Pacing didn't carry the satisfaction it used to. There was a time I could sort things out in my head with a few minutes of back and forth, letting my feet quiet the emotions and my head work out the answers. But I needed more than a few stomping steps these days.
I needed distance.
Not that I got it. Instead, like a moth to a flame, habit taking me, I went home to the house in Wilding Springs all over again. Stood in the lightening basement as the morning sun broke through the dust on the small windows, breathing heavily though I'd not exerted myself in a physical way, the temptation to let the monster out and beat some sense into everyone I knew so strong I shuddered from it.
Sassafras waddled down the steps to the concrete floor, coming to a halt at the bottom where he sat, tail wrapped around his paws, watching me with those amber eyes of his. His observations usually made me feel uncomfortable, as if I'd done something wrong. But not this time. No way.