The Burning Time by J. G. Faherty

something?”
    “I hope so. I got a little careless parking my car. It’s, um, stuck on the curb.” She gave him an embarrassed smile. “Do you think you could help me push it off?”
    John looked around the diner again. There had to be twenty people eating breakfast, most of them hard-looking men on their way to jobs at the ConAgra plant or one of the local farms. Surely the young girl knew some of them. He was about to ask her why she’d approached him out of everyone when Anna came back with his order.
    “Here. That’ll be two-fifty,” she said in a cold voice, placing a bag in front of him.
    “Wait. I always eat here.”
    “Not anymore.” She turned and walked away.
    He placed three dollars on the counter, picked up the bag, and gave the young girl a half-hearted smile. “I guess I’m free to give you a hand.”
    “Thanks! My name is April.”
    “I’m John Root.” He held the door for her. “Where’s your car?”
    “Over there. She leaned past him and pointed to a recent model Toyota. Besides sitting several inches off the ground, the front end was wedged into a bush.
    “You get in and put it in reverse. I’ll push.” As he walked around the car, a tingling feeling between his shoulders made him turn around. Several of the diner’s patrons stood at the door and the window, watching.
    Maybe they think I’m going to rape her right here in the parking lot. Then he chided himself for the spiteful thought. It’s not their fault. The influence of the Other grows stronger. Soon their suspicions will extend to each other.
    April leaned out the driver window. “Ready!”
    “Okay.” John put both hands on the hood and pushed, ignoring the sharp pricks from the stems of the bush. At the same time, the engine roared as April stepped on the gas. The car hung for a moment on the curb’s edge, and then rolled back, the front end hitting the blacktop with a loud bang.
    “Thanks so much,” she said. “My father would have killed me if I had to call a tow truck.”
    “My pleasure. Have a nice day.” He picked up his breakfast bag and started walking toward the road.
    He’d only gone a few feet when April pulled up next to him. “Need a ride?”
    “No, thanks. I’m used to the walk.”
    “C’mon. It’s the least I can do after you helped me out.”
    It would be nice to ride for once. “All right. I’m headed to the Anderson’s place, off of Route 16.”
    “Hop in.”
    The tingling feeling on his neck returned as he sat down. He glanced back at the diner, but the sun’s glare made it impossible to see if anyone was looking at him.
    It was well past noon before the feeling of being watched finally went away.
     
    *   *   *
     
    The day after being banned from Rosie’s Diner, John was sitting on the Anderson’s new front steps, eating his lunch, when three squad cars roared up the drive, lights flashing and sirens wailing.
    “John Root! Put your hands in the air and step down from the porch,” Showalter’s amplified voice bellowed from the car’s speaker.
    John dropped his sandwich and raised his hands. His stomach did a flip and his legs trembled as he walked slowly down the steps. Several of the police officers had exited their vehicles and were approaching him, guns drawn.
    “John, what’s going on?” Mitch asked from the door.
    “I don’t know. Call your sister.” John’s mind whirled as he tried to think of what he’d done to bring about such a dramatic response from the police.
    Whatever it is, I sense the hand of the Other in it. He’d been on edge all morning. For the past two nights, he’d dreamed of a giant red eye staring at him from a starless night sky. The protective wards he kept around his bed had prevented the unknown presence from coming any closer, but they’d also hidden who it was that watched him.
    And now this. He kept silent as two deputies pulled his arms down and slapped handcuffs roughly on his wrists, tightening the bands until the metal cut into his