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quick glance in my rearview mirror confirmed that the SUV had not yet made the right turn.
    “Please let me make it to that lot before the SUV turns the corner,” I said into the darkness.
    I stepped on the gas and the car sprinted ahead. A rearview mirror check revealed still no SUV as I sped into the parking lot, pulled into a vacant spot in the shadows behind a dumpster, and turned off my headlights. I sat there in the dark with the motor running and my heart racing as I watched and waited. I held my breath.
    The black SUV turned the corner. Not seeing me on the road, the driver accelerated, speeding past the parking lot, and then turning left at the next corner.
    “That was close,” I said, breathing a sigh of relief. “Now if I can just get home in one piece that would be great.”
    Am I going mad? Since when do I talk to myself? This was getting out of control, and fast!
    I turned the headlights back on, eased out of the parking lot and headed back the way I had come. I’m not sure what’s going on here, but I don’t think I should go home right away . But where else could I go? I could go to a friend’s, but this could be dangerous and I can’t get anyone else involved. Maybe I should go to hotel. Yes, that’s it . I’ll get a hotel room . Then I remembered that all my credit cards were at home, hidden in the fake bottom of the tinderbox by the fireplace. I had to find a place to go until I felt it would be safe to go home. Was it ever going to be safe to go home again?
    I’ve got to lay low. I turned into the parking lot of a diner, and parked in the back. I went in and took a seat at a two-person booth in a quiet, uncrowded section where I could watch the front door. I ordered a cup of coffee from a friendly waitress, but I didn’t have the energy for conversation.
    I have got to get a grip, I thought as I surveyed the other patrons of the diner. My nerves were shot. Sipping the coffee, I started to wonder, When had my life gotten so crazy ? I had always led such a predictable, boring life. My commute from northern Connecticut into the city left me very little time to make any new friends or to stay connected with any old ones.
    Since I got this dream catcher, my entire world had been turned upside down. The ornate antique hummed in my pocket as if it were burning to be free.
    My thoughts turned to Mrs. Warren. ‘I’ll contact you,’ she had said. ‘Trust no one.’
    I flagged down the waitress, paid for the coffee, and headed out to my car. Sitting there in the darkness of the parking lot, I grabbed my cell phone and dialed directory assistance. It only took a moment to get Mrs. Warren’s home number. Should I call her? I had to.
    “Hello,” said the sweet voice of the elderly curator.
    “Hi, Mrs. Warren, this is Pam Hastings,” I said rapidly into the phone.
    “Oh, my dear, what a nice surprise. I haven’t heard from you in ages!” she said as if she had not just seen me earlier that afternoon.
    “Mrs. Warren, I need your help. Would it be okay if I were to stop by?”
    “Oh dear,” she said and paused for what seemed longer than necessary. I thought I heard voices in the background.
    “Mrs. Warren,” I rushed on. “I normally wouldn’t ask, but there really is no safe place for me to go. I’m being followed and, well, I can’t go home.”
    “Oh, my dear. I’m always delighted to hear from you and so pleased that you have decided to go visit your aunt.”
    Visit my aunt? What was she talking about?
    Then I was sure I heard commotion and what sounded like muffled male voices in the background.
    “But,” she continued, “what you are suggesting is, ah, well, impossible right now and frankly not a very wise idea.”
    I heard the muffled voices again. Was it my imagination or did I hear a male voice in the background demanding to know who was calling?
    “Mrs. Warren,” I said, my voice raising an octave. “Is something wrong? Are you all right?”
    “Nice of you to phone, my