Every Photo I Take Shows Something Standing Behind Me | Part 1
36:16 Share

Now more than ever, Lowe's knows you don't just want a low price. You want the lowest price. And with our lowest price guarantee, you can count on us for competitive prices on all your home improvement projects. If you find a qualifying lower price somewhere else on the same item, we'll match it. Lowe's. We help. You save. Price match applies the same item. Current price at qualifying retailers. Exclusions and terms apply. Learn how we'll match price at Lowe's.com slash lowest price guarantee.

Does it ever feel like you're a marketing professional just speaking into the void? Well, with LinkedIn ads, you can know you're reaching the right decision makers. You can even target buyers by job title, industry, company, seniority, skills, and

Wait, did I say job title yet? Get started today and see how you can avoid the void and reach the right buyers with LinkedIn ads. We'll even give you a $100 credit on your next campaign. Get started at linkedin.com slash results. Terms and conditions apply. God, I'm bored. The photos inch down the giant screen behind me. My thumb clicking the advance button on the small remote. Wonder what people are going to think about these.

Are they real? Products of a delusional mind? Cries for help? If they think the last one, then no one's listening. Because I've been going through this since I was 11, and not once have I asked for help. Why would I need to? "I'll take a few questions now," I say as I pause on the final photo. It's the most recent one I've taken that I'm willing to show. The one where it has gotten so much closer than ever before. Or so they all think. Gotta keep up the suspense.

In the photo, I'm standing in front of a gigantic tree trunk with my ex-girlfriend, Anya. It was our first visit to the California redwoods. She's peeking out from behind the tree on the left. Seeing her makes my heart skip a little, not in a good way. Once they realize what my life is like, most of my girlfriends don't stick around for long. They can't stand the constant travel, the never-ending interviews, the fans, the critics, that feeling they get on the back of their neck when I get bored.

like I am right now. But the people aren't here to see a photo of my ex. What they are here to see is peeking out from the tree on the right. Well, lurking. It's very good at that. Posing just right for dramatic effect. It's had 20 years of practice, so it better be good. "Did you know it would be there on your right? Does it follow a pattern?" The first person asks as they step up to the mic. "No," I reply.

I had set the timer on my phone to 10 seconds so we could get in place, and I could check the composition on my watch. It wasn't in the image on my watch. It's never in the viewfinder of my camera or the screen on my phone. You only see it after the picture has been taken, so I never really know where it will appear in the final image. The person thanks me, and the next one is up. You said you started this art project when you were 11. What was your inspiration?

The man asking looks sincere. The assholes always do. Those two questions are only his opening salvo. He's got some zingers and some harsh comments loaded and ready to fire the second I open my mouth. "Next question," I say. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, why don't you answer?" "Because it's not a question, it's a trap." I reply and stare him straight in the eye. "It's not an art project. I've never called it that. You know who has? Assholes on the internet. Next question."

There's a smattering of applause as the man sputters and tries to argue.

Then the applause grows and people stand up from their seats. Security makes itself known and the man reluctantly backs away from the microphone. As people clap for his exit, he gives me one last glare, then is out the double doors in the back, security right on his heels. "Sorry about that, folks," I say when the applause dies down and people have taken their seats. "And thank you for the support." I inhale deeply and then slowly let the breath out.

Next question. "Um, yes. Sorry. I, uh... Well, please don't see this as a setup or trap, Mr. Kasdan. But in this day and age, faking photos like that isn't exactly hard." The young woman says. "True," I reply. "And your question?" "Why should we believe you?"

I smile at the woman and look around the room. 600 people fill the huge conference space, all here to see me and my 20 years of photographic mystery. Eyes meet mine and don't look away. They want to know the answer as much as the woman, of course. "Good question," I chuckle and rub my face. "It's a very good question. And, to be honest, the only question people should ever ask. So I thank you for your directness."

The young woman squirms, uncomfortable being in the spotlight. She must truly want an answer, or she wouldn't have even had the courage to step up to the microphone. "Unfortunately, I don't have an answer other than I'm telling the truth. Ever since I was 11 years old, every picture I take with me in it, it's there, standing behind me somewhere. 20 years of this… entity, following me from photograph to photograph,

I've never gotten an explanation. I've never found anyone who can explain it to me. So, if we're talking truth here, I don't know if you should believe me. If I hadn't lived with this for most of my life, I wouldn't believe it either. She stands there, wringing her hands. Her mouth twitches, and she flits her eyes to the side like something is over there. "Do you have another question?" There are a few groans from the people standing in line behind her, waiting for their turn at the mic.

