Adeline ran toward the rear passenger side.
Kendra shouted for her to stop.
The teenager crouched.
A little boy was inside.
Maybe four.
Unconscious.
The young man stared.
“Oh God.”
He had been helping unload supplies earlier.
His son apparently climbed into the truck, fell asleep, and became trapped when the automatic lock engaged.
The afternoon was hot.
Dangerously hot.
The father fumbled for keys.
Couldn't find them.
A biker smashed a rear window away from the child.
They unlocked the door.
Pulled the boy out.
Emergency services came.
Heat exhaustion.
Treatable.
Minutes later could have changed everything.
The young father sobbed beside the ambulance.
Adeline sat on the curb.
Shaking.
Kendra crouched beside her.
“You okay?”
“No.”
“Did Claire tell you?”
“Yes.”
“What exactly?”
“Blue truck.”
“Anything else?”
Adeline's eyes filled.
“She said this was the last one.”
Kendra's chest tightened.
“What does that mean?”
Adeline looked toward the parking lot.
“She said I don't need her anymore.”
The leader had overheard.
His face fell.
“She's leaving?”
Adeline smiled through tears.
“She says she was never staying for herself.”
The injured biker approached slowly.
“What does that mean?”
Adeline looked toward him.
“She was staying because none of you were listening.”
He laughed.
Then cried.
The leader whispered:
“Sounds right.”
Adeline closed her eyes.
Kendra held her hand.
“What else?”
The girl's lips trembled.
“She says…”
She opened her eyes.
“She says she was never the miracle.”
Everyone waited.
Adeline looked toward the ambulance where the little boy was awake now, crying in his father's arms.
“She says paying attention was.”
Silence.
The leader smiled.
“That's also annoyingly like her.”
Adeline laughed.
Then turned suddenly toward empty space beside him.
Her face changed.
Softened.
“Okay.”
Kendra whispered:
“What?”
The girl lifted one hand.
A small wave.
“Bye.”
Nothing happened.
No wind.
No light.
No supernatural spectacle.
The parking lot remained a parking lot.
Cars.
Motorcycles.
People.
A siren fading in the distance.
Adeline lowered her hand.
Tears rolled down both cheeks.
“She’s gone.”
The leader looked toward the space she had been watching.
Then whispered:
“Good.”
Everyone stared.
He smiled through tears.
“She should be.”
The injured biker nodded.
“Yes.”
For years they had wanted proof Claire remained nearby.
Now, strangely, letting her go felt like the final gift.
Adeline never saw Claire again.
At least not while awake.
Years later, she occasionally dreamed of a woman in a blue scarf standing beside a country road.
But dreams were dreams.
She stopped trying to decide.
Kendra stopped documenting.
The notebooks went into a box.
The bikers aged.
Some stopped riding.
A few died.
Others moved.
The club continued under younger leadership.
The old leader finally sold his motorcycle at seventy-three.
He claimed it was because his knees were bad.