I watched from the half-open window of the motel, the spell of leaves twirling wildly in a vivid heat of red and gold against the night sky.

"Dakota."

I spin around, the calm breeze brushing my hair like the gentle caress of a comb. Who was that?

"Dakota, follow my voice." The whisper in my ear repeated my name a second time, as if promising me a lifetime of safety and warmth through just a sweet embrace of a tone.

Hesitantly, I pulled away from the chipped window frame and slipped on my converse, which were placed in such a way by the door it was almost as if they knew I would be going out again.