a sour taste in his mouth and a rapid heartbeat, he crawled toward the window, and then back to the bed. He clutched at the ratty, block quilt that barely kept him warm at night, and fought back the acrid taste of vomit. As he tried to pull himself up, pain burst through his side, and he clung to the quilt, panting.

A vision of a terrified young girl racing through dark trees flashed across his mind.

“Jesus, someone’s in bad trouble.”

God, this hurts.

Get a hold of yourself.

Get control.

It’s not real.

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