Cole Burkhardt

My home was right near the wash.

It was on a dead-end street with no other inlets.

If I ever wanted to get back to my house, I had to drive towards the mural.

And worse, once I got out to my driveway, I would have to get out of my car and into the open.

Completely vulnerable and well within the Weeping Woman's range.

My guts wound themselves into knots.

There had to be a different solution.

Monsoon storms didn't last terribly long.

In a few hours, the water would likely clear up.

Maybe, if the wash was what brought her here, then she'd leave when it dried out again.

Worth a try.

I shifted my car into reverse, preparing to go somewhere else and come back when the sun came out.

I almost did, too.

Until I heard a high-pitched bark echo down the street.

I stomped on the brakes again.

I knew that sound.

It was Nugget.

She was barking in the backyard.

I darted my eyes back up to the painting, fixing them on the weeping woman, and I watched, heart crashing into my gut, as the painted figure looked up.

I clenched my teeth.