I didn’t wake Jenny up. I knew if I did, she would worry and want to come along. I’d disappeared for days on end before. My return was usually heralded by a vicious beating (okay, maybe not, but she did always slap me), numerous tears, and four or five hours of… well… ‘making up’, shall we say.

I left a note telling her where I had gone. This would probably make things easier, because I usually just left, headed to who knew where. The fact that I actually told her would ease her worrying about me.

Now, I don’t know how many of you have had the opportunity to take a four hour drive with someone in your head who had just popped in from Salem circa 1692. Lets just say she found the scenery quite distracting.

I was able to wrestle a little of her prior life out of her. She didn’t want to share, initially, because her host/companion/whatever was hanged as a witch. Don’t blame her for not wanting to share. Actually, I thanked her.

But what we were going to do may wind up being much, much worse.