Gone to Ground by Cheryl Taylor

where he’d been assigned after balking and defying orders on the night of the “exorcism,” the term the Enforcers gave their anti-ghost operations.
    This girl was so smart, so brave. Even though she had brown hair and blue eyes, he saw in her his flame haired, green eyed ten-year-old Kay-Tee, questioning everything, wanting to know how everything worked, and carrying an undying faith in the invincibility of her father. In meeting Christina, the Jim O’Reilly he’d thought dead and buried, and whom he really didn’t want to reincarnate, started to reemerge anyway. Now, back in Hideaway, in the land where he grew up, that Jim O’Reilly was ready to take back his life.
    “Okay, Mr. O’Reilly,” said the woman, now completely in control of herself. Afraid, yes, but unbelievably in control. A flush stained her cheek and her green eyes glittered in defiance, head held rigidly upright on her slender neck. “It’s obvious that you’re an Enforcer, unless you attacked one and stole his shirt and weapon. Are you here to take us in to the APZ? I warn you, we worked too hard to get here. Unless you have a lot more help out there than it appears, you’ll have trouble getting us to leave with you.
    “Really,” the woman continued, “It would make much more sense to leave us here. After all, the APZs are crowded, supplies are short, and we’re not interfering with anyone out here. What does it matter if we’re living here on our own.” Her words began to speed up as if to fill in the vacuum left by his silence.
    Suddenly, he made his decision, set his rifle on the table next to the door, walked over and pulled out a chair at the table across from the pair. Seated, he placed both hands on the table and looked both the woman, who’d grown silent when he made his move, and the boy in the eyes, one at a time.
    “You have nothing to worry about. I don’t intend to do anything with you.”
    “Oh, yeah?” replied the woman, looking quickly at her son then back at O’Reilly, eyes narrowed. “Then may I ask why you were standing in my doorway a moment ago, holding a gun and looking as though you were about to call the wrath of the so-called government down upon our heads?”
    “No, I know how it looks, but I’m not an Enforcer any longer. I’ve left that life and I want nothing more than to be left in peace.”
    “Well, don’t let us stop you,” she replied acerbically. “Enjoy your trip to wherever it was you were heading. It was a pleasure meeting you... and your gun.” There was a snort of strangled laughter from the boy, which earned him a glare from his mother. The man took his eyes from the woman’s face for a second and glanced at the boy whose features had taken on a redder hue. He’d clapped his hand over his mouth as though trying to hold in either more laughter, or an additional comment.
    “Actually,” O’Reilly said, attempting a smile that felt foreign to his face, “this was where I was heading. Hideaway Camp. What I’d like to know is who are you and how did you and your son find this place? It’s not exactly in the guidebooks of five star resorts in Arizona.”
    There was a brief silence as the woman pondered the wisdom of revealing their names, which was interrupted by the boy.
    “I’m Mark Langton.”
    “Mark ...,” the woman started.
    “And this is my mother Maggie Langton. She writes stories for magazines and stuff and learned...”
    “Mark!”
    “What, Mom?”
    “I’m not sure how much I trust Mr. O’Reilly, or how much we should be telling him about ourselves,” the woman, whose name was apparently Maggie, stated, looking over O’Reilly again, obviously appraising the expression she found on his face and trying to decide whether or not he was telling the truth.
    “I can assure you that I’m being honest to you when I say that I’m not here to cause you any trouble. But I’m not just passing through,” he asserted quietly, in that soft gravely voice that drew so much