Senior Deputy Delmar Johnson had a date with a ghost.
Nervously, he glanced at the empty chair across the table from where he sat in the conference room. A shiver ran down his spine. Does it matter if my date is no longer among the living?
No matter how many times he denied the absurd notion, some unmistakable presence seemed to haunt him. The worst part of it was the recurring nightmare. No, the worst part was that he couldn’t tell whether he was dreaming or not. He never knew until he awoke, usually in a cold sweat.
He shook his head as though to clear away the tendrils of the eerie dream and force his mind into its usual, methodical approach to his cases. Though broadcast journalist Christine Christian’s body had never turned up, a gnawing intuition told him the missing woman would not be found alive.
Del touched the table as though to convince himself he was awake. But am I? Does a dreamer ever know he’s dreaming?
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