Brian is surprised. She's not

Brian frowns, glancing at you doubtfully then looking into the trees and shrugging. Monica carefully scans the woods, her eyes suddenly careful.

"It might be Pete," she says quietly. "He's harmless."

"Who is Pete?" Brian asks, still frowning. "I don't see anyone."

"He's a homeless veteran. He's got a camp out here somewhere. He's been here for at least a year. I haven't seen him for a while but he's ok. Just a little messed up."

"You've met him?" you ask.

"Sure, a few times. I've left him food sometimes."

"You think he was watching...for a while?" Brian asks, making an ambiguous gesture with one hand.

"Watching you two fuck the daylights out of me you mean?" Monica chuckles. "Maybe. He can move pretty quietly and hide pretty well. But like I said he's harmless."

"Do you know where his camp is?" you ask.

"He moves it from time to time, so no. Really guys, he's no danger, if anything he thinks of the school as something to guard. He's messed up but he's a good guy."

"I don't like hearing about a veteran being homeless," you say quietly, looking at Monica. "Would he come out if you called to him? I'd like to talk to him, maybe see if I can help."

"I don't know," she answers looking doubtful. "I could try." You nod at her and she steps forward, looking up into the trees. "Pete! If you're up there I'd like to say hello. The guys with me are friends, they won't hurt you. If you're there can you come talk to me? You remember me don't you? You called me the Running Girl last year."

There's no reply to her call, no sound or hint of motion.

"Are you sure you saw something Kyle?" Brian asks doubtfully.

"Sensed it," you reply. "I'd bet someone was there. Not sure if they still are." The three of you look up into the woods. Your eyes slide from tree to tree and bush to bush seeking some sign of an observer but seeing nothing. You tell yourself that maybe you imagined it, that the woods are empty, that Pete, whoever he is has long since left the woods. But the feeling was so strong. As strong as the prickling, almost supernal warnings you sometimes had in combat zones halfway round the world. And you remember the evidence of an observer you found a few days ago that you had dismissed from your mind until now.

"I'm here Running Girl," a hoarse voice rasps behind you. "Ol' Pete is here."