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A Worse Idea 145

Driving back home, Anne had trouble relaxing.

Thinking it through, she felt like she had to be in the clear. Shade had gotten justice, while Anne had managed to somehow get on the law enforcement’s good side, for once. At least, Anne was on the law enforcement’s good side if Jennifer had as much pull as she said she did.

According to both police and the news, she wouldn’t have to worry about The Killer’s Gallery coming after her again — they’d all gotten taken out.

Everything was coming up Anne. And yet, her heart wouldn’t stop racing.

Palms sweaty against the steering wheel. Teeth chewing her lip. Feeling like she was going to die.

How did she stop feeling this? When did the anxiety, the depression, the wildly-swinging emotions and meanings of life settle? When did she learn to get on with her life?

She knew the answer instantaneously, though she tried to ignore it.

This is going to be the rest of my life, she thought. No ignoring a truth bomb like that.

When her cellphone rang, it snapped her out of such a deep reverie that she jumped.

She picked it up, nerves frayed.

“Hello, Anne,” the voice on the other line said. “Before you go home, I’d like you to stop by my office.”

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