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“Carol, I’m glad that you finally woke up,” he said simply, confusing her with the fact that he knew her name and had apparently been waiting for her to wake up.
She didn’t answer, words caught in her throat. It didn’t matter—the man in the tan trench coat continued to speak.
“This is a beautiful place for you to have chosen for this conversation. I know that you didn’t consciously choose it, but I am often pleasantly surprised at the beautiful places people feel safe. Central Park is magnificent, especially in winter and at night.”
The man looked around, making her copy him and do the same. He was right—it was beautiful. The moonlight was making the snow on the ground shimmer with light, and the few plants poking through the snow seemed greener than they should. There were holiday lights on some of the trees in the distance, creating a cheery scene from far away.
Her eyes went back to the man, who was looking at her once again. “What’s going on? Who are you, and why do you know my name? Why am I here?”
He nodded, a tight-lipped smile settling on his handsome face. “Ah, yes. I apologize. I know you because I was sent here to guide you. Carol Mason, you were in a terrible crash this evening. I’m here to guide you to what comes next.”
Carol’s mouth fell open in shock, her mind going back to what she’d been doing. She left the mansion for the Patton party, driving back into Manhattan in the beautiful snowfall. There were the lights of the city all around her, the people in the streets, the spinning girl in the red coat.
The jolt and darkness.
Tears filled Carol’s eyes without her realizing it, and then the man was next to her, putting his arm around her and consoling her. He didn’t tell her it was alright, that things were going to be okay. He merely shushed her crying, patted her shoulder, and led her to sit on the bench.
Carol sat, staring at her hands. “What happens now?” she finally asked, terrified of his answer.
He sat back, folding his hands in his lap. “Well, you aren’t quite ready to leave this place yet. You have unfinished business to do, whether you know it or not. I was sent to give you your task, and then I will return when your task is over to take you where you need to go next.”
She looked at him with confusion. “Unfinished business?” she repeated, wondering what it was. “The Patton party?”
“Oh, no!” he said, laughing a low chuckle. “The Patton party is—was—unimportant in the grand scheme of things. Your binders full of notes will ensure that the party goes exactly as you planned, Beverly Patton donating the money she’d been ready to give you to a local hospital for research.Thatis not your unfinished business.”
Carol looked at the man, confusion and grief spilling through her veins. What was he talking about and what was she supposed to do?
He seemed to read her mind and continued to speak, although his voice became more monotone and instructional.
“There is a man who lives in Huntington. His name is Brett Carlington, and he owns his own auto shop. He needs your help saving his auto shop and keeping his family together for the holidays.”
She racked her brain, trying to think of whether she knew this Brett Carlington or not. Why would he be her unfinished business?
Once again, the man seemed to read her mind.
“You’ve never met Brett Carlington, but you were supposed to. With your accident tonight, that meeting has been altered permanently, but it still needs to happen. You need to go to him, help him.” The man took a breath, looking very serious. “But there are rules.”
Carol sat up straighter. Rules and order she could deal with, even in this crazy situation. “What are the rules, then?”
He stood, beginning to pace in front of her. “You may not talk to any of the people who you have known, be it work, friends, or family. You will be completely on your own. You may not tell anyone about your accident. If you contact anyone or tell anyone what happened to you, it will not be good.”
Carol was too afraid to ask exactly what would happen if she broke those rules.
“The final rule is that you must complete your business with Brett Carlington before Christmas Eve. That is when I will return; that is when things must be finished. You have until December twenty-fourth to do all you can for Brett Carlington and his family.”
She nodded, her mind contemplating a million questions. How would she find him? What did he need help with? What family did he have? Why an auto shop?
Before Carol could open her mouth to ask more questions, the man put two fingers to her forehead and a bright light filled her vision; she was unconscious once more.
3
This timewhen she came back to her senses, she wasn’t lying on the ground in Central Park at night, but was sitting on a bench, more specifically a bus stop bench in the middle of the day.
She looked around, getting her bearings. Carol assumed that she was in Huntington—where else would she have been sent if not to fulfill her unfinished business? The street sign on the corner had a neighborhood label: Huntington.
Carol hadn’t ventured out to this suburb before, but saw that it was much like the others around New York. There were people milling about, making her wonder if any of them had seen her appear, or if she’d been seemingly sleeping until she just came to consciousness. If she saw the man in the trench coat again, she’d have to ask him how she got to Central Park and to Huntington without her knowledge.
Carol stood, smoothing down her clothes when she noticed she was wearing jeans and a semi-casual blouse instead of her business attire. She figured that would be more practical, drawing less attention to herself in the more laid-back atmosphere of the suburb.