I ignore the groans. This young woman has something to say. "Have you ever met anyone who has experienced the same phenomena?" "Phenomena? You ask that question like you know others have too. Phenomenon is singular. Phenomena is plural. Not to be a linguistic prick, but it makes a difference here." "I know the difference." My eyebrows rise.

"Well, over the years, some people have come forward to say they have had the same experiences, yes. I think you have heard of the more sensational ones. Does anyone know the name August Rhymes?" Out the crowd gasps. The other half shift silently in their seats. "That's my reaction when I hear that name too," I say, and heads nod in faux sympathy. They have no idea why they're nodding. They just know they're supposed to because others are sheep.

Except for the young woman at the mic, she's nothing but sincere, earnest attention. For those who don't know, and it sounds like that's only a select few of you, August Rimesis, uh, disturbed man. His lawyer spent several years trying to discredit me, which is a losing cause, since I've never looked for accreditation. I've only told my story, and asked people to look at my photographs. You can make up your own minds. You can believe me or not,

And other than my books and my sub stack, I've also never asked for money from anyone. Some people see me as a fraud. And while I don't like to speak ill of the disturbed, I will say August Rhymes is the real fraud. I take a breath and smile at the audience. But most people who come to me just want to talk about their experiences. And I am happy to listen if I have time. Usually though, they relay a semi-altered version of the same situation I'm in.

It's flattering, but I know they're full of it and only seeking attention. I take another breath. The young woman hasn't moved an inch from the mic, but her eyes keep flitting to the right side of the room, which makes me curious. When she lifts her phone and takes a picture, it's not of me, it's of the wall she keeps glancing at. And I realize what she's doing. Maybe my boredom is about to go on pause?

"Occasionally, although I have no way to prove it, someone will tell me a story and I have a hard time disbelieving them, even though it's become my default disbelief. Ironic, right?" Some laughter. The young woman takes another picture of the wall. "But so far, I have only heard stories. No one has shown me pictures." I clear my throat, and the young woman's attention returns to me. "Do you have pictures?"

Her eyes widen, and I swear her skin goes completely grey. Which is a trick and a half, considering she's very dark-complected. Indian? Pakistani? Middle Eastern? Or she could just be from El Paso, for all I know. I'm a hundred feet away from her, hard to tell. "Thank you," she says, avoiding my question. She retreats from the mic like it's a cobra ready to strike. The next person steps up, and already, he looks like another asshole.

I'm pretty good at Photoshop too. Next! I shout. And the audience bursts into laughter as security makes its present known to asshole the sequel. Close your eyes, exhale, feel your body relax and let go of whatever you're carrying today.

Well, I'm letting go of the worry that I wouldn't get my new contacts in time for this class. I got them delivered free from 1-800-CONTACTS. Oh my gosh, they're so fast. And breathe. Oh, sorry. I almost couldn't breathe when I saw the discount they gave me on my first order. Oh, sorry. Namaste. Visit 1-800-CONTACTS.com today to save on your first order. 1-800-CONTACTS.

This MLB season, FanDuel's Dinger Tuesday is back. And this year, all customers get a profit boost to bet home runs every week. So gear up to go yard all season long on FanDuel, America's number one sportsbook. 21 plus and present in Arizona. Opt-in required. Bonus issued is non-withdrawable profit boost tokens. Restrictions apply, including any token expiration and max wage or amount. See full terms at FanDuel.com slash sportsbook. Gambling problem? Call 1-800-NEXT-STEP or text NEXTSTEP to 53342.

"And this, what, entity? It has been following you since you were 11?" "Yes, it's been… interesting. I'm sure that's an understatement." We both laugh. She checks her notes. "And after the accident, your grandparents raised you, correct?" The reporter is attractive. Young. Not really my type. But if she has even a smidge of talent, she'll be out of this lower-tier metro area soon.

"Yes, correct," I replied. "But I wouldn't call it an accident. August Rimes killed my family. Allegedly. He was never convicted. In fact, he never actually stood trial due to several psychiatrists stating he was not mentally fit to testify on his own behalf. Again, correct. But one reason he was seen as unfit is that he was claiming he could see creatures that others can't see. Sort of sounds like what you do, Mr. Kasdan?" I give her a sweet smile.

