“I look forward to where you may be going with this idea of yours.” Death lost the echoing voice and took on the tone of the girl it pretended to be. “Let’s go, Uncle Max. We have business, and time is wasting away.”
Not really concerned about who he was really speaking with, the man only thought of one person, and sought off to find her, plowing through knee-high wheat stalks for several dozen yards. Approaching the atypical red-and-white barn, he slowed his pace.
“Sarah!?” the man called to the partially open doors, “Are you in there?”
A young woman pushed the door open, squinting from the change of light, “Who’s out here?”
“It’s me, Baby. I’m home. Oh, God, how I’ve missed you.”
He went in to hug her, but was pushed back, “Excuse me, I don’t believe we’ve met. Who are you, and why are you here?”
“Sarah, come on, it’s me, Michael. What’s wrong with you?” It came more like a plea.
“Look, you should go. I don’t know you.” She was frightened.
The little girl chirped, "We’re here for something else. "