247 - stall

umbling through the comically-large assortment of keys on the chain, Dalton finally happened upon the one that Louise seemed to be describing. "This one?" he asked, holding it up. Louise nodded, "Yes. Now hurry up and unlock the doors. It's cold out here."

Dalton jammed the key into the slot on the side of the door, which caused all of the locks inside the vehicle to pop upward. Not missing a beat, Louise ripped open the passenger-side door and slid in. She had already closed her door by the time Dalton had opened his.

He was not able to smoothly slide into his seat as she had. It was pulled much too far forward for comfort. Dalton's knees were trying to occupy the same space as the steering wheel, and his flesh was losing to the faded polyurethane.

"Hurry up! Get this thing started and get the heat pumping," Louise implored, rubbing her hands together for warmth. "I hope it still works," she quietly added.

"The heater or the car?" Dalton joked as he contorted himself into an awkward pose, reaching for the bar underneath the seat that would allow him to slide it back. His fingers made contact, and with a metallic thud, he was once again able to breathe comfortably.

Louise smirked. "Honestly, both. It's been quite a while since anyone's driven this thing. I guess it's lucky that we held onto it after all."

With that knowledge in mind, Dalton felt a twinge of nervousness as he slid the key into the ignition and twisted it. The engine did not roar with enthusiasm, but it could not resist the prodding, and eventually sputtered to life.

Upon hearing the motor maintaining a steady rhythm, Louise immediately slid the knobs on the climate controls to positions that would maximize heating. "You should probably give it a bit more time than usual to warm up before we set off in hot pursuit," she said. "Time's critical, but this whole vehicle is liable to fall apart if we push it too hard."

Dalton gripped the steering wheel a little too tightly while breathing anxiously. He eyed the various temperature gauges on the dashboard, watching them slowly climb toward the green area indicating acceptable values.

"It's okay. Mrs. Hamilton doesn't pose a threat to anyone, for now," he said. The way his eyes were glued to the dials suggested there was a short window in which this would remain true.

"And you're sure you know where to find her?" Louise asked, sounding skeptical.

"I'm sure," Dalton said. "I can't explain it. But I know I'll be able to find her." He wished that he had a better way to assure his partner, or himself. He wasn't the type to believe in the supernatural, and he didn't blame Louise for having doubts.

"You're just going to be," Louise hesitated, "guided to her? That's why I can't drive us? That's why you can't even tell me where we're going?"

Dalton tried to find a joke. Something about how even the spirit world was conspiring to keep the roads safer by stopping her from getting behind the wheel. But a presence was speaking to him. The same voice that had told him not to take their patrol car.

The voice told him to go. Now. He felt a strong urgency in these instructions. Putting Louise's old car into gear, the wheels began to rotate for the first time in ages.

"Garden," Dalton muttered to himself, repeating what the voice had just told him. "We'll find Mrs. Hamilton in her garden."