I'm trying not to be condescending, but it's hard. August Rimes stalked our house. Later on, video surveillance from some of our neighbor's cameras showed him watching us for months. "Right, but…" "My family was butchered in front of me." She pauses. I wait. Then she nods and retreats from her attack. "Good girl." "Why you?" She asks. "Why did he target you?" "Me personally? I don't know that he did."

Some doctors' theories believe he was fixated on my entire family. He was jealous of our dynamic and wanted it for himself. Then why try to kill you all? Some people destroy what they love. She nods, and I keep this sweet smile plastered on my face. These local press blocks are a chore. Speaking of love, your last girlfriend, Anya Morgan, hasn't been seen in public in close to six months. You two must have had quite a breakup.

Yes, well, from her statements to TMZ, it sure would seem like it. I sigh and lean forward, knowing it'll cause havoc for the cameraman's framing, and place my elbows on my thighs. My life is easy, because of who I am and what I do. Anonymity isn't possible. That's hard for many people. It was hard for Anya. I know she wanted out of the spotlight. Our lives, our wants, our needs, just weren't compatible. Well, I am sorry to hear that.

Her producer hurries over, the woman's cell phone glued to her ear, and whispers to the reporter. "Are you sure?" the reporter asks. The producer nods and walks off, her phone still to her ear. "Everything alright?" "Um, yes. Or no. Maybe you can answer that question." "I'm sorry, but I'm not following." "My producer just received news that August Rimes escaped from the Monterey State facility for the criminally insane."

"You're joking. I'm not. Would you care to comment on-" "No, I would not. I just found out, so I'll think before I speak." "Yes, but-" "I have to go. Thank you for the interview." "Excuse me, Mr. Kasdan?" "I don't do autographs away from the signing table, sorry." I say, refusing to look up at the speaker. "I'm just enjoying my latte while I wait for my car to arrive." "I don't want an autograph," she says. "I want to show you something, please."

I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to alarm you.

I feel her slide by and before I can say anything else, she's sitting in the chair opposite me. "You!" I say when I see her face. "The one from yesterday. The girl with the good question." I grin. "I have a question of my own. Just now, why did you say you didn't mean to alarm me? Did I seem alarmed?" "You were reaching for your bag," she says, and pats the one on her lap. "It's a very different bag for my courier, but just as large."

I keep protection on me at all times too, you know, just in case." Then she lets out a sad laugh. "Like we can protect ourselves from them." Conflict fills me. On one hand, a total stranger has pretty much admitted that she is also armed. Am I about to be a headline? Is August Rimes the least of my worries? On the other hand, I see absolutely zero aggression in her face, in her body language, in her entire demeanor.

In fact, she's giving off simultaneous terror, embarrassment, and relief vibes. But the kicker is that last sentence she just said, like we can protect ourselves from them. Is this the answer to my boredom? I decide to go for it. "I'm Alex, what's your name?" I ask, and lean across the small table, offering my hand. "We're in the lobby of the local Omni Hotel. There's one in every major metro area.

Travelers walk by us, oblivious to anything but their own needs and itineraries. Hotel lobbies are such public spaces, but because of everyone's preoccupation with themselves, it's also a great place to be anonymous. No one is even looking our way. "I know who you are," she says, shyly. She leans forward and takes my hand, shaking it with a firm but soft grip. "I'm Haley. Haley McCormick."

"Good to meet you, Haley McCormick." I release her hand and lean back. "Talk to me." "What?" "Talk to me. You have something to say. Say it." "I don't want to bother you." "You do want to bother me, or you wouldn't have come up to me. Are you staying in this hotel?" She shakes her head. "Exactly. So you sought me out with the intention of bothering me. What you really mean to say is you don't want to be a bother. You don't want to be a burden and waste my time." After a second, she nods.

I'll put her at ease. "You didn't want to ask that question yesterday, did you? At my presentation?" She shakes her head. "But you had to ask it, am I right?" She nods. "So, why?" She takes a long time to reply, and I'm about to prompt her to move it along since my car will be here any second when she says, "Can I take you somewhere? I need you to see something." I jerk back with surprise, and she basically collapses in her chair.

