He pulls the young woman gently around the corner of the building, and they kiss passionately. He touches her breast and says something, and she shakes her head, no. He tries again, and she moves his hand away. He pulls back. “Please, Martha. Let me make love to you before I go.”

The young woman, Martha, begins to say no. Then she turns, and looks at Janie with complete regret in her eyes. “Not even in my dream?” she says.

Martha waits for Janie to respond.

Janie looks at the young man. He is frozen, momentarily, gazing adoringly at Martha. Martha pleads with her eyes locked on Janie. “Help me, Janie.”

Janie, startled, shrugs and nods, and Martha smiles through her tears. She turns back to the young man, touches his face, his lips, and nods. They walk through the alley, away from Janie. Janie takes a step to follow them, but she doesn’t want to see any more of this dream—it’s too intimate. She grips the chair in Miss Stubin’s room with all her might, concentrates, and pulls herself back into the nursing home.

It’s 8:43 p.m. Janie shakes her head to clear it. Surprised. Slowly, a grin spreads across her face. She did it—she pulled herself out of the dream. And she’s not getting sucked back into it. Janie chuckles quietly to herself.

Miss Stubin sleeps peacefully, a smile on her thin, tired lips. It must be nice for poor old Miss Stubin to have a good dream.

Janie leaves the book on the table and exits the room quietly. She turns off the light and closes the door, giving Miss Stubin some intimate time alone with her soldier. Before he dies.

And she never has the chance again.

September 9, 2005, 12:45 p.m.

“Why didn’t you tell me the new guy was Cabel Strumheller?” Carrie demands. Janie looks up from her book. She sits in the library at their usual table. “Because I’m an asshole?” She smiles sweetly.

Carrie tries to hold back a laugh. “Yes, you are. I see you’re driving him to school.”

“Only when he misses the bus,” Janie says lightly.

Carrie gives her a sly smile. “Yeah, well. Anyways, I made yearbook staff, so I’ll be gone a lot during study hall, okay? I gotta go there now for the first meeting.”

Janie waves, distracted by the play she’s reading for English. “Have fun. Play nice.” She slides down in her seat and plops her feet on the chair opposite hers. She’s reading Camelot in preparation for next month’s senior English trip to Stratford, Canada.

Every now and then she peers over the bookshelves to see if anyone is looking sleepy nearby. She figures she can handle anything outside a twenty-foot radius, unless it’s a nightmare, and then the distance jumps dramatically. Luckily, most school-day dreams tend to either be the “falling” dream, the

“naked presentation” dream, or something sexual. She can usually get a handle on those without doing a

full pass-out-on-the-floor reaction.

It’s the paralyzing, shiver-and-shake nightmares that are killing her. 12:55 p.m.

The book disappears in front of her. Janie sighs and sets it on the table. She lays her head in her arms and closes her eyes.

She is floating. Not the falling dream again, she thinks. She is sick to death of the falling dream. The scene changes immediately. Now, Janie is outside. It’s dark. She’s alone, behind a shed, but she can hear muffled voices. She’s never been alone before, and she doesn’t know how people can have dreams that they are not in. She is curious. She watches nervously, hoping this isn’t somebody’s nightmare about to explode through the wall of the shed, or from the bushes. From around the corner comes a hulking, monstrous figure, outlined by the moonlight. It thrashes its arms through the bushes and lifts its hands to the sky, letting out a horrible yell. Janie feels her fingers going numb. She tries to get out. But she can’t.

The figure’s long fingers glint in the moonlight.

Janie leans back against the barn. She is shaking.

The grotesque figure sharpens his knife-fingers on each other. The sound is deafening. Janie, against the barn, squeaks.

The figure wheels around. He sees her.

Approaches her.

She has seen this character before.

Right before she and Ethel ended up in a ditch.

Janie stands up, tries to run. But her legs won’t move.

The figure’s face is furious, but he has stopped sharpening his knives. He’s five feet away, and Janie closes her eyes. Nothing can hurt me, she tries to tell herself. When she opens her eyes, it is daylight. She is still behind the barn. And the horrid, menacing figure has turned into a normal, human young man.

It’s Cabel Strumheller.

A second Janie steps out from Janie’s body and walks to Cabel, unafraid. Janie stays back, against the barn.

Cabel touches the second Janie’s face.

He leans in.

He kisses her.

She kisses him back.

He steps out of the embrace and looks at the Janie against the barn wall. Tears fall down his cheeks.

“Help me,” he says.

1:35 p.m.

The bell rings. Janie feels the fog lifting, but she cannot move. Not yet. She needs a minute. 1:36 p.m.

Make that two minutes.

1:37 p.m.

When she feels the hand on her shoulder, she jumps.

A mile, a foot, an inch…she doesn’t know.

She looks up.

“Ready?” he says. “Didn’t know if you heard the bell.”

She stares at him.

“You okay, Hannagan?”

She nods and grabs her books. “Yeah.” Her voice is not completely back yet. She clears her throat. “Yes,”