Dreamland

She woke up, gasping. Co

“You,” was the first thing he said. Then: “What the hell? What the hell was that?”

She couldn’t speak. She knew if she tried to talk, she would start to cry. Her ankle and wrist still ached, a phantom pain carried over from the dream world. She wanted her mom. She wanted her mom to run her fingers through the wild tangle of her hair and tell her it would be okay.

“You were there.” His eyes were wild and wide, just like they had been in the dream. She was suddenly frightened of him. “I wasn’t just dreaming you. You were there.” He grabbed her arms, as he had done in his dream bedroom, before the blood started pooling, before the monsters came. Fear made her stomach feel loose; she had to get out of the car, away from Co

“Let me go,” she whispered. Co

“Not until you explain,” Co

She didn’t answer. Her chest was so heavy with terror and grief, she couldn’t speak, could barely breathe. As soon as Co

Co

“Get back in the car, Dea,” he called.

She pushed into the McDonald’s, pausing to see if Co

She didn’t know whether Co

What are you? Co

She should never have gotten close to him; she wasn’t meant to have friends.

After a while, she ventured out of the bathroom. Co

The only other number she had stored in her phone was Gollum’s. Gollum didn’t drive, and Dea didn’t feel like answering her questions, anyway. And calling her mom was out of the question, too.

She bought a soda, drank it slowly, and felt a little better. She learned from one of the kids behind the counter at McDonald’s that the number 37 bus stopped outside of Kirksville before heading northeast past Bloomington and toward Indianapolis. From Kirksville, she could walk home.

The bus smelled like old food and bubblegum. There were only a few other passengers, and the dim overhead lights cast their eyes in dark shadow. She kept her eyes down, not wanting to remember the men from Co

It was after one a.m. by the time she got home, going the long way across Daniel Robbins’s fields instead of heading up Route 9, even though it was so dark she had to use her phone as a makeshift flashlight, and she could hear rats rustling in the corn. She didn’t want to have to pass Co

Once she reached her porch, she realized she shouldn’t have worried about Co

Tomorrow, she would pack her suitcase and apologize to her mom, and they would load the car and head off. Just like they’d always done. She would miss Gollum. But Gollum would be okay. Gollum would get over it.

Co

The door was locked, and all the lights were off. Her mom hadn’t waited up, which was unusual. Dea knew Miriam must have been worried. Maybe she was proving a point, after their fight this morning.

She moved carefully toward the stairs. Toby came trotting out from the kitchen and wound himself around her legs. Her shoes crunched and she realized he must have tracked some of the food she’d spilled out into the hallway. Weird that her mom hadn’t cleaned it up. But this, too, was probably a point. Dea would sweep it up tomorrow.

Upstairs, Dea snuck as quietly as she could past her mom’s bedroom; the door was open just a crack. A bit of moonlight was trying to wrestle its way out of the clouds and Dea’s bedroom was painted in broad, dark brushstrokes, like a careless illustration. She saw that her mom hadn’t cleaned up here, either. Dea knew she was in for a serious lecture when she woke up, but she didn’t care.

She wanted to get away from Fielding—away from Co

She stripped off her wet clothes and got into bed naked, too tired to root around for her sleep pants. A moment later, Toby jumped up into bed beside her and got comfortable on her feet. She slowly began to feel warm. Then she was asleep, and feeling nothing.

ELEVEN

The first thing Dea noticed when she woke up was that it was raining again, a hard rain, the kind that washed away every color.

The second thing: something was wrong.

It was almost noon. Toby was gone from the bed. She’d slept through the clocks and their early morning chatter. Her mom hadn’t come upstairs to wake her. The house was silent. No squeaking footsteps, no water ru

She regretted, now, the mess she’d made yesterday. She tripped over a pair of jeans on her way to the door and nearly cracked her head on the wall. She steadied herself and moved into the hall. Empty houses always reminded Dea of holding shells to her ear, listening to the distant white roar of an ocean she would never see. She had that feeling now—of emptiness, of distance.

“Mom?” she called out. Her throat was tight. No answer. She fought down a wave of panic. Her mom could be out buying packing tape, or getting the oil changed, or loading up on beef jerky and Cheez-Its for the road. Anything.