"Oh no, I blew it. I'm so sorry. No, that was an awful question. It was an awful way to ask it, I mean. I don't want to take you anywhere personally. You can have your car drive you there. That way you have a witness and someone knows where you are, and I'll be in my car. So there's no worry about me. Stop." I hold up my hand. "What is it you want to show me?" She looks around. "Not here. I shouldn't say it here." My eyebrows rise as far as they can go.

She frowns and collapses in on herself even more. I fucked this all up, she mumbles. I have a 7.30 flight, I check my watch. That leaves me with about three hours of breathing room. Is that enough time? She perks up, but only a little. I don't know. I mean, yes, it's plenty of time for you to see what you need to see, but I don't know if it'll be enough time to talk about what we need to talk about.

"Damn, Haley, now you've got me seriously fucking curious. You aren't a serial killer, are you? Looking to collect offbeat, semi-well-known fools like me?" "I've never heard anything in my life," she says. And for the first time, I don't quite believe her. But I also don't think she has heard anything on purpose. People who hurt others on purpose have a way of holding themselves. The way they view the world, you can see the violence in their eyes.

Haley's eyes? Lost, scared, somewhat hopeful, not violent. Her eyes tell me she needs help, badly. "Okay," I say and lift my phone. I'll text the driver the new plan, so he's prepared for the change. "What's the address?" "Um," I look up from my phone. "You don't know the address?" "Sorry, I only know how to get there. I'm not from around here. I drove in yesterday morning and came straight to my presentation." She nods.

You really wanted to meet me, didn't you? Not in a creepy way. Well, we'll have to disagree about that. This whole interaction is a little creepy. I smile kindly when she frowns. Because I'm creepy. What I talk about, what I live with, it is undeniably creepy. So let's stop apologizing for being creepy, alright? Alright. Can you give me a general area? Waterfront. That industrial part a few miles north. The old shipyard that's closed down.

"Oh? The old shipyard that's closed down? Sounds totally safe." I chuckle, then take a breath. "You aren't making this easy for me, Haley." "Sorry, but I swear it's worth it." I watch her for a moment, then send the text to the driver. He texts back in seconds. "All good." I hold out my hand. "Now show me those photos you took yesterday." "What photos?" "The ones of the conference room wall. They'll deny it. I watched you do it. I had a pretty good view."

"I can show you, but it won't matter." "Why's that?" "Cause I'm sorta like you, except only I can see my shroud." The word makes me shiver. Ice grips my guts and I squirm in my seat like I need to take a wicked shit. After a couple of seconds, the discomfort eases and I get my voice back. "Why did you call it that?" "Shroud? That's what they are," she says, then gets agitated.

No, no, I'll screw this up. We should wait until you're with the others. Skye can explain it best. Skye? Others? Are they meeting us in the shipyard? Yes, they are. Like us too. If I hadn't been dealing with stalkers and psychos for as long as I have, I would have snapped my fingers and gotten security's attention. But just like with the assholes yesterday in the question line, I can spot danger pretty quickly. I'm not saying she isn't dangerous. She definitely is.

I can feel it wafting off her like the smell of mildew from an old house. I'm not going to be the same after this meeting, am I? No, she says in that quiet way of hers. I'm sorry. Well, we'll see about that.

This message is brought to you by Abercrombie & Fitch. I've been ready for summer for a while, and now it's finally time for summer outfits. With the trip coming up, the A&F Vacation Shop has me covered. Abercrombie really knows how to do a lightweight outfit. Their tees, sweater polos, and linen blend shorts never miss. I wear Abercrombie denim year-round. Their shorts are no different and have the comfort I need for summer.

Prep for your next trip with the A&F Vacation Shop. Get their newest arrivals in-store, online, and in the app. Have you ever spotted McDonald's hot crispy fries right as they're being scooped into the carton? And time just stands still. Are you sure, sir? My driver glances back at me, worried, as we drive through the abandoned shipyard and pull up next to an old industrial warehouse.

This doesn't seem like a good idea. Maybe I should take you to the airport as originally planned. No, I'm not sure. I stare at the four cars parked by the warehouse's stained and graffitied wall. But I'll be fine. Stay here. And if I don't come back in 30 minutes, then call 911. No cell service, sir, the driver says and holds up his phone. But I already texted my dispatcher and told her where we were going. The car has GPS so they can track us. We just can't call for help.

"Not from here, no. If I'm not back in 30 minutes, go for help." Not that I need help. "I can't leave you, sir." "You can and you will. Go for help if I'm not back in 30 minutes." Before he can keep arguing, I open the back door and step out of the long, black town car. I shut the door just as he opens his mouth. There's nothing he can say to change my mind. I've already come this far. When I reach the other cars, a side door opens in the warehouse's wall, and Haley appears.

She nods and moves aside.

"Come in and meet everyone. They're all excited you're here. No one believed I actually convinced you to come." "Well, it's not exactly a rational decision on my part, so I don't blame them for being skeptical." I walk past her and into the warehouse, where I know my life is about to move to the next level. Inside is a mess of old wooden crates and industrial equipment meant to stack, convey, or load those crates. Buttles dapple the cracked concrete floor here and there.

Everything is rust and dripping water. "Cool hangout," I say. "Very alien." "It's not a hangout," she says. "None of us is from here, but places like this are the safest for us to meet together. No crowds nearby. It's harder for people to get hurt this way." "What does that mean?" I ask, but she ignores me and hurries over to a group of people who are sitting in a circle in folding chairs. There are four of them, two men, two women, all in their mid-twenties, like Haley.

A big man with tattoo sleeves covering his arms watches me like a hawk. A small, Asian woman picks at her fingernails with a pocket knife. The other young man, completely bald with a bright red beard, scratches at that beard, while his eyes stay locked on a spot across the warehouse. The other woman, a bleach blonde with either fake boobs or has had one hell of a genetic joke played on her, smiles at me the second I make eye contact with her.

"Where's Skye?" Haley asks. "Went outside to take a leak and get some space. He said it was getting crowded in here," the big guy replies. Haley wrings her hands again. "Oh? How are this many people considered crowded? Does this Skye person have enaclophobia?" I ask. And when I only get blank looks in response, I add, "Fear of crowds. I knew that," the dude staring at the wall says.

"Guys, this is Alex Kasdan, the second documented person to see the shrouds," Haley says. "Second?" She doesn't respond and continues. "Mr. Kasdan, this is Bobby Gifford," she indicates the big guy. "This is Nikki Beale," the Asian girl. "This is Trask Loganstein," the wall starer. He doesn't budge, his eyes always on the wall. "And this is Lulu Court," the well-endowed blonde.

"Hi, call me Alex." I clap my hands together. "Alright, we have less than thirty minutes for you all to say whatever it is you need to say." Bobby stands up and offers me his hand. "Good to meet, Alex. Can you only see yours or other shrouds too?"

"Other shrouds? That answers that," Nikki says. "I can see others' shrouds, but only in pictures that I don't take myself. I can't see my own shroud. I see mine in pictures, but it stands behind other people, never behind me. Doesn't matter if I take the pic or someone else does," Bobby says. "How do you know it's yours?" I ask, jokingly. No one laughs.

"Would you recognize yours?" Bobby asks. "I don't know. I've never thought about it," I say. "Then do think about it for half a second." "But yeah, I guess I would. I see mine off to the side, out of the corner of my eye," Hailey says. "I can only rarely capture it on camera. Every picture I look at, I get to see everybody's!" Lulu exclaims with way too much enthusiasm. "Key for me!"

When she lifts her arms up and punches the air over her head, I realize she's being sarcastic. Painfully sarcastic. I don't think Lulu is all there. "I see the disconnected," Trask says, eyes still on that wall. "And we need to be fast, y'all. They're getting antsy for some reason."

Disconnected? I follow his eyes to the spot he's locked onto. The Shrouds who have lost their people, or been uncoupled and can't get back to them. Haley explains. We have to be careful around the Disconnected. Too many in one place at one time can be a problem. They can gang up on us and rip us to shreds. Trask says. It's like they pull their energy together so they can affect the physical plane.

"Um, okay," I rub my forehead. "Are you saying not all of them can affect the physical plane?" "Of course not all can," Nikki says. "Huh, that's a lot to take in." "You think we're nuts," Bobby says. "But then, most of the world thinks you're nuts, so we're even. Guys," Trask says and sits up straight. "Hurry it up. Less chatter, more matter." Everyone looks at the far wall. "How much time?" Bobby asks. "Minutes," Trask replies.

"Then let's get this show on the road," a man says as a side door I didn't notice opens. The guy who walks in is a good 10 years older than me. He must be in his early to mid 40s. "This guy Quigley," he says, and offers his hand as he heads straight for me. He looks like a cross between a college professor and a tech bro. He also looks very familiar.

"Hold on," I say, after shaking Skye's hand. "You play professional poker." "I do. I also see shrouds at all times. Mine, yours, everyone's. No pictures needed." "Shit, that has to be stressful." "Oh, it used to be when I was younger," he shrugs. "But I've had time to adapt. Gives me an advantage at the table." "Really? How?"

He just smiles. "It's great to meet you, Alex. I've watched your work very closely over the years. I'm sorry about what August Rimes did to your family. Just horrible." "Thank you." But now he's escaped, so he's the gift that keeps on giving, apparently. "Yeah, I heard he—" "Guys, I'm not kidding," Trask says. "Something has these Shrouds really agitated, and I don't think it's just all of us being together in one place. We have to hurry," Skye says. "CliffsNotes, alright?"

I realize he's asking me that question. "Um, yeah, sure, whatever. Good, here we go." Skye walks me over to the circle of chairs and offers me one. I sit quickly, wanting him to get to the point. "I've been able to see them since I was 11. Sound familiar?" "It should. All of us started when we were 11."

I glance around, and everyone nods except for Trask. He's rubbing his hands back and forth on his thighs and staring hard at the wall. "We don't know what they are or why they're here," Skye continues. "I've tried to figure it out, but I haven't gotten close to an answer. All I know is everyone has a shroud. Everyone, except for August Rhymes," Nikki says, still picking at her fingernails. "Except for August Rhymes," Skye says.

"But he can talk to other peoples, I know that for sure. It's what makes him so dangerous." He looks me in the eyes, and I guess what he's about to say. "I'm pretty sure he talked one of your family shrouds into doing something while you were all on that road trip that summer," this guy says to me. "According to that security camera footage, he was on your block, in your neighborhood, the day you all drove away. Headed for the Grand Canyon, right?" I whisper appropriately, looking down in my shoes.

When he doesn't say anything else, I look up. Everyone is staring at me.

"That's your big difference," Skye says. "Your shroud interferes with your life." "It saved your ass, dude," Bobby says. The others nod, except for Trask, of course. He only has attention for the wall. There's a tug at my shoulder.

The poor fools. While I am interested in seeing what happens, I stand up instead. "Listen, this is all good and everything, but I think I made a mistake. I'm going to go." "Mr. Kasdan?" A driver calls from the door I came in through. "Everything okay?" "Ah, fuck!" Trask shouts as he jumps to his feet. "Get him out of here!" "Mr. Kasdan?" The driver asks. "We all need to go now!" Trask screams and bolts. He's gone out the door Skye came through before I can even blink.

It all goes to hell fast. The driver is torn to shreds. First his clothes, then his skin, then his flesh, then everything. It's like watching a person being fed into a woodchipper. One outer layer at a time. But there's no woodchipper, just the aftermath.

"No! Fuck off!" Bobby yells and he's throwing elbows as he sprints after Trask. "Where's your shroud? I can't see it! It's moving too fast!" Skye screams at me. And he's gone too. So are Nikki, Hailey, and Lulu. They just take off running, leaving me alone. Except I'm not alone. So many presences all around me. I can feel them. How wonderfully different. When I don't move, there's a hard shove to my back. When that doesn't work, the shove gets even harder.

Then there's a pain in my right ear as I feel it being tugged. There's so much force to the tugging, I'm afraid my ear will be ripped off. That tears my interest away and I run after the others. The driver's screeches ring in my ears long after he's dead. They echo in my head as I try to catch my breath outside. Industrial walkways and rusted crap looms over me. Cars are peeling out, getting as far away from the warehouse as fast as possible.

Haley pulls up next to me and rolls down her window. Skye is in her passenger seat. "We'll be in touch," he says, leaning across her. "We only use burner phones. Look for the word 'integimento.' It means 'shroud' in Latin," I say. He nods, and Haley gives me a sad smile before she drives off. I stand there alone for a moment, but get moving after I feel a tug at my sleeve. When I get to the town car and sit in the driver's seat, I pray the keys are still in the ignition. They are.

I start the car up and drive away from the abandoned shipyard. A huge smile on my face. So much for being bored.

If you'd like to listen completely ad-free and get access to over 80 exclusive bonus stories, including the new release, Ghost Punching for Tips, consider joining Dr. No Sleep Premium. You can listen to the new bonus story right now with a 7-day free trial. Just go to patreon.com slash drnosleep to join. That's patreon.com slash drnosleep.